The Last Of the Flock

In distant countries have I been,
And yet I have not often seen
A healthy Man, a Man full grown,
Weep in the public roads alone.
But such a one, on English ground,
And in the broad high-way, I met;
Along the broad high-way he came,
His cheeks with tears were wet.
Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;

And in his arms a Lamb he had.
He saw me, and he turned aside,

As if he wished himself to hide:
Then with his coat he made essay
To wipe those briny tears away.

I followed him, and said,
“My Friend, What ails you?
wherefore weep you so ?”
“Shame on me, Sir! this lusty Lamb,
He makes my tears to flow.
To-day I fetched him from the rock;
He is the last of all my flock.

When I was young, a single Man,
And after youthful follies ran,
Though little given to care and thought,

Yet, so it was, a Ewe I bought;
And other sheep from her I raised,
As healthy sheep as you might see;
And then I married, and was rich
As I could wish to be;

Of sheep I numbered a full score,
And every year increased my store.

Year after year my stock it grew;
And from this one, this single Ewe,
Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
As sweet a flock as ever grazed!
Upon the mountain did they feed,
They throve, and we at home did thrive.

-This lusty Lamb of all my store
Is all that is alive;
And now I care not if we die,
And perish all of poverty.

Six Children, Sir! had I to feed;
Hard labour in a time of need!

My pride was tamed, and in our grief
I of the Parish asked relief.

They said I was a wealthy man;
My sheep upon the mountain fed,

And it was fit that thence I took
Whereof to buy us bread.”

“Do this: how can we give to you,”
They cried, “what to the poor is due?”

I sold a sheep, as they had said,
And bought my little children bread,
And they were healthy with their food;
For me it never did me good.

A woeful time it was for me,
To see the end of all my gains,
The pretty flock which I had reared
With all my care and pains,

To see it melt like snow away!
For me it was a woeful day.

Another still! and still another!
A little lamb, and then its mother!

It was a vein that never stopp’d
Like blood-drops from my heart they dropp’d.
Till thirty were not left alive
They dwindled, dwindled, one by one,
And I may say, that many a time

I wished they all were gone:
They dwindled one by one away;
For me it was a woeful day.