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THE OLD HUNTSMAN,
With an incident in which he was concerned.
In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
Of years he has upon his back,
he is three score and ten,
But others say he's eighty.
A long blue livery-coat has he,
Yet, meet him where you will, you see
Full five and twenty years he lived
A running Huntsman merry;
And, though he has but one eye left,
His cheek is like a cherry.
No man like him the horn could sound, And no man was so full of glee;
say the least, four counties round
Had heard of Simon Lee;
His Master's dead, and no one now
Dwells in the hall of Ivor;
Men, Dogs, and Horses, all are dead;
He is the sole survivor..
And he is lean and he is sick,
His dwindled body's half awry;
His ancles they are swoln and thick ;
When he was young he little knew
Of husbandry or tillage;
And now he's forced to work, though weak,
-The weakest in the village.
He all the country could outrun,
Could leave both man and horse behind;
And often, ere the race was done,
He reeled and was stone-blind.
And still there's something in the world
At which his heart rejoices;
For when the chiming hounds are out,
He dearly loves their voices!
His hunting feats have him bereft
Of his right eye, as you may see:
And then, what limbs those feats have left
To poor old Simon Lee !
He has no son, he has no child,
His Wife, an aged woman,
Lives with him, near the waterfall,
Upon the village Common.
Old Ruth works out of doors with him,
And does what Simon cannot do ;
For she, not over stout of limb,
Is stouter of the two.
And, though you with your utmost skill
Alas! 'tis very little, all
Which they can do between them.
Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
A scrap of land they have, but they
This scrap of land he from the heath
Few months of life has he in store,
As he to you will tell,
For still, the more he works, the more
poor old ancles swell.
My gentle Reader, I perceive
And I'm afraid that you expect