But such a one, on English ground,
And in the broad highway, I met;
Along the broad highway he came,
His cheeks with tears were wet:
Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
And in his arms a Lamb he had.

II.

He saw me, and he turned aside,
As if he wished himself to hide :
And with his coat did then essay1
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.

III.

When I was young, a single man,
And after youthful follies ran,

Though little given to care and thought,

Yet, so it was, an 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.

Then with his coat he made essay

1798.

IV.

Year after year my stock it grew;
And from this one, this single ewe,
Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
As fine a flock as ever grazed!
Upon the Quantock hills they fed;1

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.

V.

2

Six Children, Sir! had I to feed ;2

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 uplands fed,3

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?'

1 1836.

VI.

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.

3

My sheep upon the mountain fed,

1798.

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.

VII.

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

It was a vein that never stopped

Like blood-drops from my heart they dropped.
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—
Reckless of what might come at last
Were but the bitter struggle past.1

VIII.

To wicked deeds I was inclined,
And wicked fancies crossed my mind;
And every man I chanced to see,
I thought he knew some ill of me:
No peace, no comfort could I find,
No ease, within doors or without;
And, crazily and wearily

I went my work about;

1 1827.

They dwindled one by one away;
For me it was a woeful day.

1798.

And oft was moved to flee from home,

And hide my head where wild beasts roam,1

[Alfoxden, 1798. The last stanza, "The cocks did crow to-whoo, to-whoo, and the sun did shine so cold," was the foundation of the whole. The words were reported to me by my dear friend Thomas Prole; but I have since heard the same reported of other idiots. Let me add, that this long poem was composed in the groves of Alfoxden, almost extempore; not a word, I believe, being corrected, though one stanza was omitted. I mention this in gratitude to those happy moments, for, in truth I never wrote anything with so much glee.]

'Tis eight o'clock,—a clear March night,
The moon is up,-the sky is blue,
The owlet, in the moonlight air,
Shouts from nobody knows where; 1
He lengthens out his lonely shout,
Halloo! halloo! a long halloo !

-Why bustle thus about your door,
What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
Why are you in this mighty fret ?
And why on horseback have you set
Him whom you love, your Idiot Boy?2

Scarcely a soul is out of bed; 3
Good Betty, put him down again;

He shouts from nobody knows where.

2 Inserted in edd. 1798 to 1820.

Beneath the moon that shines so bright,
Till she is tired, let Betty Foy

With girt and stirrup fiddle-faddle;
But wherefore set upon a saddle
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?

1798.

3

1836.

There's scarce a soul that's out of bed;

1798.