They said, I was a wealthy man ;
My sheep upon the uplands fed,
And it was fit that thence I took
Whereof to buy us bread.

'Do this! how can we give to you,'

6

They cried, what to the poor is due?'

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.

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.*

This couplet, explanatory of the wish, is an improvement of the later editions. Formerly the stanza ended thus:

They dwindled one by one away

For me it was a woeful day.

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 ;

And oft was moved to flee from home,

And hide my head where wild beasts roam.

IX.

Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me,
As dear as my own children be ;
For daily with my growing store
I loved my children more and more.
Alas! it was an evil time;

God cursed me in my sore distress;
I prayed, yet every day I thought
I loved my children less ;

And every week, and every day,
My flock it seemed to melt away.

X.

They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see !
From ten to five, from five to three,
A lamb, a wether, and an ewe ;—
And then at last from three to two;
And, of my fifty, yesterday

I had but only one :

* Ofttimes I thought to run away

For me it was a woeful day.-Edit. 1815.

And here it lies upon my arm,
Alas! and I have none ;-

To-day I fetched it from the rock ;
It is the last of all my flock."

A COMPLAINT.

THERE is a change—and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart's door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did; not taking heed
Of its own bounty, or my need.

What happy moments did I count !
Blest was I then all bliss above!
Now, for that consecrated fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.

A well of love-it may be deep-
I trust it is,—and never dry:
What matter? if the waters sleep
In silence and obscurity.

-Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.

1806.

RUTH.*

WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,
Her Father took another Mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom, bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone

She seemed to live; her thoughts her own;

Herself her own delight;

Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay;

And, passing thus the live-long day,

She grew to woman's height.

There came a Youth from Georgia's shore—

A military casque he wore,

With splendid feathers drest;

He brought them from the Cherokees;

The feathers nodded in the breeze,

And made a gallant crest.

* Written at Goslar, in Germany, 1798. It is remarkable that at so early an age the Poet should have produced a work of such pure and delicate pathos.

From Indian blood you deem him sprung :
But no! he spake the English tongue,
And bore a soldier's name;

And, when America was free

From battle and from jeopardy,
He 'cross the ocean came.

With hues of genius on his cheek
In finest tones the Youth could speak :
-While he was yet a boy,

The moon, the glory of the sun,

And streams that murmur as they run,
Had been his dearest joy.

He was a lovely Youth! I guess

The panther in the wilderness

Was not so fair as he;

And, when he chose to sport and play,

No dolphin ever was so gay

Upon the tropic sea.

Among the Indians he had fought,

And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear;

Such tales as told to any maid

By such a Youth, in the green shade,

Were perilous to hear.

He told of girls—a happy rout!

Who quit their fold with dance and shout,

Their pleasant Indian town,

To gather strawberries all day long;

Returning with a choral song

When daylight is gone down.