THE PET LAMB.

Who doth strike with icy dart

The way-worn traveller to the heart?
Who doth make the ocean wave-
The seaman's home, the seaman's grave?
Jack Frost! Jack Frost!

Who doth pinch the traveller's toes?
Who doth wring the schoolboy's nose?
Who doth make your fingers tingle?
Who doth make the sleigh-bells jingle?
Jack Frost! Jack Frost!

145

THE PET LAMB.

A PASTORAL.

THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink?"

And looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied

A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a maiden at its side.

Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,

And by a slender cord was tether'd to a stone;

With one knee on the grass, did the little maiden kneel, While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening

meal.

The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper

took,

Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook.

"Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare;

I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair! Now with her empty can the maiden turn'd away; But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Right towards the lamb she look'd; and from that shady place

I unobserved could see the workings of her face:
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers

bring,

Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing:

"What ails thee, Young One? what? why pull so at thy cord?

Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? The plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ; Rest, little Young One, rest; what is 't that aileth thee?

THE PET LAMB.

147

"What is it thou wouldst seek? what is wanting to

thy heart?

Thy limbs are they not strong? and beautiful thou art; This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no

peers;

And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woolen chain,

This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear

The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.

"Rest, little Young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away; Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,

And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:

A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam?

A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee

yean

Upon the mountain-tops, no kinder could have been.