Page 172—Baa Baa Land
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The Lost Lamb Storm upon the mountain, Rainy torrents beating, And the little snow-white lamb, Bleating, ever bleating! Storm upon the mountain, Night upon its throne, And the little snow-white lamb, Left alone, alone! Down the glen the shepherd Drives his flock afar; Through the murky mist and cloud, Shines no beacon star. Fast he hurries onward, Never hears the moan Of the pretty snow-white lamb, Left alone, alone! Up the glen he races, Breasts the bitter wind, Scours across the plain, and leaves Wood and wold behind;— Storm upon the mountain, Night upon its throne— There he finds the little lamb, Left alone, alone! Struggling, panting, sobbing, Kneeling on the ground, Round the pretty creature's neck Both his arms were wound; Soon, within his bosom, All its bleatings done, Home he bears the little lamb, Left alone, alone! Oh! the happy faces, By the shepherd's fire! High without the tempest roars, But the laugh rings higher, Young and old together Make that joy their own— In their midst the little lamb, Left alone, alone! T. Westwood |
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The Pet Lamb 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 by its side. Nor sheep nor kine were near; The lamb was all alone, And by a slender cord Was tethered to a stone; With one knee on the grass Did the little maiden kneel, While to this mountain lamb. She gave its evening meal. "What ails thee, young one; what? Why pull so at thy cord? Is it not well with thee? Well both for bed and board? Thy plot of grass is soft, And green as grass can be; Rest, little young one, rest; What is't that aileth thee? "What is it thou would'st 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 long Is rustling in they ears! "Rest little young one, rest; Hast thou forgot the day Why my father found the 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; Oh! blessed day for thee! Then whither would'st thou roam? A faithful nurse thou hast; The dam that did the yean Upon the mountain top No kinder could have been. "Thou know'st that thrice a day I have brought thee in this can Fresh water from the brook, As clear as ever ran. And twice, too, in the day, When the ground is wet with dew, I bring thee draughts of milk— Warm milk it is, and new. "Here, then, thou need'st not dread The raven in the sky; Night and day thou'rt safe; Our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep, and at break of day, I will come to thee again." Wordsworth |
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A Visit to the Lambs Mother, let's go and see the lambs; This warm and sunny day I think must make them very glad, And full of fun and play. Ah, there they are. You pretty things! Now, don't you run away; I'm come on purpose, that I am, To see you this fine day. What pretty little heads you've got, And such good-natured eyes! And ruff of wool all round your necks— How nicely curl'd it lies! Come here, my little lambkin, come, And lick my hand—now do! How silly to be so afraid! Indeed I won't hurt you. Just put your hand upon its back, Mother, how nice and warm! There, pretty lamb, you see I don't Intend to do you harm. Easy Poetry |
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