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
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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Page 173—Baa Baa Land

The Pet Lamb
Once on a time, a shepherd lived
Within a cottage small;
The grey thatched roof was shaded by
An elm-tree dark and tall;
While all around, stretched far away,
A wild and lonesome moor,
Except a little daisied field
Before the trellised door.
Now, it was on a cold March day,
When on the moorland wide
The shepherd found a trembling lamb
By its mother's side;
And so pitiful it bleated,
As with the cold it shook,
He wrapped it up beneath his coat,
And home the poor lamb took.
He placed it by the warm fireside,
And then his children fed
This little lamb, whose mother died,
With milk and sweet brown bread,
Until it ran about the floor,
Or at the door would stand;
And grew so tame, it ate its food
From out the children's hand.
It followed them where'er they went,
Came ever at their call,
And dearly was this pretty lamb
Beloved by them all.
And often on a market-day,
When cotters crossed the moor,
They stopped to praise the snow-white lamb,
Beside the cottage door;
They patted it upon its head,
And stroked it with the hand,
And vowed it was the prettiest lamb
They'd seen in all the land.
Now, this kind shepherd was as ill,
As ill as he could be,
And kept his bed for many a week,
And nothing earned he;
And when he had got well again,
He to his wife did say,
"The doctor wants his money, and
I haven't it to pay.
"What shall we do, what can we do?
The doctor made me well,
There's only one thing can be done,
We must the pet lamb sell;
We've nearly eaten all the bread,
And how can we get more,
Unless you call the butcher in
When he rides by the door?"
"Oh, do not sell my white pet lamb,"
Then little Mary said,
"And every night I'll go up stairs
Without my tea to bed;
Oh! do not sell my sweet pet lamb;
And if you let it live,
The best half of my bread and milk
I will unto it give."
The doctor at that very time
Entered the cottage door,
As, with her arms around her lamb,
She sat upon the floor.
"For if the butcher buys my lamb,
He'll take away its life,
And make its pretty white throat bleed
With his sharp cruel knife;
"And never in the morning light
Again it will me meet,
Nor come again to lick my hand,
Look up upon me and bleat."
"Why do you weep, my pretty girl?"
The doctor then did say.
"Because I love my little lamb,
Which must be sold to-day;
It lies beside my bed at night,
And, oh, it is so still,
It never made a bit of noise
When father was so ill.
"Oh do not let them sell my lamb,
And then I'll go to bed,
And never ask for aught to eat
But a small piece of bread."
"I'll buy the lamb and give it you,"
The kind, good doctor said,
"And with the money that I pay
Your father can buy bread.
"As for the bill, that can remain
Until another year."
He paid the money down, and said,
"The lamb is yours, my dear:
You have a kind and gentle heart,
And God, who made us all,
He loveth well those who are kind
To creatures great and small;
"And while I live, my little girl,
Your lamb shall not be sold,
But play with you upon the moor,
And sleep within the fold."
And so the white pet lamb was saved,
And played upon the moor,
And after little Mary ran
About the cottage-floor.
It fed upon cowslips tall,
And ate the grass so sweet,
And on the little garden-walk
Pattered its pretty feet;
And with its head upon her lap
The little lamb would lay
Asleep beneath the elm-tree's shade,
Upon the summer's day,
While she twined the flowers around its neck,
And called it her, "Sweet May."
Thomas Miller