'Twas little Barbara Lethwaite, a child of beauty
rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely
pair:
Now with her empty can the maiden turned away;
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she
stay.
Towards the Lamb she looked; 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?
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 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 forevermore was
gone.
[Illustration]
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
yearn
Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have
been.
Thou knowest that twice a day I brought thee in
this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever
ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with
dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and
new.