Had loved her, night and morn: What could he less than love a Maid Whose heart with so much nature played? So kind and so forlorn! Sometimes, most earnestly, he said, "O Ruth! I have been worse than dead; Before me shone a glorious world— I looked upon those hills and plains, No more of this; for now, by thee My soul from darkness is released, Full soon that better mind was gone; They stirred him now no more; Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared, But, when they thither came, the Youth God help thee, Ruth!-Such pains she had, That she in half a year was mad, And in a prison housed; And there, with many a doleful song Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, -They all were with her in her cell ; And a clear brook with cheerful knell When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, She from her prison fled; But of the Vagrant none took thought; And where it liked her best she sought Her shelter and her bread. Among the fields she breathed again : And, coming to the Banks of Tone, The engines of her pain, the tools And airs that gently stir The vernal leaves-she loved them still; Nor ever taxed them with the ill Which had been done to her. A Barn her winter bed supplies; But, till the warmth of summer skies (And all do in this tale agree) She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, And other home hath none. An innocent life, yet far astray ! Be broken down and old : Sore aches she needs must have! but less If she is prest by want of food, And there she begs at one steep place That oaten pipe of hers is mute, I, too, have passed her on the hills Farewell! and when thy days are told, Thy corpse shall buried be, For thee a funeral bell shall ring, A Christian psalm for thee. 1799 CIV SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN; WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS CONCERNED In the sweet shire of Cardigan, An old Man dwells, a little man,— "Tis said he once was tall. Full five-and-thirty years he lived A running huntsman merry; And still the centre of his cheek Is red as a ripe cherry. No man like him the horn could sound, When Echo bandied, round and round, The halloo of Simon Lee. In those proud days, he little cared For husbandry or tillage; To blither tasks did Simon rouse The sleepers of the village. |