Lyrical Ballads (1798) — Last of the Flock, The
THE LAST OF THE FLOCK.
In distant countries I have been, And yet I have not often seen A healthy man, a man full grown Weep in the public roads alone.
But such a one, on English ground, And in the broad high-way, I met;
Along the broad high-way he came, His cheeks with tears were wet.
Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
And in his arms a lamb he had.
He saw me, and he turned aside, As if he wished himself to hide: Then with his coat he made essay To wipe those briny tears away.
I follow’d him, and said, “My friend “What ails you?
wherefore weep you so?
” --“Shame on me, Sir!
this lusty lamb, He makes my tears to flow.
To-day I fetched him from the rock;
He is the last of all my flock.
When I was young, a single man, And after youthful follies ran, Though little given to care and thought, Yet, so it was, a ewe I bought;
And other sheep from her I raised, As healthy sheep as you might see, And then I married, and was rich As I could wish to be;
Of sheep I number’d a full score, And every year encreas’d my store.
Year after year my stock it grew, And from this one, this single ewe, Full fifty comely sheep I raised, As sweet a flock as ever grazed!
Upon the mountain did they feed;
They throve, and we at home did thrive.
--This lusty lamb of all my store Is all that is alive: And now I care not if we die, And perish all of poverty.
Ten children, Sir!
had I to feed, Hard labour in a time of need!
My pride was tamed, and in our grief, I of the parish ask’d relief.
They said I was a wealthy man;
My sheep upon the mountain fed, And it was fit that thence I took Whereof to buy us bread:” “Do this; how can we give to you,” They cried, “what to the poor is due?
” I sold a sheep as they had said, And bought my little children bread, And they were healthy with their food;
For me it never did me good.
A woeful time it was for me, To see the end of all my gains, The pretty flock which I had reared With all my care and pains, To see it melt like snow away!
For me it was a woeful day.
Another still!
and still another!
A little lamb, and then its mother!
It was a vein that never stopp’d, Like blood-drops from my heart they dropp’d. Till thirty were not left alive They dwindled, dwindled, one by one, And I may say that many a time I wished they all were gone: They dwindled one by one away;
For me it was a woeful day.
To wicked deeds I was inclined, And wicked fancies cross’d my mind, And every man I chanc’d to see, I thought he knew some ill of me No peace, no comfort could I find, No ease, within doors or without, And crazily, and wearily, I went my work about.
Oft-times I thought to run away;
For me it was a woeful day.
Sir!
’twas a precious flock to me, As dear as my own children be;
For daily with my growing store I loved my children more and more.
Alas!
it was an evil time;
God cursed me in my sore distress, I prayed, yet every day I thought I loved my children less;
And every week, and every day, My flock, it seemed to melt away.
They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see!
From ten to five, from five to three, A lamb, a weather, and a ewe;
And then at last, from three to two;
And of my fifty, yesterday I had but only one, And here it lies upon my arm, Alas!
and I have none;
To-day I fetched it from the rock;
It is the last of all my flock.
”
