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She shall be sportive as the fawn
The floating clouds their state shall lend
The stars of midnight shall be dear
And vital feelings of delight
Thus Nature spake-The work was done
of what has been, And never more will be.
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
No other sheep were near, the Lamb was all alone,
did the little Maiden kneel, While to that Mountain Lamb she gave its evening meal.
The Lamb while from her hand he thus his supper took Seem'd to feast with head and ears, and his tail with pleasure
shook. “ Drink, pretty Creature, drink," she said in such a tone That I almost receiv'd her heart into my own.
'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a Child of beauty rare,
Towards the Lamb she look’d, and from that shady place
“ What ails thee, Young One? What? Why pull so at thy
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
these flowers they have no peers, And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.
If the Sun is shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,
Rest, little Young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day
Father found thee first in places far away : Many flocks are on the hills, but thou wert own'd by none, And thy Mother from thy side for evermore was gone.
He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home, A blessed day for thee ! then whither would'st thou roam ? A faithful nurse thou hast, the dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.
Thou know'st'that twice a day I have brought thee in this Can