This heath, this calm and quiet scene,
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.




The Pet-Lamb, A Pastoral.

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 at its side.

No other sheep were near, the Lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tether'd to a stone;
With one knee on the grass 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;
I watch'd them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
And now with empty Can the Maiden turn'd away,
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Towards the Lamb she look'd, and from that shady place