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And thus, to Betty's question, he
“Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.”
By their floating mill,
That lies dead and still, Behold yon prisoners three, The miller with two dames, on the breast of
the Thames ! The platform is small, but gives room for all; .
And they're dancing merrily.
From the shore come the notes
To their mill where it floats,
To the small wooden isle where, their work
to beguile, They from morning to even take whatever is
In sight of the spires,
All alive with the fires Of the sun going down to his rest, In the broad open eye of the solitary sky, They dance,—there are three, as jocund as free,
While they dance on the calm river's breast.
Men and Maidens wheel,
They themselves make the reel, And their music's a prey which they seize : It plays not for them, -what matter ? 'tis theirs ; And if they had care, it has scattered their
cares, While they dance, crying, “ Long as ye please!”
They dance not for me,
Yet mine is their glee ! Thus pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall
find : Thus a rich loving-kindness, redundantly kind,
Moves all nature to gladness and mirth.
The showers of the spring
Rouse the birds, and they sing;
THE PET LAMB.
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
Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was
all alone, And by a slender cord was tethered 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, Seemed 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 received her heart into my own.
'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, 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
Right towards the lamb she looked : and from
a 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 the 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
“What is it thou wouldst seek ? What is want
ing 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
“ If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy
woollen chain, This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst
gain ; For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou
needst not fear, The rain and storm are things that scarcely can