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Poem	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 numbered a full score,  And every year increas'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.   Six 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.
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