In those proud days, he little cared To blither tasks did Simon rouse He all the country could outrun, And still there's something in the world For when the chiming hounds are out, But, oh the heavy change!-bereft Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see! Old Simon to the world is left In liveried poverty. His Master's dead,-and no one now Dwells in the Hall of Ivor; Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead; He is the sole survivor. And he is lean and he is sick; Rests upon ankles swoln and thick His legs are thin and dry. One prop he has, and only one, His wife, an aged woman, Lives with him, near the waterfall, Upon the village Common. Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, This scrap of land he from the heath Oft, working by her Husband's side, And, though you with your utmost skill 'Tis little, very little-all That they can do between them. Few months of life has he in store As he to you will tell, For still, the more he works, the more Do his weak ankles swell. My gentle Reader, I perceive O Reader! had you in your mind What more I have to say is short, One summer-day I chanced to see The mattock tottered in his hand; That at the root of the old tree "You're overtasked, good Simon Lee, I struck, and with a single blow At which the poor old Man so long The tears into his eyes were brought, They never would have done. —I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds Alas! the gratitude of men VII. WRITTEN IN GERMANY, ON ONE OF THE COLDEST DAYS OF THE CENTURY. [A BITTER winter it was when these verses were composed by the side of my Sister, in our lodgings at a draper's house in the romantic imperial town of Goslar, on the edge of the Hartz Forest. In this town the German emperors of the Franconian line were accustomed to keep their court, and it retains vestiges of ancient splendour. So severe was the cold of this winter, that when we passed out of the parlour warmed by the stove, our cheeks were struck by the air as by cold iron. I slept in a room over a passage which was not ceiled. The people of the house used to say, rather unfeelingly, that they expected I should be frozen to death some night; but, with the protection of a pelisse lined with fur, and a dog's-skin bonnet, such as was worn by the peasants, I walked daily on the ramparts, or in a sort of public ground or garden, in which was a pond. Here, I had no companion but a kingfisher, a beautiful creature, that used to glance by me. I consequently became much attached to it. During these walks I composed the poem that follows.] The Reader must be apprised, that the Stoves in North-Germany generally have the impression of a galloping horse upon them, this being part of the Brunswick Arms. A PLAGUE on your languages, German and Norse! And the tongs and the poker, instead of that horse See that Fly, a disconsolate creature! perhaps And, sorrow for him! the dull treacherous heat Alas! how he fumbles about the domains Which this comfortless oven environ! He cannot find out in what track he must crawl, Stock-still there he stands like a traveller bemazed: The best of his skill he has tried ; His feelers, methinks, I can see him put forth To the east and the west, to the south and the north ; But he finds neither guide-post nor guide. His spindles sink under him, foot, leg, and thigh! Between life and death his blood freezes and thaws; No brother, no mate has he near him—while I Yet, God is my witness, thou small helpless Thing! Thy life I would gladly sustain. Till summer come up from the south, and with crowds Of thy brethren a march thou should'st sound through the clouds. And back to the forests again! 1799. |