William Wordsworth
Simon Lee
from Lyrical Ballads (First Edition, 1798)
In the sweet shire of Cardigan, | ||
Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall, | ||
An old man dwells, a little man, | ||
I've heard he once was tall. | ||
5 | Of years he has upon his back, | |
No doubt, a burthen weighty; | ||
He says he is three score and ten, | ||
But others say he's eighty. | ||
A long blue livery-coat has he, | ||
10 | That's fair behind, and fair before; | |
Yet, meet him where you will, you see | ||
At once that he is poor. | ||
Full five and twenty years he lived | ||
A running huntsman merry; | ||
15 | And, though he has but one eye left, | |
His cheek is like a cherry. | ||
No man like him the horn could sound, | ||
And no man was so full of glee; | ||
To say the least, four counties round. | ||
20 | Had heard of Simon Lee; | |
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. | ||
25 | His hunting feats have him bereft | |
Of his right eye, as you may see: | ||
And then, what limbs those feats have left | ||
To poor old Simon Lee! | ||
He has no son, he has no child, | ||
30 | His wife, an aged woman, | |
Lives with him, near the waterfall, | ||
Upon the village common. | ||
And he is lean and he is sick, | ||
His dwindled body's half awry, | ||
35 | His ancles they are swoln and thick; | |
His legs are thin and dry. | ||
When he was young he little knew | ||
'Of husbandry or tillage; | ||
And now he's forced to work, though weak, | ||
40 | -The weakest in the village. | |
He all the country could outrun, | ||
Could leave both man and horse behind; | ||
And often, ere the race was done, | ||
He reeled and was stone-blind. | ||
45 | And still there's something in the world | |
At which his heart rejoices; | ||
For when the chiming bounds are out, | ||
He dearly loves their voices! | ||
Old Ruth works out of doors with him. | ||
50 | And does what Simon cannot do; | |
For she, not over stout of limb, | ||
Is stouter of the two. | ||
And though you with your utmost skill | ||
From labour could not wean them, | ||
55 | Alas! 'tis very little, all | |
Which they can do between them. | ||
Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, | ||
Not twenty paces from the door, | ||
A scrap of land they have, but they | ||
60 | Are poorest of the poor. | |
This scrap of land he from the heath | ||
Enclosed when he was stronger; | ||
But what avails the land to them, | ||
Which they can till no longer? | ||
65 | Few months of life has he in store, | |
As he to you will-tell, | ||
For still, the more he works, the more | ||
His poor old ancles swell. | ||
My gentle reader, I perceive | ||
70 | How patiently you've waited, | |
And I'm afraid that you expect | ||
Some tale will be related. | ||
O reader! had you in your mind | ||
Such stores as silent thought can bring, | ||
75 | O gentle reader! you would find | |
A tale in every thing. | ||
What more I have to say is short, | ||
I hope you'll kindly take it; | ||
It is no tale; but should you think, | ||
80 | Perhaps a tale you'll make it. | |
One summer-day I chanced to see | ||
This old man doing all he could | ||
About the root of an old tree, | ||
A stump of rotten wood. | ||
85 | The mattock totter'd in his hand; | |
So vain was his endeavour | ||
That at the root of the old tree | ||
He might have worked for ever. | ||
You've overtasked, good Simon Lee, | ||
90 | Give me your tool to him I said; | |
And at the word right gladly he | ||
Received my proffer'd aid. | ||
I struck, and with a single blow | ||
The tangled root I sever'd, | ||
95 | At which the poor old man so long | |
And vainly had endeavoured. | ||
The tears into his eyes were brought, | ||
And thanks and praises seemed to run | ||
So fast out of his heart, I thought | ||
100 | They never would have done. | |
-I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds | ||
With coldness still returning. | ||
Alas! the gratitude of men | ||
Has oftner left me mourning. |
First published 1798
Robert Clark