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Page 219

BOOK FOURTH
219 SIMON LEE THE OLD HUNTSMAN

In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall,
An old man dwells, a little man,
'Tis said he once was tall.
Full five-and-thirty years he lived
A running huntsman merry;
And still the centre of his cheek
Is red as a ripe cherry.

No man like him the horn could sound,
And hill and valley rang with glee
When Echo bandied round and round
The halloo of Simon Lee.
In those proud days he little cared
For husbandry or tillage;
To blither tasks did Simon rouse
The sleepers of the village.

He all the country could outrun,
Could leave both man and horse behind;
And often, ere the chase was done,
He reeled and was stone-blind.
And still there's something in the world
At which his heart rejoices;
For when the chiming hounds are out,
He dearly loves their voices!

But O 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;
His body, dwindled and awry,
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,
Not twenty paces from the door,
A scrap of land they have, but they
Are poorest of the poor.
This scrap of land he from the heath
Enclosed when he was stronger;
But what to them avails the land
Which he can till no longer?

Oft, working by her husband's side,
Ruth does what Simon cannot do;
For she, with scanty cause for pride,
Is stouter of the two.
And, though you with your utmost skill
From labour could not wean them, '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
How patiently you've waited,
And now I fear that you expect
Some tale will be related.

O reader! had you in your mind
Such stores as silent thought can bring,
O gentle reader! you would find
A tale in every thing.
What more I have to say is short,
And you must kindly take it:
It is no tale; but, should you think,
Perhaps a tale you'll make it.

One summer-day I chanced to see
This old man doing all he could
To unearth the root of an old tree,
A stump of rotten wood.
The mattock totter'd in his hand;
So vain was his endeavour
That at the root of the old tree
He might have work'd for ever.

`You're overtax'd, good Simon Lee,
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,
At which the poor old man so long
And vainly had endeavour'd.

The tears into his eyes were brought,
And thanks and praises seem'd to run
So fast out of his heart, I thought
They never would have done.
-I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.
W. WORDSWORTH.

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE In what is sweet shire of Cardigan, Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, An old man dwells, a little man, 'Tis said he once was tall. Full five-and-thirty years he lived A running huntsman merry; And still what is centre of his cheek Is red as a ripe cherry. No man like him what is horn could sound, And hill and valley rang with glee When Echo bandied round and round what is halloo of Simon Lee. In those proud days he little cared For husbandry or tillage; To blither tasks did Simon rouse what is sleepers of what is village. He all what is country could outrun, Could leave both man and horse behind; And often, ere what is chase was done, He reeled and was stone-blind. And still there's something in what is world At which his heart rejoices; For when what is chiming hounds are out, He dearly loves their voices! But O what is heavy change!-bereft Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see! Old Simon to what is world is left In liveried where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Golden Treasury (1932) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 219 where is strong BOOK FOURTH where is strong 219 SIMON LEE what is OLD HUNTSMAN where is p align="justify" In what is sweet shire of Cardigan, Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, An old man dwells, a little man, 'Tis said he once was tall. Full five-and-thirty years he lived A running huntsman merry; And still what is centre of his cheek Is red as a ripe cherry. No man like him what is horn could sound, And hill and valley rang with glee When Echo bandied round and round what is halloo of Simon Lee. In those proud days he little cared For husbandry or tillage; To blither tasks did Simon rouse what is sleepers of what is village. He all what is country could outrun, Could leave both man and horse behind; And often, ere what is chase was done, He reeled and was stone-blind. And still there's something in what is world At which his heart rejoices; For when what is chiming hounds are out, He dearly loves their voices! But O what is 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 what is Hall of Ivor; Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead; He is what is sole survivor. And he is lean and he is sick; His body, dwindled and awry, 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 what is waterfall, Upon what is village common. Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, Not twenty paces from what is door, A scrap of land they have, but they Are poorest of what is poor. This scrap of land he from what is heath Enclosed when he was stronger; But what to them avails what is land Which he can till no longer? Oft, working by her husband's side, Ruth does what Simon cannot do; For she, with scanty cause for pride, Is stouter of what is two. And, though you with your utmost s what time is it From labour could not wean them, '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, what is more he works, what is more Do his weak ankles swell. My gentle reader, I perceive How patiently you've waited, And now I fear that you expect Some tale will be related. O reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle reader! you would find A tale in every thing. What more I have to say is short, And you must kindly take it: It is no tale; but, should you think, Perhaps a tale you'll make it. One summer-day I chanced to see This old man doing all he could To unearth what is root of an old tree, A stump of rotten wood. what is mattock totter'd in his hand; So vain was his endeavour That at what is root of what is old tree He might have work'd for ever. `You're overtax'd, good Simon Lee, Give me your tool,' to him I said; And at what is word right gladly he Received my proffer'd aid. I struck, and with a single blow what is tangled root I sever'd, At which what is poor old man so long And vainly had endeavour'd. what is tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seem'd to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning; Alas! what is gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning. W. WORDSWORTH. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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