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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540106" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Simon Lee: The Old Huntsman</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">. With an incident in which he was concerned<br> In the sweet shire of Cardigan, <br> Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,<br> An old Man dwells, a little man,--<br> 'Tis said he once was tall.<br> For five-and-thirty years he lived<br> A running huntsman merry;<br> And still the centre of his cheek<br> Is red as a ripe cherry.<br> No man like him the horn could sound,<br> And hill and valley rang with glee<br> When Echo bandied, round and round<br> The halloo of Simon Lee.<br> In those proud days, he little cared<br> For husbandry or tillage;<br> To blither tasks did Simon rouse<br> The sleepers of the village.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> He all the country could outrun,<br> Could leave both man and horse behind;<br> And often, ere the chase was done,<br> He reeled, and was stone-blind.<br> And still there's something in the world<br> At which his heart rejoices;<br> For when the chiming hounds are out,<br> He dearly loves their voices!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But, oh the heavy change!--bereft<br> Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see!<br> Old Simon to the world is left<br> In liveried poverty.<br> His Master's dead--and no one now<br> Dwells in the Hall of Ivor;<br> Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;<br> He is the sole survivor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And he is lean and he is sick;<br> His body, dwindled and awry,<br> Rests upon ankles swoln and thick;<br> His legs are thin and dry.<br> One prop he has, and only one,<br> His wife, an aged woman,<br> Lives with him, near the waterfall,<br> Upon the village Common.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,<br> Not twenty paces from the door,<br> A scrap of land they have, but they<br> Are poorest of the poor.<br> This scrap of land he from the heath<br> Enclosed when he was stronger;<br> But what to them avails the land<br> Which he can till no longer?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Oft, working by her Husband's side,<br> Ruth does what Simon cannot do;<br> For she, with scanty cause for pride,<br> Is stouter of the two.<br> And, though you with your utmost skill<br> From labour could not wean them,<br> 'Tis little, very little--all<br> That they can do between them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Few months of life has he in store<br> As he to you will tell,<br> For still, the more he works, the more<br> Do his weak ankles swell.<br> My gentle Reader, I perceive,<br> How patiently you've waited,<br> And now I fear that you expect<br> Some tale will be related.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O Reader! had you in your mind<br> Such stores as silent thought can bring,<br> O gentle Reader! you would find<br> A tale in every thing.<br> What more I have to say is short,<br> And you must kindly take it:<br> It is no tale; but, should you think,<br> Perhaps a tale you'll make it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> One summer-day I chanced to see<br> This old Man doing all he could<br> To unearth the root of an old tree,<br> A stump of rotten wood.<br> The mattock tottered in his hand;<br> So vain was his endeavour,<br> That at the root of the old tree<br> He might have worked for ever.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;You're overtasked, good Simon Lee,<br> Give me your tool,&quot; to him I said;<br> And at the word right gladly he<br> Received my proffered aid.<br> I struck, and with a single blow<br> The tangled root I severed,<br> At which the poor old Man so long<br> And vainly had endeavoured.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The tears into his eyes were brought,<br> And thanks and praises seemed to run<br> So fast out of his heart, I thought<br> They never would have done.<br> --I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds<br> With coldness still returning;<br> Alas! the gratitude of men<br> Hath oftener left me mourning.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540106" data-title="Simon Lee: The Old Huntsman de William Wordsworth" data-description=". With an incident in which he was concerned
 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.
 For five-and-thirty years he lived
 A running huntsman merry;
 And s..."></div>
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