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" Elſe ſoon, too ſoon, your hapleſs fate ſhall be,
" Like me to ſuffer, to depart like me.
" On your dear native land, from whenee I part,
" Reſt the beſt bleſſing of a broken heart.
" If in ſome future hour, the foe ſhould land
" His hoſtile legions on Britannia's ſtrand,
" May ſhe not then th' alarum found in vain,
" Nor miſs her baniſhed thouſands on the plain.
" Feed on, my ſheep, for though depriv'd of me,
" My cruel foes ſhall your protectors be,
" For their own ſakes, ſhall pen your ſtraggling flocks,
" And ſave your lambkins from the rav'ning fox.
" Feed on, my goats, another now ſhall drain
" Your ſtreams that heal diſeaſe and ſoften pain;
" No ſtreams, alas! can ever, ever flow,
" To heal your maſter's heart, or ſoothe his woe.
" Feed on, my flocks, ye harmleſs people, feed,
" The worſt that ye can ſuffer is to bleed.
" O! that the murderer's ſteel were all my fear!
" How fondly would I ſtay to periſh here-
" But, hark! My ſons loud call me from the vale,
" And, lo! the veſſel ſpreads the ſwelling ſail.
" Farewel! Farewel!"-A while his hands he wrung,
And o'er his cook in ſpeechleſs ſorrow hung,
Then caſting many a ling'ring look behind,
Down the ſteep mountain's brow began to wind.
