SIMON LEE, tSMAN, It IN rong>

    In t shire of Cardigan,

    Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,

    An old man dtle man,

    Ive all.

    Of years he has upon his back,

    No doubt, a burty;

    en,

    But oty.

    A long blue livery-coat has he,

    ts fair behind, and fair before;

    Yet, meet him where you will, you see

    At once t he is poor.

    Full ?ve and ty years he lived

    A running sman merry;

    And, t one eye left,

    his cheek is like a cherry.

    No man like he horn could sound.

    And no man was so full of glee;

    to say t, four counties round

    had heard of Simon Lee;

    ers dead, and no one now

    Dhe hall of Ivor;

    Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;

    he sole survivor.

    ing feats

    Of  eye, as you may see:

    And t limbs ts

    to poor old Simon Lee!

    he has no son, he has no child,

    his wife, an aged woman,

    Lives erfall,

    Upon the village common.

    And he is lean and he is sick,

    tle bodys half awry

    hick

    hin and dry.

    tle knew

    Of illage;

    And nohough weak,

    --t in the village.

    ry could outrun,

    Could leave both man and horse behind;

    And often, ere the race was done,

    one-blind.

    And still the world

    At w rejoices;

    For w,

    heir voices!

    Old Rut of doors h him,

    And does  do;

    For s over stout of limb,

    Is stouter of two.

    And tmost skill

    From labour could not hem,

    Alas! tis very little, all

    hem.

    Beside t of clay,

    Not ty paces from the door,

    A scrap of land t they

    Are poorest of the poor.

    th

    Enclosed wronger;

    But o them,

    ill no longer?

    Feore,

    As o you ell,

    For still, the more

    his poor old ancles swell.

    My gentle reader, I perceive

    iently youve ed,

    And Im afraid t you expect

    Some tale ed.

    O reader! had you in your mind

    Sucores as silent t can bring,

    O gentle reader! you would ?nd

    A tale in every thing.

    more I o say is s,

    I ake it;

    It is no tale; but shink,

    Perale youll make it.

    One summer-day I co see

    this old man doing all he could

    About t of an old tree,

    A stump of rotten wood.

    ttock totterd in his hand;

    So vain was his endeavour

    t at t of tree

    have worked for ever.

    quot;Youre overtasked, good Simon Lee,

    Give me your toolquot; to him I said;

    And at t gladly he

    Received my profferd aid.

    I struck, and h a single blow

    tangled root I severd,

    At whe poor old man so long

    And vainly had endeavourd.

    tears into ,

    And to run

    So fast out of , I t

    they never would have done.

    --Ive s unkind, kind deeds

    itill returning.

    Alas! titude of men

    ner left me mourning.