Could leave both man and horse behind;

And at the word right gladly he

Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,

I hope youll kindly take it;

Are poorest of the poor.

O gentle reader! you would ?nd

What more I have to say is short,

Alas! the gratitude of men

Of husbandry or tillage;

And vainly had endeavourd.

His cheek is like a cherry.

His hunting feats have him bereft

--Ive heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds

Not twenty paces from the door,

And Im afraid that you expect

About the root of an old tree,

In the sweet shire of Cardigan,

How patiently youve waited,

O reader!ｈttｐｓ://reａd.9９ｃsw•com had you in your mind

Had heard of Simon Lee;

Few months of life has he in store,

Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,

Which they can till no longer?

With coldness still returning.

Which they can do between them.

His ancles they are swoln and thick

His wife, an aged woman,

This scrap of land he from the heath

But others say hes eighty.

And thanks and praises seemed to run

When he was young he little knew

And, though he has but one eye left,

He all the country could outrun,

From labour could not wean them,

Ive heard he once was tall.

Of years 九*九*藏*書he has upon his back,

His little bodys half awry

It is no tale; but should you think,

Upon the village common.

Some tale will be related.

The tears into his eyes were brought,

I struck, and with a single blow

A scrap of land they have, but they

No doubt, a burthen weighty;

Of his right eye, as you may see:

Is stouter of the two.

Enclosed when he was stronger;

To poor old Simon Lee!

Alas! tis very little, all

A stump of rotten wood.

And then, what limbs those feats have left

Received my profferd aid.

No man like him the horn could sound.

And now hes forced tohｔtｐｓ://ｒｅad•9９ｃｓｗ•cｏm work, though weak,

"Youre overtasked, good Simon Lee,

The mattock totterd in his hand;

And though you with your utmost skill

So fast out of his heart, I thought

My gentle reader, I perceive

At which the poor old man so long

And often, ere the race was done,

Lives with him, near the waterfall,

Dwells in the hall of Ivor;

He has no son, he has no child,

His poor old ancles swell.

Thats fair behind, and fair before;

His masters dead, and no one now

Full ?ve and twenty years he lived

Has oftner left me mourning.

He is the sole survivor.

He says he is three九*九*藏*書 score and ten,

That at the root of the old tree

But what avails the land to them,

And no man was so full of glee;

Old Ruth works out of doors with him,

His legs are thin and dry.

He might have worked for ever.

An old man dwells, a little man,

Perhaps a tale youll make it.

A tale in every thing.

As he to you will tell,

At which his heart rejoices;

And still theres something in the world

For still, the more he works, the more

He reeled and was stone-blind.

And he is lean and he is sicread.99csw.cｏmk,

Yet, meet him where you will, you see

A running huntsman merry;

One summer-day I chanced to see

--The weakest in the village.

Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;

Such stores as silent thought can bring,

To say the least, four counties round

At once that he is poor.

They never would have done.

For when the chiming hounds are out,

The tangled root I severd,

A long blue livery-coat has he,

And does what Simon cannot do;

He dearly loves their voices!

So vain was his endeavour

For she, not over stout of limb,

Give me your tool" to him I said;

This old man doing all he could