Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/383

323 Young Harry was a lusty drover,

And who so stout of limb as he?

His cheeks were red as ruddy clover;

His voice was like the voice of three.

Old Goody Blake was old and poor;

Ill fed she was, and thinly clad;

And any man who pass'd her door

Might see how poor a hut she had.

All day she spun in her poor dwelling:

And then her three hours' work at night!

Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling,

It would not pay for candle-light.

—This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire,—

Her hut was on a cold hill side,

And in that country coals are dear,

For they come far by wind and tide.

By the same fire to boil their pottage,

Two poor old Dames, as I have known,

Will often live in one small cottage;

But she, poor Woman! dwelt alone.

'Twas well enough when summer came,

The long, warm, lightsome summer-day,

Then at her door the canty Dame

Would sit, as any linnet gay.