VIII

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VIII

When he had learnt what thing it was,

That sent this rueful cry; I ween,

The Boy recovered heart, and told

The sight which he had seen.

Both gladly now deferred their task;

Nor was there wanting other aid⁠—

A Poet, one who loves the brooks

Far better than the sages’ books,

By chance had thither strayed;

And there the helpless Lamb he found

By those huge rocks encompassed round.