| He all the country could outrun,
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| Could leave both man and horse behind;
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| And often, ere the chase was done,
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| He reeled, and was stone-In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
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| Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
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| An old Man dwells, a little man,
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| 'Tis said he once was tall.
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| For five-and-thirty years he lived
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| A running huntsman merry;
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| And still the centre of his cheek
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| Is red as a ripe cherry.
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| No man like him the horn could sound,
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| And hill and valley rang with glee
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| When Echo bandied, round and round
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| The halloo of Simon Lee.
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| In those proud days, he little cared
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| For husbandry or tillage;
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| To blither tasks did Simon rouse
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| The sleepers of the village.
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| He all the country could outrun,
|
| Could leave both man and horse behind;
|
| And often, ere the chase was done,
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| He reeled, and was stone-blind.
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| And still there’s something in the world
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| At which his heart rejoices;
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| For when the chiming hounds are out,
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| He dearly loves their voices!
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| But, oh the heavy change! |
| bereft
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| Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see!
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| Old Simon to the world is left
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| In liveried poverty.
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| His Master’s deadand no one now
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| Dwells in the Hall of Ivor;
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| Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;
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| He is the sole survivor.
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| And he is lean and he is sick;
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| His body, dwindled and awry,
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| Rests upon ankles swoln and thick;
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| His legs are thin and dry.
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| One prop he has, and only one,
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| His wife, an aged woman,
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| Lives with him, near the waterfall,
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| Upon the village Common. |