WE ARE SEVEN. A simple child, That lightly draws its breath, I met a little cottage Girl : She was eight years old, she said; That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, Her eyes were fair, and very fair; "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two are gone to sea. "Two of us in the churchyard lie, And, in the churchyard cottage, I "You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell, Then did the little Maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little Maid, If two are in the churchyard laid, "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little Maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit- "And often after sunset, Sir, "The first that died was little Jane ; Till God released her of her pain; "So in the churchyard she was laid; Together round her grave we played, "And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, "How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in Heaven?" The little Maiden did reply, "O Master! we are seven.' "" "But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in Heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away: for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven !" LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE. OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray: No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; -The sweetest thing that ever grew You yet may spy the fawn at play, But the sweet face of Lucy Gray To-night will be a stormy night- And take a lantern, Child, to light "That, Father! will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon The Minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the Moon." At this the Father raised his hook, And snapped a faggot-band; He plied his work ;-and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke. The snow came on before its time: She wandered up and down; The wretched parents all that night But there was neither sound nor sight At day-break on a hill they stood And thence they saw the bridge of wood, They wept-and, turning homeward, cried, "In Heaven we all shall meet : -When in the snow the mother spied Half breathless from the steep hill's edge And then an open field they crossed: The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; They followed from the snowy bank And further there were none ! -Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. |