WE ARE SEVEN.

A simple child,

That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl :

She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl

That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad :
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
-Her beauty made me glad.

"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 of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the churchyard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,

Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."

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,
Your limbs they are alive;

If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"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—

I sit and sing to them.

"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was little Jane ;
In bed she moaning lay,

Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

"So in the churchyard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide,

My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."

"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:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary Child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,

-The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night—
You to the town must go ;

And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."

"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;

And many a hill did Lucy climb;

But never reached the town.