They followed from the snowy bank
The footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
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.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
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
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 all the summer dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I,
And when the ground was white with
She seemed to live; her thoughts her
Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay,
She passed her time; and in this way
Grew up to woman's height.
Herself her own delight:
There came a youth from Georgia's shore,
A military casque he wore
With splendid feathers dressed;
He brought them from the Cherokees,
The feathers nodded in the breeze,
And made a gallant crest.
From Indian blood you deem him sprung:
Ah! no, he spake the English tongue
And bore a soldier's name;
And, when America was free
From battle and from jeopardy,
He 'cross the ocean came.
With hues of genius on his cheek,
In finest tones the youth could speak.
-While he was yet a boy,
The moon, the glory of the sun,
And streams that murmur as they run,
Had been his dearest joy.
He was a lovely youth! I guess
The panther in the wilderness
Was not so fair as he;
And, when he chose to sport and play,
No dolphin ever was so gay
Upon the tropic sea.
Among the Indians he had fought;
And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear;
Such tales as, told to any maid
By such a youth, in the green shade,
Were perilous to hear.
He told of girls, a happy rout!
Who quit their fold with dance and sho
Their pleasant Indian town,
To gather strawberries all day long;
Returning with a choral song
When daylight is gone down.
He spake of plants divine and strange
That every hour their blossoms change,
Ill befall the yellow flowers,
Children of the flaring hours!
Buttercups that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no ;
Others, too, of lofty mien ;
They have done as worldlings do,
Taken praise that should be thine,
Little, humble Celandine!
Prophet of delight and mirth,
Scorned and slighted upon earth;
Herald of a mighty band,
Of a joyous train ensuing,
Singing at my heart's command,
In the lanes my thoughts pursuing
I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!
TO A SKY-LARK.
Up with me! up with me, into the clouds!
For thy song, Lark, is strong i
Up with me, up with me, into the clouds!
Singing, singing,
With all the heavens about thee ringing.
Lift me, guide me till I find
That spot which seems so to thy mind!
I have walked through wildernesses
dreary,
And to-day my heart is weary;
Had I now the wings of a fairy,
Up to thee would I fly.
There is madness about thee, and joy
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