'The wished-for wind was given :-I then revolved And, if no worthier led the way, resolved 'Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang The paths which we had trod-these fountains, flowers, 'But should suspense permit the Foe to cry, 'And Thou, though strong in love, art all too weak In reason, in self-government too slow; I counsel thee by fortitude to seek Our blest reunion in the shades below. The invisible world with thee hath sympathized: 'Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears! Round the dear Shade she would have clung-'tis vain: The hours are past-too brief had they been years; And him no mortal effort can detain: Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day, Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved, Yet tears to human suffering are due; 394 WE ARE SEVEN A SIMPLE Child, That lightly draws its breath, I met a little cottage Girl: She was eight years old, she said; She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad: 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; 'Two of us in the church-yard lie, 'You say that two at Conway dwell, Then did the little maid reply, 'You run above, my little Maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the church-yard 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, And sing a song to them. 395 'And often after sun-set, Sir, 'The first that died was sister Jane; Till God released her of her pain; 'So in the church-yard she was laid; '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?' 'But they are dead; those two are dead! 'Twas throwing words away; for still LUCY I SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways A maid whom there were none to praise, A violet by a mossy stone She lived unknown, and few could know But she is in her grave, and, O! The difference to me! II I travell❜d among unknown men 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Among thy mountains did I feel And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd The bowers where Lucy play'd; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes survey'd. III Three years she grew in sun and shower; Then Nature said, 'A lovelier flower On earth was never sown: This child I to myself will take; |