"And often after sunset, Sir, “The first that died was sister 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?" Quick was the little Maid's reply, "O Master! we are seven." "But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!' 'T was throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!" XI. THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS; OR, DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE.* A PASTORAL. * THE valley rings with mirth and joy ; The magpie chatters with delight; Beneath a rock, upon the grass, Is out of mind, On pipes of sycamore they play *Ghyll, in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland, is a short, and for the most part a steep, narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally employed in these dialects for waterfall. Their rusty hats they trim: And thus, as happy as the day, Along the river's stony marge A thousand lambs are on the rocks, That plaintive cry! which up the hill Said Walter, leaping from the ground, "Down to the stump of yon old yew We'll for our whistles run a race." Away the shepherds flew ; They leapt,they ran,-and when they came Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, Seeing that he should lose the prize, 66 Stop!" to his comrade Walter cries. James stopped with no good will: "Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross,Come on, and tread where I shall tread." The other took him at his word, It was a spot which you may see Into the chasm a mighty block Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock. The gulf is deep below; And, in a basin black and small, Receives a lofty waterfall. With staff in hand across the cleft The middle of the arch. When list! he hears a piteous moan. his heart within him dies; His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost, He totters, pallid as a ghost, And, looking down, espies A lamb, that in the pool is pent The lamb had slipped into the stream, His dam had seen him when he fell, Sent forth a cry forlorn, The lamb, still swimming round and round, Made answer in that plaintive sound. When he had learnt what thing it was And there the helpless lamb he found He drew it from the troubled pool, An unexpected sight! Into their arms the lamb they took, Whose life and limbs the flood had spared; And placed him at his mother's side; Those idle shepherd-boys upbraid, And bade them better mind their trade. |