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 had a rustic, woodland air, 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! 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 When Lucy ceased to be; 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 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; 'Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse: and with me In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, To kindle or restrain. She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And her's shall be the breathing balm, Of mute insensate things. 'The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. 'The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. 'And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give Where she and I together live Thus Nature spake-The work was done How soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. |