Yet some maintain that to this day That you may see sweet Lucy Gray O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. ALICE FELL; OR, POVERTY. THE post-boy drove with fierce career, As if the wind blew many ways, I heard the sound-and more and more; It seemed to follow with the chaise, At length I to the boy called out; The boy then smacked his whip, and fast Said I, alighting on the ground, "My cloak!" the word was last and first, And loud and bitterly she wept, As if her very heart would burst; And down from off her seat she leapt. "What ails you, child?" She sobbed, "Look here!" I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather-beaten rag as e'er From any garden scarecrow dangled. 'Twas twisted between nave and spoke, "And whither are you going, child, She sate like one past all relief: "My child, in Durham do you dwell?" "And I to Durham, sir, belong." The chaise drove on; our journey's end Up to the tavern door we post; "And let it be of duffle gray; 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 ; 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 "You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet ye are seven!-I pray you tell, Then did the little maid reply, "You run about, my little maid, "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- C "And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, "The first that died was little Jane ; Till God released her of her pain; "So in the churchyard 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?" 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 !" |