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.

WE ARE SEVEN.

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 & 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,

pray you tell,

Yet ye are seven ! I
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 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, -
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,