"Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" 15" How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. “And where arc they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we ; And two of us at Conway dwell, 20 And two are gone to sea. "Two of us in the churchyard lie, 25" You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell, Then did the little Maid reply, 30" 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; 35 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, 40 And they are side by side. 160 66 My stockings there I often knit, And there upon the ground I sit 45" And often after sunset, Sir, And eat my supper there. "The first that died was sister Jane; 50 In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain; And then she went away. "So in the churchyard she was laid; 55 Together round her grave we played, "And when the ground was white with snow And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, 60 And he lies by her side." "How many are you, then," said I, 65 "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, 66 Nay, we are seven!" THE PET LAMB. A PASTORAL. Barbara Lewthwaite, now residing at Ambleside (1843) though much changed as to beauty, was one of two most lovely sisters, [but she] was not in fact the child whom I had seen and overheard as engaged in the poem. THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice; it said, " Drink, pretty creature, drink!" And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied side. 5 Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone, And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal. The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, 10 Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook. "Drink, pretty creature, drink!" she said, in such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own. 'T was little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare! I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair. 162 15 Now with her empty can the maiden turned away, But ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps did she stay. Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a I unobserved could see the workings of her face: bring, 20 Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing: "What ails thee, young one? what? Why pull so at thy cord? Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be; Rest, little young one, rest; what is 't that aileth thee? 25" What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart? Thy limbs, are they not strong? And beautiful thou art: This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers; And that green cord all day is rustling in thy ears! "If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain, 30 This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear, The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here. "Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away; 35 Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone. "He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home: A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam ? A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean 40 Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been. "Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, I bring thee draughts of milk, and new. warm milk it is 45 "Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough; |