WE ARE SEVEN.

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"You say that two at Conway dwell, and two are

gone to sea;

Yet you are seven! I pray you tell, 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 you are only five ? "

"Their graves are green, they may be seen," the little maid replied;

"Twelve steps or more from 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.

"And often, after sunset, sir, when it is light and fair, there. I take my little porringer, and eat my supper The first that died was sister Jane; in bed she moan

ing 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: "Oh, master, we are seven!"

"But they are dead-these two are dead, their spirits are in heaven!"

'Twas throwing words away; for still the little maid would have her will,

And say, "Nay! we are seven."

THE PET LAMB.

W. WORDSWORTH.

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

A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its side.

Nor sheep, nor k ne were near; the lamb was all alone,

And by a slender cord was tether'd 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,

Seem'd 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.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!

I watch'd them with delight, they were a lovely pair;

THE PET LAMB.

269

Now with her empty can the maiden turn'd away; But e'er ten yards were gone, her footsteps did she stay.

Right towards the lamb she look'd; and from that shady place

I unobserved could see the workings of her face; If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,

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?

"What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart?

Thy limbs are they not strong? and beautiful thou

art!

This grass peers;

is tender

grass; these flowers they have no

And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.

"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain;

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;

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

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-warm milk it is and

new.

"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!

My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold

Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

"It will not, will not rest!-Poor creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee ?

Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

"Alas! the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!

I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come

there;

The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky Night and day thou art safe, our cottage is hard by.

Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again!

As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,

This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

And it seem'd as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song:

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Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong!

For she look'd with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own."

MOTHER! whose virgin bosom was uncrost
With the least shade of thought to sin allied;
Woman! above all women glorified,

Our tainted nature's solitary boast;
Purer than foam on central ocean tost,

Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn