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Green pastures she views in the midst of the

dale,

Down which she so often has tripped with her pail ;

And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade,

The mist and the river, the hill and the shade : The stream will not flow, and the hill will not

rise,

And the colours have all passed away from her eyes.

1797.

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 a 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,

Yet ye 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 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,

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?”
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!"

1798.

THE COMPLAINT

OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN.

When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow or overtake them, he perishes alone in the desert, unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, Hearne's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean." In the high northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northern lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem.

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I.

"BEFORE I see another day,
Oh, let my body die away!

In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
The stars were mingled with my dreams;
In rustling conflict through the skies,
I heard, I saw the flashes drive,

And yet they are upon my eyes,
And yet I am alive;

Before I see another day,

Oh, let my body die away!

II.

My fire is dead: it knew no pain;
Yet is it dead, and I remain.
All stiff with ice the ashes lie;
And they are dead, and I will die.

When I was well, I wished to live,

For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire,
But they to me no joy can give,

No pleasure now, and no desire.
Then here contented will I lie !
Alone I cannot fear to die.

III.

Alas! ye might have dragged me on

Another day, a single one!

Too soon I yielded to despair ;

Why did ye listen to my prayer?

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