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A SIMPLE child, dear brother Jim,
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 cluster'd 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 church-yard lie,
“ My sister and my brother, ..'
" And in the church-yard cottage, I
" Dwell near them with my mother."

6 Yet

• You say that two at Conway dwell, . And two are gone to sea,

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 church-yard lie,
“ Beneath the church-yard tree.”.

· You run about, my little maid, • Your limbs they are alive;

If two are in the church-yard laid, : • Then

ye are only five.'

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“ Their graves are green, they may be seen, (The little Maid replied) “Twelve steps ormore 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.

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" The first that died was little Jane;
“ In bed she moaning lay,
“ Till Göd released her of her pain,
" And then she went away.

“ So in the church-yard she was laid,
“ And all the summer 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."!

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How many are you then,' said I, • If they two are in Heaven?" The little Maiden did reply, 66 O Master! we are seven.

c*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!”

LINES

WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING,

I HEARD å thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclin'd,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What Man has made of Man.

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Through primrose-tufts, in that sweet bower
The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths;
And 'tis
my faith that

every

flower Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopp'd and play'd:
Their thoughts I cannot measure,
But the least motion which they made
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air,
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If I these thoughts may not prevent,
If such be of my creed the plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What Man has made of Man?

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