He loosed his hold, and his English heart, Took part with the dead before him; And he honoured the brave who died sword in hand, As with softened brow he bent o'er him. "A soldier's death thou hast boldly died, Before I would take that sword from thy hand, "Thou shalt not be left for the carrion crow, Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth, VII THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. They grew in beauty side by side, They filled one home with glee; The same fond mother bent at night, One, 'midst the forests of the West, The Indian knows his place of rest, The sea - the blue lone sea. hath one; He lies where pearls lie deep; He was the loved of all, yet none O'er his low bed may weep. One sleeps where southern vines are drest He wrapt his colours round his breast, And one-o'er her the myrtle showers And parted thus they rest, who played They that with smiles lit up the hall, And nought beyond, O Earth! F. HEMANS. VIII "WE ARE SEVEN." 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. "Sisters and brothers, little maid, "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, And yet you are seven; I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be." Then did the little maid reply, "You run about, my little maid; "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 ; "And often in the evening, sir, I take my little porringer, "The first that died was little Jane; Till God released her of her pain; "So in the churchyard she was laid, And, all the summer dry, Together round the 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, "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; WORDSWORTH. |