Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small;

And through the broken hawthorn-hedge, And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same;

They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

snowy bank

They followed from the
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;

And further there were none !

Yet some maintain that to this day

She is a living child;

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray

Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

1799.

X.

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,
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

The little Maid replied,

seen,"

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,

And sing a song 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 sister 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?" Quick was the little Maid's reply, "O Master! we are seven."

"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, "Nay, we are seven!"

XI.

THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS;

OR, DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE.*

A PASTORAL.

THE valley rings with mirth and joy;
Among the hills the echoes play

A never, never ending song,
To welcome in the May.

The magpie chatters with delight;
The mountain raven's youngling brood
Have left the mother and the nest;
And they go rambling east and west
In search of their own food;
Or through the glittering vapors dart
In very wantonness of heart.

Beneath a rock, upon the grass,
Two boys are sitting in the sun;
Their work, if any work they have,
Is out of mind, or done.

On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas hymn;
Or with that plant which in our dale
We call stag-horn, or fox's tail,

*Ghyll, in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland, is a short, and for the most part a steep, narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally employed in these dialects for waterfall.