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How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and
May my fears,
My filial fears, be vain! and may the vaunts
On the green sheep-track, up the heathy hill,
This burst of prospect, here the shadowy Main,
Sisters! I from Ireland came!
The house-stream met the flame and hiss'd,
On some of those old bed-rid nurses,
They shall tear him limb from limb!
O thankless beldames and untrue!
An eight years' work?-Away! away!
Cling to him everlastingly.
All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
And feed his sacred flame.
Oft in my waking dreams do I
The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,
She leant against the armed man,
Amid the lingering light.
Few sorrows hath she of her own,
The songs that make her grieve.
I play'd a soft and doleful air,
She listen'd with a flitting blush,
I told her of the Knight that wore
I told her how he pin'd; and ah!
Interpreted my own.
She listen'd with a flitting blush,
Too fondly on her face!
But when I told the cruel scorn
That craz'd that bold and lovely Knight,
That sometimes from the savage den,
In green and sunny glade,
There came and look'd him in the face
This miserable Knight!
And that unknowing what he did,
And how she wept, and claspt his knees;
The scorn that crazed his brain.
A dying man he lay.
His dying words-but when I reach'd
All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve;
The rich and balmy eve;
And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
Subdued and cherish'd long!
She wept with pity and delight,
I heard her breathe my name.
She half enclosed me with her arms,
I calm'd her fears, and she was calm,
My bright and beauteous bride.
WE ARE SEVEN.
A simple child
That lightly draws its breath,
She was eight years old, she said;
She had a rustic, woodland air,
"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
"How many? Seven in all," she said,
"And where are they? I pray you tell."
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell,
If two are in the church-yard laid,
"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,
And there upon the ground I sit-
And often after sun-set, sir,
The first that died was little Jane;
Till God released her of her pain;
So in the church-yard she was laid;
Together round her grave we played,
And when the ground was white with snow,
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! Their spirits are in Heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away: for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are Seven!"
Towards the lamb she looked; and from that shady place
I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face: If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring, [sing. Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might
"What ails thee, young one? What? Why pull [board
so at thy cord?
Is it not well with thee? Well both for bed and 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?
[art: Thy limbs, are they not strong? And beautiful thou This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers;
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 [come here
not fearThe rain and storm are things which scarcely can "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: [roam?
A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou 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
"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they [plough;
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold [fold.
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy
"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 This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; [feet, And it seemed, 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; "Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong, [such a tone, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with That I almost received her heart into my own.”
THE IDLE SHEPHERD BOYS,
The valley rings with mirth and joy;
The magpie chatters with delight;
Beneath a rock, upon the grass, Two boys are sitting in the sun; It seems they have no work to do Or that their work is 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, Their rusty hats they trim: And thus, as happy as the day, Those shepherds wear the time away.
Along the river's stony marge
That plaintive cry! which up the hill