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 dcor,

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 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."

"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
The little maiden did reply,
"O master! we are seven."

"Gone with the Swan." "And did she stand

With her anchor clutching hold of the sand,
For a month, and never stir?"

"Why, to be sure! I've seen from the land,A Like a lover kissing his lady's hand,

The wild sea kissing her-
A sight to remember, sir."

"But, my good mother, do you know,
All this was twenty years ago?

I stood on the Gray Swan's deck,
And to that lad I saw you throw-
Taking it off, as it might be so-
The kerchief from your neck;
Ay, and he'll bring it back.

"And did the little lawless lad,

That has made you sick and made you sad,
Sail with the Gray Swan's crew?"
"Lawless! the man is going mad;
The best boy ever mother had;

Be sure, he sailed with the crew-
What would you have him do?"

"And he has never written line,
Nor sent you word, nor made you sign,
Το say he was alive?"

"Hold-if 'twas wrong, the wrong is mi
Besides he may be in the brine;

And could he write from the grave
Tut, man! what would you have?

"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."

LUCY GRAY.

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray,
And when I cross'd the wild,
I chanced to see, at break of day,
The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wild moor-
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green,
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night—
You to the town must go;
And take the lantern, child, to light
Your mother through the snow."