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And fix on it a steady view,
look on it, 'tis plain The baby looks at you again.
And some had sworn an oath that she
But all do still aver
The little babe is buried there,
I cannot tell how this
be: But plain it is, the Thorn is bound With heavy tufts of moss, that strive To drag it to the ground. And this I know, full many a time, When she was on the mountain high, By day, and in the silent night, When all the stars shone clear and bright, That I have heard her cry, “Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery !"
WE ARE SEVEN.
A simple child, dear brother Jim,
I met a little cottage Girl :
many That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
“ 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,
“You say that two at Conway dwell,
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,