GEORGE CANNING. That cottage which, with chastest hand, With peace and temperance to dwell, Might tempt a modern saint to dine. Then thus, perceiving my surprise, Which stared confessed through both my eyes, To vindicate her wiser plan, The fair philosopher began "Young gentleman, no doubt you think," And here she paused awhile to drink, "All that you've said is mighty fine But won't you taste a glass of wine? You think these cates are somewhat curious, But such old fograms, Lord preserve us! WRITTEN IN MRS. CREWE'S SCRAP-BOOK. Which, when with moderate force it rages, But, to support some weightier grief, Absurd the plan, with books and study See, then, beneath this roof combined And now, in apt transition, taken Dear Mrs. Crewe, this wondrous knowledge, I ask but this, to show your sorrow 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. WE ARE SEVEN. 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 churchyard lie, "You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet ye are seven!-I pray you tell, Then did the little maid reply, "You run about, my little maid, If two are in the churchyard laid, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. "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, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit- I sit and sing to them. "And often after sunset, Sir, "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." |