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And fix on it a steady view,
And some had sworn an oath that she
Should be to public justice brought; And for the little infant's bones With spades they would have sought. But then the beauteous Hill of moss Before their eyes began to stir ; And for full fifty yards around, The grass it shook upon the ground; But all do still aver The little babe is buried there, Beneath that Hill of moss so fair,
I cannot tell how this
may 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:
She had a rustic, woodland air,
“ Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
“ And where are they? I pray you tell.”
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,
ye are only five.”
“ 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,