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'The wished-for wind was given:-I then revolved
The oracle, upon the silent sea;

And, if no worthier led the way, resolved
That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be
The foremost prow in pressing to the strand,—
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.

'Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang
When of thy loss I thought, beloved Wife!
On thee too fondly did my memory hang,
And on the joys we shared in mortal life,-

The paths which we had trod-these fountains, flowers,
My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers.

But should suspense permit the Foe to cry,
'Behold, they tremble!-haughty their array,
Yet of their number no one dares to die!'-
In scul I swept the indignity away:
Old frailties then recurred:-but lofty thought,
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.

'And Thou, though strong in love, art all too weak In reason, in self-government too slow;

I counsel thee by fortitude to seek

Our blest reunion in the shades below.

The invisible world with thee hath sympathized:
Be thy affections raised and solemnized.

'Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend
Seeking a higher object. Love was given,
Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end:
For this the passion to excess was driven-
That self might be annulled: her bondage prove
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love.'-

Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears!

Round the dear Shade she would have clung-'tis vain: The hours are past-too brief had they been years; And him no mortal effort can detain:

Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,
He through the portal takes his silent way,
And on the palace floor a lifeless corse She lay.

Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved,
She perished; and, as for a wilful crime,
By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved,
Was doomed to wear out her appointed time,
Apart from happy Ghosts-that gather flowers
Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.

Yet tears to human suffering are due;
And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown
Are mourned by man, and not by man alone,
As fondly he believes.-Upon the side.
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained)
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew
From out the tomb of him for whom she died;
And ever, when such stature they had gained
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,
The trees' tall summits withered at the sight;
A constant interchange of growth and blight!

394

WE ARE SEVEN

A SIMPLE Child,

That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:

She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a cur!
That clustered round her head.

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 church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard 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 church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree.'

'You run above, my little Maid, Your limbs they are alive;

If two are in the church-yard 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 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,

And sing a song to them.

'And often after sun-set, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

'The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,

Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.

'So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was 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?'
Quick was the little Maid's 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!'

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SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove;

A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love.

A violet by a mossy stone
Half-hidden from the eye!
-Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, O!

The difference to me!

II

I travell'd among unknown men
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time, for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;

And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheei
Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd

The bowers where Lucy play'd;

And thine too is the last green field

That Lucy's eyes survey'd.

III

Three years she grew in sun and shower;

Then Nature said, 'A lovelier flower

On earth was never sown:

This child I to myself will take;

She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.

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