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!"
"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!"
LITTLE BIRD! LITTLE BIRD!
"LITTLE bird, little bird, come to me!
I have a green cage ready for thee;
Beauty-bright flowers I'll bring to you,
And fresh ripe cherries all wet with dew."
"Thanks, little maiden, for all thy care,But I dearly love the clear cool air, And my snug little nest in the old oak-tree." "Little bird, little bird, stay with me!"
"Nay, little damsel, away I'll fly
To greener fields and a warmer sky;
When Spring returns with pattering rain,
You will hear my merry song again."
"Little bird, little bird, who'll guide thee
Over the hills and over the sea ?
Foolish one, come in the house to stay;
For I'm very sure you'll lose your way."
"Ah, no, little maiden, God guides me
Over the hills and over the sea;
I will be free as the rushing air,
Chasing the sunlight every where."
Now the sun is going down,
And our toil is nearly done;
When the cool of evening comes,
We will seek our cottage-homes:
There our weary limbs we'll lay
On our bed of rest till day;
Soft and still shall be our sleep,
Under midnight shadows deep.
Our good angel from on high
There shall watch us with his
eye;
Though with toil our sinews slack,
Morning brings their vigour back.
Love and mercy at our side,
Sorrows we may well abide:
Tender ties our life endears,
Overcoming grief and fears.
Ere the morning sun shall rise
Glorious in the eastern skies,
Wandering forth in love and joy,
To our rude but loved employ;
Grateful for our happy days,-
We our morning song shall raise,
Telling to the east and west
How the sons of toil are blessed.
TO A HEDGE-SPARROW.
LITTLE flutterer, swiftly flying,
There is none to harm thee near;
Kite, nor hawk, nor schoolboy prying:
Little flutterer, cease to fear.
One who would protect thee ever
From the schoolboy, kite, and hawk,
Musing now comes near; but never
Dreamt of plunder in his walk.
He no weasel, stealing slily,
Would permit thy eggs to take;
Not the polecat, nor the wily
Adder, nor the writhed snake.
May no cuckoo, wandering near thee,
Lay her egg within thy nest;
Nor thy young ones, born to cheer thee,
Be destroyed by such a guest.
Little flutterer, swiftly flying,
There is none to harm thee near; Kite, nor hawk, nor schoolboy prying: Little flutterer, cease to fear.
THE peacock, with its plumage rare,
Is a holy bird and wise;
For he knoweth that gold is an evil thing,
From which foul thoughts and fancies spring
To blind our mental eyes:
He knoweth it is the seed of sin,
Whose fruit may ripen the soul within;
For, if legends tell true, he will not tread
On the earth of the track that covers its bed.
Yea, the peacock is a wise, wise bird,
To fly o'er the spot where the ore of gold
Is hid 'midst the mould.
But man, with tool, and toil, and word,
And wanton spell, seeks out the mine,
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