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A simple child, dear brother Jim,
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That lightly draws its breath,
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And feels its life in every limb,
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What should it know of death?
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I met a little cottage girl,
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She was eight years old, she said;
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Her hair was thick with many a curl
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That cluster'd round her head.
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She had a rustic, woodland air,
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And she was wildly clad;
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Her eyes were fair, and very fair,
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—Her beauty made me glad.
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"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
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"How many may you be?"
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"How many? seven in all," she said,
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And wondering looked at me.
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"And where are they, I pray you tell?"
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She answered, "Seven are we,
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"And two of us at Conway dwell,
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"And two are gone to sea.
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"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
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"My sister and my brother,
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"And in the church-yard cottage, I
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"Dwell near them with my mother."
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"You say that two at Conway dwell,
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"And two are gone to sea,
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"Yet you are seven; I pray you tell
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"Sweet Maid, how this may be?"
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Then did the little Maid reply,
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"Seven boys and girls are we;
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"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
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"Beneath the church-yard tree."
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"You run about, my little maid,
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"Your limbs they are alive;
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"If two are in the church-yard laid,
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"Then ye are only five."
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"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
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The little Maid replied,
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"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
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"And they are side by side.
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"My stockings there I often knit,
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"My 'kerchief there I hem;
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"And there upon the ground I sit—
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"I sit and sing to them.
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"And often after sunset, Sir,
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"When it is light and fair,
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"I take my little porringer,
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"And eat my supper there.
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"The first that died was little Jane;
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"In bed she moaning lay,
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"Till God released her of her pain,
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"And then she went away.
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"So in the church-yard she was laid,
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"And all the summer dry,
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"Together round her grave we played,
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"My brother John and I.
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"And when the ground was white with snow,
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"And I could run and slide,
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"My brother John was forced to go,
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"And he lies by her side."
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"How many are you then," said I,
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"If they two are in Heaven?"
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The little Maiden did reply,
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"O Master! we are seven."
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"But they are dead; those two are dead!
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"Their spirits are in heaven!"
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'Twas throwing words away; for still
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The little Maid would have her will,
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