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He loosed his hold, and his English heart,

Took part with the dead before him;

And he honoured the brave who died sword in hand, As with softened brow he bent o'er him.

"A soldier's death thou hast boldly died,
A soldier's grave won by it;

Before I would take that sword from thy hand,
My own life's-blood should dye it.

"Thou shalt not be left for the carrion crow,
Or the wolf to fatten o'er thee;

Or the coward insult the gallant dead,
Who in life had trembled before thee!"

Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth,
Where his warrior foe was sleeping;
And he laid him there in honour and rest,
With his sword in his own brave keeping.
L. E. LANDON.

VII

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

They grew in beauty side by side,

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They filled one home with glee;
Their graves lie severed, far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night,
O'er each fair sleeping brow:
She had each folded flower in sight-
Where are those dreamers now?

One, 'midst the forests of the West,
By a dark stream is laid.

The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.

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One sleeps where southern vines are drest
Above the noble slain :

He wrapt his colours round his breast,
On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fanned;
She faded 'midst Italian flowers,
The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest, who played
Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they prayed
Around one parent knee;

They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheered with song the hearth!

Alas, for love! if thou wert all,

And nought beyond, O Earth!

F. HEMANS.

VIII

"WE ARE SEVEN."

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.

"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

My sister and my brother;

And in the churchyard cottage, I

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Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea,

And yet you 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 churchyard lie
Beneath the churchyard tree."

"You run about, my little maid;
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then you 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;
My kerchief there I hem ;
And there upon the ground I sit,
I sit and sing to them;

"And often in the evening, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

"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 the 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."

"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.'

WORDSWORTH.

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