"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the churchyard 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 churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."

"How many are you then," said 1,
"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!"

TO THE DAISY.

In youth from rock to rock I went,
From hill to hill, in discontent,
Of pleasure high and turbulent,

Most pleased when most uneasy;
But now my own delights I make.—
My thirst at every rill can slake,
And gladly Nature's love partake
Of thee, sweet Daisy !

When soothed a while by milder airs,
Thee Winter in the garland wears
That thinly shades his few grey hairs;
Spring cannot shun thee;

Whole Summer fields are thine by right:
And Autumn, melancholy wight!
Doth in thy crimson head delight

When rains are on thee.

In shoals and bands, a morrice train,
Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane;
If welcomed once thou count'st it gain;
Thou art not daunted,

Nor carest if thou be set at naught:
And oft alone in nooks remote

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.

Be violets in their secret mews

The flowers the wanton zephyrs choose;
Proud be the rose, with rains and dews
Her head impearling;

Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim,
Yet hast not gone without thy fame;
Thou art indeed, by many a claim,
The poet's darling!

A PORTRAIT.

SHE was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes are stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful dawn ;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too!

Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles
And now I see, with eye serene,

The very pulse of the machine;

A being breathing thoughtful breath,

A traveller betwixt life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command ;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light.

ODE TO DUTY.

STERN daughter of the voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove :
Thou who art victory and law,

When empty terrors overawe;

From vain temptations dost set free;

And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad hearts! without reproach or blot;

Who do thy work, and know it not:

May joy be theirs while life shall last!

And thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!

Serene will be our days and bright,

And happy will our nature be,

When love is an unerring light,

And joy its own security.

And blest are they who in the main

This faith, even now, do entertain:

Live in the spirit of this creed;

Yet find that other strength, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,

Too blindly have reposed my trust :
Full oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred

The task imposed, from day to day;

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

TO SLEEP.

O GENTLE SLEEP! do they belong to thee-
These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love
To sit in meekness, like the brooding dove.
A captive never wishing to be free.
This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me
A fly, that up and down himself doth shove
Upon a fretful rivulet, now above,

Now on the water vexed with mockery.
I have no pain that calls for patience, no;
Hence I am cross and peevish as a child:
And pleased by fits to have thee for my foe,
Yet ever willing to be reconciled:

O gentle creature! do not use me so,
But once and deeply let me be beguiled!

YARROW VISITED.

AND is this-Yarrow?-This the stream
Of which my fancy cherish'd,

So faithfully, a waking dream?
An image that hath perish'd!

O that some minstrel's harp were near,
To utter notes of gladness,
And chase this silence from the air,
That fills my heart with sadness!

Yet why?—a silvery current flows
With uncontrolled meanderings;
Nor have these eyes by greener hills
Been soothed, in all my wanderings.
And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake
Is visibly delighted;

For not a feature of those hills

Is in the mirror slighted.

A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow Vale,

Save where that pearly whiteness
Is round the rising sun diffused,
A tender hazy brightness;

Mild dawn of promise! that excludes
All profitless dejection;

Though not unwilling here to admit

A pensive recollection.

Where was it that the famous Flower
Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding?

His bed perchance was yon smooth mound
On which the herd is feeding;
And haply from this crystal pool,

Now peaceful as the morning,

The water-wraith ascended thrice--
his doleful warning.

And

gave

Delicious is the lay that sings

The haunts of happy lovers,

The path that leads them to the grove,

The leafy grove that covers:

And pity sanctifies the verse

That paints, by strength of sorrow,

The unconquerable strength of love;
Bear witness, rueful Yarrow!

FROM INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY."
THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it has been of yore;-
Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more!

The rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the rose,

The moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare;

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,

And while the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound.