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WE ARE SEVEN.
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell,
Then did the little maid reply,
"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 often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
The first that died was little Jane;
Till God released her of her pain ;
So in the churchyard she was laid;
My brother John and I.
And when the ground was white with snow,
My brother John was forced to go,
"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
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
HEAR thee speak of the better land;
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
[Of the poetry of FELICIA HEMANS, Scott is related to have deplored that, with so many and such fair blossoms, it had yielded so little fruit. The criticism, though not devoid of truth, was severe. Though Mrs. Hemans, unfortunately, never concentrated her great powers sufficiently to produce a poem displaying all her excellencies, she has achieved an undoubted right to a high rank among English poets. She died in 1835, aged 40.]
THE BETTER LAND.
And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs?' "Not there, not there, my child!
"Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
"Is it far away in some region old,
"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
N Linden, when the sun
All bloodless lay the un
And dark, as winter was
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to
The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast array'd
Then shook the hills, by thunder riven;
[THOMAS CAMPBELL, one of the most distinguished among modern poets, was born at Glasgow in 1777. At the early age of 22 he wrote his fine poem the "Pleasures of Hope;" but it is upon his Odes and Ballads that his fame chiefly rests. Of these, the most universally appreciated are, "Ye Mariners of England," "Lord Ullin's Daughter," and the " Battle of the Baltic." Of the fight of Hohenlinden he was an eyewitness. He died in 1844.]