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 church-yard she was laid,
And all the summer dry,
Together round her 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.

36. THE FAIRY QUEEN'S LULLABY.

Ye spotted snakes, with double tongue,
Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen,
Newts and blindworms, do no wrong,
Come not near our fairy queen.

Weaving spiders, come not here,

Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence! Beetles black, approach not near;

Worm nor snail, do no offence,

Philomel! [1] with melody,

Sing in your sweet lullaby.
Lulla, lulla, lullaby;

Never charm, or spell, or harm,
Come our lovely lady nigh,

So, good night! with lullaby.

Shakspere.

37. THE GLADNESS OF NATURE.

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,

When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad,

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

There are notes of joy from the blackbird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

The clouds are at play in the azure space,

And their shadows sport on the bright green vale,

And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there, there they roll in the easy gale. [1] Philomel-nightingale.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,

There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,

And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles
On the dewy earth, that smiles in his ray,
On the leaping waters and gay young isles,
Ay, look, and he'll smile all thy gloom away.

W. C. Bryant.

38. THE FIRST SWALLOW.

The gorse is yellow on the heath;
The banks with speed-well flowers are gay;
The oaks are budding, and beneath,
The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath,
The silver wreath of May.

The welcome guest of settled spring,
The swallow, too, is come at last;
Just at sunset, when thrushes sing,
I saw her dash with rapid wing,
And hailed her as she past.

Come, summer visitant, attach
To my reed roof your nest of clay,
And let my ear your music catch,
Low twittering underneath the thatch,
At the grey dawn of day.

Charlotte Smith.

39. THE MISER AND THE MOUSE.

FROM THE GREEK.

A miser, traversing his house,
Espied, unusual there, a mouse,
And thus his uninvited guest,
Briskly inquisitive, address'd:

Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it
I owe this unexpected visit?"

The mouse her host obliquely [1] eyed
And, smiling, pleasantly replied:

Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard! I come to lodge, and not to board!"

Cowper.

40.-EPITAPH ON A HERO.

Here lies one who never drew
Blood himself, yet many slew;
Gave the gun its aim, and figure
Made in field, yet ne'er pull'd trigger.
Armed men have gladly made
Him their guide, and him obey'd;
At his signified desire,

Would advance, present and fire.
Stout he was, and large of limb,
Scores have fled at sight of him ;
And to all this fame he rose
By only following his nose.
Neptune was he call'd, not he
Who controls the boisterous sea,

[!] With a sort of arch, sidelong glance.

But of happier command,
Neptune of the furrow'd land;

And your wonder vain to shorten,

Pointer [1] to Sir John Throckmorton. [2]

Cowper.

41. THE FAKENHAM GHOST.

The lawns were dry in Euston park ;
(Here truth [8] inspires my tale),
The lonely footpath, still and dark,
Led over hill and dale.

Benighted was an ancient dame,
And fearful haste she made
To gain the vale of Fakenham, [4]
And hail its willow shade.

Her footsteps knew no idle stops,
But followed faster still;

And echoed to the darksome copse
That whisper'd on the hill,

Where clam'rous rooks, yet scarcely hushed,
Bespoke a peopled shade;

And many a wing the foliage brush'd,

And hovering circuits made.

[1] Pointer-a dog that by its peculiar gestures points out the game to the sportsman.

[2] A friend of Cowper, who lived at Weston, near Olney, Buckinghamshire.

[3] This ballad is founded on fact.

[4] Fakenham-a village in Suffolk.