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And fix on it a steady view,
The shadow of a babe you trace,
A baby and a baby's face,
And that it looks at you;
Whene'er you look on it, 'tis plain
The baby looks at you again.


And some had sworn an oath that she

Should be to public justice brought; And for the little infant's bones With spades they would have sought. But then the beauteous Hill of moss Before their eyes began to stir ; And for full fifty yards around, The grass it shook upon the ground; But all do still aver The little babe is buried there, Beneath that Hill of moss so fair,



I cannot tell how this

may But plain it is, the Thorn is bound With heavy tufts of moss, that strive To drag it to the ground. And this I know, full many a time, When she was on the mountain high, By day, and in the silent night, When all the stars shone clear and bright, That I have heard her cry, “Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery!"


A simple child, dear brother Jim,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

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.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad ;
Her eyes were fair, and very fair ;
Her beauty made me glad.

“ 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.

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Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother ;
And in the church-yard cottage I
Dwell near them with



“ You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
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 church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."

“ You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,

ye 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.

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