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THERE, beneath A plain blue stone, a gentle dalesman lies, From whom, in early childhood, was withdrawn The precious gift of hearing. He grew up From year to year in loneliness of soul; And this deep mountain valley was to him Soundless, with all its streams. The bird of dawn Did never rouse this cottager from sleep With startling summons; not for his delight The vernal cuckoo shouted; not for him Murmured the laboring bee.
'Mid stormy winds, The agitated scene before his eye Was silent as a picture; evermore
Were all things silent, wheresoe'er he moved.
Among the jocund reapers.
Were ready comrades whom he could not tire;
Of whose society the blameless man
Was never satiate. Their familiar voice,
Beguiled his leisure hours, and bestowed
Which all acknowledged. The dark winter night,
The powers of nature: and a few short steps
His name, and unambitiously relates
How long, and by what kindly outward aids,
And, at the touch of every wandering breeze,
ON A GIRL,
LEADING HER BLIND MOTHER THROUGH THE WOOD.*
THE green leaves, as we pass,
Lay their light fingers on thee unaware,
Grows green and silken where the wood-paths wind;
The moon's new silver shell
Trembles above thee, and the stars float up
And the swift birds on glorious pinions flee ;-
And the kind looks of friends
Low to thine ear with duty unforgot ;-
But thou canst hear; and love
May richly on a human tone be poured,
A daughter's love may prove ;
And while I speak thou knowest if I smile, Albeit thou canst not see my face the while.
Yes! thou canst hear, and He,
Who on thy sightless eye its darkness hung,
And 'tis a lesson to our hearts to know
WE ARE SEVEN.*
I MET a little cottage girl;
She was eight years old, she said;
She had a rustic; woodland air,
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?
"How many? Seven in all," she said,
And where are they? I pray you tell.
"Two of us in the churchyard lie,
You say that two at Conway dwell,
Yet ye are seven? I pray you tell,
Then did the little maid reply,
You run about, my little maid,
"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;