[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE INDUSTRIOUS BOY.

In a cottage upon the heath wild,
  That always was cleanly and nice,
Liv’d William, a good little child,
  Who minded his parents’ advice.

’Tis true he lov’d marbles and kite,
  And spin-top, and nine-pins, and ball;
But this I declare with delight,
  His book he loved better than all.

In active and useful employ
  His youth gayly glided away;
While rational pleasures and joy
  Attended his steps every day.

And now let us see him grown up;
  Still cheerfulness dwelt in his mind,
Contentment yet sweeten’d his cup,
  For still he was active and kind.

His garden well loaded with store,
  His cot by the side of the green,
Where woodbines crept over the door. 
  And jessamines peep’d in between.

These fill’d him with honest delight,
  And rewarded him well for his toil: 
He went to bed cheerful at night,
  And woke in the morn with a smile.

[Illustration]

WE ARE SEVEN

BY WM. WORDSWORTH.

     A simple child,
  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.

[Illustration]

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.

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.

You run about, my little maid
  Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
  Then 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;

[Illustration:  The Churchyard.]

And there upon the ground I sit—­
  sit and sing to them.

And often after sunset, sir,
  When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
  And eat my supper there.