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 cluster�d 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.
�Two of us in the church-yard lie,
�My sister and my brother,
�And in the church-yard cottage, I
�Dwell near them with my mother.�
�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,
�Then ye are only five.�
�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 -
�I 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.
�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!�
