"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 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 churchyard she was laid; And, when the grass was 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 say, "Nay, we are seven."
Young Lucy Payne lives on the Village Green; Mary, you know the cottage, I am sure, Under the hawthorn! 'Tis so neat and clean, Though Widow Payne, alas! is blind and poor.
She plies her needles, and she plies them well, And Lucy never spends an idle hour; On market days their mits and socks they sell, And thus their balls of worsted turn to flour.
I pass'd one morning by their cottage door; Lucy was talking to a little child, A ragged thing that lives upon the moor; It's parents leave it to run rude and wild.
Hanger had tamed the little wilding thing, It's cheeks were hollow, but it's air was light; Young Lucy did not know I saw her bring That porringer she kept so clean and bright.