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XX. “But what's the Thorn ? and what's the Pond “And what's the Hill of moss to her ? “And what's the creeping breeze that comes “The little Pond to stir 2" I cannot tell; but some will say She hanged her baby on the tree ; Some say, she drowned it in the pond, Which is a little step beyond; But all and each agree, The little babe was buried there, Beneath that Hill of moss so fair.

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I've heard, the moss is spotted red
With drops of that poor infant's blood:
But kill a new-born infant thus !
I do not think the could.
Some say, if to the Pond you go,

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,


XXIII. I cannot tell how this may be, 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 1 oh misery !

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A simple child, dear brother Jim,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death 2

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 2"
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 *

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