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And fix on it a steady view,
And some had sworn an oath that she
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! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery!"
WE ARE SEVEN.
A simple child, dear brother Jim,
I met a little cottage Girl:
She had a rustic, woodland air,
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
"And where are they ? I pray you tell."
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
Then did the little Maid reply,
"You run about, my little Maid,
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
My stockings there I often knit,