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 ?" Quick was the little Maid's 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 !" CXIV MEMORY A PEN to register; a key- By allegoric Bards. As aptly, also, might be given That, softening objects, sometimes even 1798 That smoothes foregone distress, the lines And clothes in brighter hues ; Yet, like a tool of Fancy, works Those Spectres to dilate That startle Conscience, as she lurks Within her lonely seat. O! that our lives, which flee so fast, That not an Image of the past Should fear that pencil's touch! Retirement then might hourly look Age steal to his allotted nook With heart as calm as lakes that sleep, CXV LINES Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly expected. LOUD is the Vale! the Voice is up With which she speaks when storms are gone, A mighty unison of streams! Of all her Voices, One! Loud is the Vale;-this inland Depth In peace is roaring like the Sea; Yon star upon the mountain-top Is listening quietly. Sad was I, even to pain deprest, And many thousands now are sad- * Importuna e grave salma. MICHAEL ANGELO. A Power is passing from the earth That Man, who is from God sent forth, Then wherefore should we mourn? CXVI EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE WHEN first, descending from the moorlands, Along a bare and open valley, When last along its banks I wandered, 1806 The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer, Nor has the rolling year twice measured, The rapt One, of the godlike forehead, Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits, Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber Our haughty life is crowned with darkness, |