"And often after sunset, Sir, When it is light and fair, "The first that died was little Jane: Till God released her of her pain; "So in the churchyard she was laid; 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, "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!" WORDSWORTH. THE CHILD'S FIRST GRIEF. 29 66 THE CHILD'S FIRST GRIEF. OH! call my brother back to me! I cannot play alone; The Summer comes, with flower and bee- The butterfly is glancing bright I care not now to chase its flight 66 Oh! call my brother back! The flowers run wild-the flowers we sow'd Around our garden tree; Our vine is drooping with its load Oh! call him back to me!" "He would not hear thy voice, fair child; He may not come to thee; The face that once like Spring-time smiled, "A rose's brief bright life of joy, X "And has he left his birds and flowers? And must I call in vain? And through the long, long summer hours, "And by the brook and in the glade Oh! while my brother with me play'd, |