edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn edge,
And by the long stone wall.

And then an open field they crossed--
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
The footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!

Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.

Mary's Little Lamb

Mary had a little lamb,
It's fleece was white as snow;
And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go.

He followed her to school one day--
That was against the rule;
It made the children laugh and play,
To see a lamb at school.

The teacher therefore turned him out;
But still he lingered near,
And on the grass he played about
Till Mary did appear.

At once he ran to her, and laid
His head upon her arm,
As if to say, I'm not afraid--
You'll keep me from all harm.

"What makes the lamb love Mary so?"
The little children cry;
"Oh! Mary loves the lamb you know,"
The teacher did reply.

[Page 27--Girl Land]

We are Seven

I met a little cottage girl;
She was eight years old, she said;
Her head was thick with many a curl
That clustered 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?"
"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 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