"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN. [It is recorded of Henry the First, that, after the death of his son Prince William, who perished in shipwreck off the coast of Normandy, he was never seen to smile.] THE bark, that held a prince, went down, And what was England's glorious crown He lived-for life may long be borne Why comes not death to those who mourn? There stood proud forms before his throne, But which could fill the place of one, But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair- He sat where festal bowls went round; He saw the tournay's victor crowned, C A murmur of the restless deep Was blent with every strain, A voice of winds that would not sleep- Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace And strangers took the kinsman's place Graves, which true love had bathed with tears, THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. THEY grew in beauty, side by side, The same fond mother bent at night One 'midst the forests of the west, The Indian knows his place of rest, The sea, the blue, long sea hath one, · One sleeps where southern vines are dressed, Above the noble slain; He wrapt his colours round his breast, And one, o'er her the myrtle showers And parted thus they rest, who played They that with smiles lit up the hall, Alas for love, if thou wert all WE ARE SEVEN. BY WORDSWORTH. A SIMPLE child, dear brother Jim, I met a little cottage girl: She was eight years old, she said; She had a rustic, woodland air, Her eyes were fair, and very fair,- "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" "How many, Seven in all," she said, "And where are they? I pray you tell." "Two of us in the churchyard lie, "You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet ye are seven!-I pray you tell, "You run about, my little Maid, "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little Maid replied, "Twelve steps or more, from mother's door, And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, And sing a song to them. "And often after sunset, sir, "The first that died was sister Jane; "So in the churchyard she was laid; "And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, 66 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.' 66 But they are dead; those two are dead! 'Twas throwing words away; for still And said, "Nay, Master! we are seven!" TO THE CUCKOO. BY WORDSWORTH. O BLYTHE new comer! I have heard, O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, |