Perhaps some soldier, blind or maimed, Some tar for independence maimed; Remember these. For thee they bore The loss of limbs, and suffered more. Oh, pass them not; for if you do, I’ll blush to think they fought for you. Through winter’s reign Relieve their pain, For what they’ve done, sure bold it is; Their wants supply Whene’er they cry, “Bless my heart, how cold it is!” And now, ye sluggards, sloths, and beaux, Who dread the breath that winter blows, Pursue the counsel of a friend Who never found it yet offend. When winter deals his blasts around, Go beat the air and pace the ground; With cheerful spirits exercise, ’Tis there life’s balmy blessing lies. O’er hill and dale, Though sharp the gale, And frozen you behold it is, Your blood shall glow, And swiftly flow, And you’ll not cry, “How cold it is!” [Illustration] WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. _Born April_ 7, 1770. _Died April_ 23, 1850. _Appointed Poet Laureate_, _April_ 6, 1843. ―――― WE ARE SEVEN. ――A simple Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? I met a little cottage Girl; She was eight years old, she said; Her hair 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 church-yard 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 church-yard lie; Beneath the church-yard tree.” “You run about, my little Maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the church-yard laid, Then ye are only five.” “Their graves are green, they may be seen,” The little Maid replied, “Twelve steps or more from my 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, I sit and sing to them. “And often after sun-set, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer And eat my supper there. “The first that died was sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain; And then she went away. “So in the church-yard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I.