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Wed, 03 Nov 2010
I love these little verses. Very strange but then again very beautiful. xxx



IN her cot upon the hill,
Where the rude winds blow,
Sitting by the sill,

Is pretty Patty Howe.
0, the little merry lass,
Whene'er I see her pass,
Like the dew-drops on the grass
Shine her dark eyes, 0.

To see her 'neath the eaves
Of her cottage low,
Peeping through the leaves

Of the green vines, ;
And to hear the maiden sing,
Like a linnet in the spring,
Is to wish one had the ring

Then to wed her, O.



Poor little Come-by-chance
Wept in the rain !
Starving and shivering,
Weary with pain,
Ragged and shoeless,

Pallid and lean,
Poor little Come-by-chance
Stood in the rain.
Poor little Come-by-chance !

Nobody knew
Who were her parents,

They cared little, too.
Wild was the tempest,

Fast fell the snow,
And winter had bitten

Her little feet raw.

fairy row


By little Come-by-chance
Swung an old gate ;
Inside, a palace

Where Death sat in state.
A mud-pool, and hovel

Where swine held the sway ;
With old wooden windows

To bar out the day.
Wild blow the hailstones

Over the snow ;
Hark ! there 's a groan

From a pallet of straw !
Darkness within,

And a heap on the floor,
Where her poor grandmother

Dies by the door.

Wealth in its chariot
Sees nothing wrong ;

Waggons, corn-laden,
Are rumbling along :


Poor little Come-by-chance

Sits by her home,
The ghost of a little one

Ripe for the tomb.

Her eye is unclosed,

Yet dumb is the maid ;
And dropped on her bosom

Her innocent head !
Her sorrow is over,

Her suffering and wrong
Her soul is an angel,

Her wail is a song.

A hole in the grave-yard

Is dug the next day ;
And both, without mourners,

Are buried straightway.
A " shell" is let down

Then, a small wooden chest
And Come-by-chance sleeps

On her grandmother's breast.



Posted 19:14

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