On, from simple grave to grave;
Here marks the children snatch'd to heaven,
None left to blunder 'we are seven';—
Even Andrew Jones[104] no power could save.
XXXVIII.
What a Sexton's work[105] is here,
Lord! the Idiot Boy is gone;
And Barbara Lewthwaite's fate the same,
And cold as mutton is her lamb;
And Alice Fell is bone by bone.