Robert Southey
¶11774-1843]
After Blenheim
¶IT was a summer evening,Old Kaspar's work was done,And he before his cottage doorWas sitting in the sun;And by him sported on the greenHis little grandchild Wilhelmine.
¶She saw her brother PeterkinRoll something large and roundWhich he beside the rivuletIn playing there had found;He came to ask what he had foundThat was so large and smooth and round.
¶Old Kaspar took it from the boyWho stood expectant by;And then the old man shook his head,And with a natural sigh"Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he.'Who fell in the great victory.[733]'I find them in the garden,For there's many here about;And often when I go to ploughThe ploughshare turns them out.For many thousand men,' said he,'Were slain in that great victory.'
¶'Now tell us what 'twas all about,'Young Peterkin he cries;And little Wilhelmine looks upWith wonder-waiting eyes;'Now tell us all about the war,And what they fought each other for.'
¶'It was the English,' Kaspar cried,'Who put the French to rout;But what they fought each other forI could not well make out.But everybody said,' quoth he,'That 'twas a famous victory.
¶'My father lived at Blenheim then,Yon little stream hard by;They burnt his dwelling to the ground,And he was forced to fly:So with his wife and child he fled,Nor had he where to rest his head.
¶'With fire and sword the country roundWas wasted far and wide,And many a childing mother thenAnd newborn baby died:But things like that, you know, must beAt every famous victory.
¶'They say it was a shocking sightAfter the field was won;For many thousand bodies hereLay rotting in the sun:But things like that, you know, must beAfter a famous victory.[734]'Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' wonAnd our good Prince Eugene;''Why 'twas a very wicked thing!'Said little Wilhelmine;'Nay . . nay . . my little girl,' quoth he,'It was a famous victory.
¶'And every body praised the DukeWho this great fight did win.''But what good came of it at last?'Quoth little Peterkin:—'Why that I cannot tell,' said he,'But 'twas a famous victory.'
The Scholar
¶MY days among the Dead are past;Around me I behold,Where'er these casual eyes are cast,The mighty minds of old:My never-failing friends are they,With whom I converse day by day.
¶With them I take delight in wealAnd seek relief in woe;And while I understand and feelHow much to them I owe,My cheeks have often been bedew'dWith tears of thoughtful gratitude.
¶My thoughts are with the Dead; with themI live in long-past years,Their virtues love, their faults condemn,Partake their hopes and fears,And from their lessons seek and findInstruction with an humble mind.