With unshaken fortitude; Of peace, in battle twice achieved; And Europe from the yoke relieved, Such the proud, the virtuous story, One who reverently, for thee, Raised the strain of bridal verse, Flower of Brunswick! mournfully Lays a garland on thy hearse. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. It was a summer evening; Old Kaspar's work was done, And by him sported on the green She saw her brother Peterkin In playing there, had found; He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who 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. I find them in the garden, For there's many hereabout; And often, when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out; For many thousand men, said he, Were slain in that great victory. Now tell us what 't was all about, It was the English, Kaspar cried, My father lived at Blenheim then, 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 round And new-born baby died; But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, Said little Wilhelmine. Nay, nay, my little girl, quoth he, And everybody praised the Duke, Why, that I cannot tell, said he ; But 't was a famous victory. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. ODE. INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. The Child is Father of the Man; Bound each to each by natural piety. THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare, Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth ; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every Beast keep holiday; Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy! Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. Oh evil day! if I were sullen This sweet May-morning, And the Children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Doth the same tale repeat: |