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Aux fils des preux! On! soldiers, on!
Your blades are keen, your courage strong! Soon shall the conqueror ́s meed be won, And triumph swell our battle-song !
“ Aux fils des preux!”
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
It was a summer's evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
Was sitting in the sun;
She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet,
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 with a natural sigh,
“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 'twas all about,”
Young Peterkin he cries ; And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes; “Now, tell us all about the war, And what they killed each other for?” “It was the English,” Kaspar cried,
“Who put the French to rout; But what they killed each other for
I 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:
And he was forced to fly;
“With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide;
And new-born baby died.
But things like that, you know, must be
“ They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;
Lay rotting in the sun.
“Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won,
And our good Prince Eugene.”
Said little Wilhelmine.
“And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win.”
Quoth little Peterkin.
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.
FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.
O! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the per
ilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly
streaming ? And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still
0! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam; Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream: 'Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
And where is the band who so vauntingly swore
'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country they'd leave us no more Their blood hath washed out their foul footsteps'
pollution ; No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between our loved home and the war's desolation;
Bless'd with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued
CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.
WE were not many — we who stood
Before the iron sleet that day
Have been with us at Monterey.
Now here, now there, the shot, it hailed
In deadly drifts of fiery spray,
Their dying shout at Monterey.
And on — still on our column kept
Through walls of flame its withering way;
The slippery streets of Monterey.