Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part, My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. Stay, stay with us,-rest, thou art weary and worn! XCII LOVE AND GLORY Young Henry was as brave a youth She sigh'd for Love, and he for Glory! With her his faith he meant to plight, Young Henry met the foe with pride; Jane followed, fought! ah, hapless story! She died for Love, and he for Glory. T. Dibdin XCIII AFTER 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, '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 fought each other for.' 'It was the English,' Kaspar cried, '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 round Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then 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, 'Nay, nay, my little girl,' quoth he, 'And every body praised the Duke ‘Why that I cannot tell,' said he, 'But 'twas a famous victory.' R. Southey XCIV THE SAILOR'S MOTHER One morning (raw it was and wet A foggy day in winter time) A woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime : Majestic in her person, tall and straight; And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait. The ancient spirit is not dead; Old times, thought I, are breathing there; Such strength, a dignity so fair: She begged an alms like one in poor estate; I looked at her again nor did my pride abate. When from these lofty thoughts I woke, She answered, soon as she the question heard, 'A simple burthen, Sir, a little singing bird.' And, thus continuing, she said, And I have travelled weary miles to see If aught that he had owned might still remain for me. The bird and cage they both were his : The singing bird had gone with him; When last he sailed, he left the bird behind ; From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind. W. Wordsworth XCV MAHMOUD There came a man, making his hasty moan |