With many a stroke and strong The labouring boatmen upward plied their oars, And yet the eye beheld them labouring long Between thy winding shores. Now down thine ebbing tide The unlabour'd boat falls rapidly along; The solitary helmsman sits to guide, And sings an idle song. Now o'er the rocks that lay Avon! I gaze and know The lesson emblem'd in thy varying way; Kingdoms which long have stood, And slow to strength and power attain'd at last, Thus from the summit of high fortune's flood Ebb to their ruin fast. Thus like thy flow appears Time's tardy course to manhood's envied stage; THE VICTORY. HARK, how the church bells' thundering harmony For those who fell, 'twas in their country's cause, They have their passing paragraphs of praise, And are forgotten! There was one who died In that day's glory, whose obscurer name Peace to his honest soul! I read his name,— He, ocean deep, Now lies at rest. Be Thou her comforter Who art the widow's friend! Man does not know What a cold sickness made her blood run back When first she heard the tidings of the fight: Man does not know with what a dreadful hope She gazed upon her children, and beheld His image who was gone. O God! be Thou, Who art the widow's friend, her comforter! THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. Ir 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, 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 scull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory." 66 I find them in the garden, For there's many here about; "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," "Now tell us all about the war, "It was the English," Kaspar cried, "But every body said," quoth he, My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by ; "They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 46 66 66 66 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 66 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, "And 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 prais'd the Duke Why, that I cannot tell," said he, TO A BEE. THOU wert out betimes, thou busy, busy Bee! Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy Bee! When the Primrose of evening was ready to burst, Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee! Still on thy golden stores intent, Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent What thy winter will never enjoy; Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy Bee! Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy Bee! When the latest flowers of the ivy are gone, SONNET. O GOD! have mercy in this dreadful hour What were it now to toss upon the waves, The madden'd waves, and know no succour near; The howling of the storm alone to hear, And the wild sea that to the tempest raves : To gaze amid the horrors of the night, And only see the billow's gleaming light; And in the dread of death to think of her, Who, as she listens, sleepless, to the gale, Puts up a silent prayer and waxes pale? O God! have mercy on the mariner! |