We retire at eleven, And we rise again at seven; And I wish to call attention, as I close, To the fact that all the scholars Are correct about their collars, And particular in turning out their toes. Charles E. Carryl THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM (August 13, 1704) It was a summer evening; Old Kaspar's work was done, And by him sported on the green She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, That he beside the rivulet, In playing there, had found: She ran 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, "T is some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory. "I find them in my 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 't was all about," "It was the English," Kaspar cried, "My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by; They burned 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 "Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won And our good Prince Eugene." "Why, 't was a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory. "And everybody praised the Duke, "Why, that I cannot tell," said he; "But 't was a famous victory." - Robert Southey TO THOMAS MOORE My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But, before I go, Tom Moore, Here's a double health to thee! Here's a sigh to those who love me, Though the ocean roar around me, Were 't the last drop in the well, 'T is to thee that I would drink. With that water, as this wine, Should be- peace to thine and mine, And a health to thee, Tom Moore. George Gordon Byron THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride: And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, There was a sound of revelry by night, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! Did ye not hear it? XXII No; 't was but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; |