And when Lord Marmion reached his band, And shook his gauntlet at the towers. From "Marmion." - SIR WALTER SCOTT. 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 Roll something large and round, 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; "Now tell us what 'twas all about," Young Peterkin he cries; While 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, 66 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 And new-born baby, died; But things like that, you know, must be 66 "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 Marlboro' won, And our young prince, Eugene." "Why, 'twas 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 'twas a glorious victory.” BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, We buried him darkly, at dead of night, No useless coffin inclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on, But half of our heavy task was done When the clock tolled the hour for retiring, And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and - CHARLES WOLFE. AMONG THE ICEBERGS THE moon rose full and clear upon a sea of mystery. The sun had set behind a black line on our port quarter as we were headed northeast for the passage of Davis Strait to the coast of Greenland. For a moment there was a flush upon the sea, forming a radiance about the icebergs, then across the dark water fell a glittering path of silver, and everywhere were vast, ghostly figures unmoving in the moonlight. The ice was thickening about us. Ahead and upon our starboard quarter it stood in mass, in VIII.-13 |