AFTER BLENHEIM ROBERT SOUTHEY T 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, 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," "Now tell us all about the war, "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 newborn 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 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, BOAT SONG From THE LADY OF THE LAKE SIR WALTER SCOTT AIL to the chief who in triumph advances! Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, Sends our shout back again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Moor'd in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; 66 Menteith and Breadalbane, then, Echo his praise agen, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands! Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine! Worthy such noble stem, Honour'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow! 66 Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from her deepmost glen, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! iero!" |