THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

[AUGUST 13, 1704]

It was a summer evening;

Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage-door
Was sitting in the sun;

And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild, Wilhelmine.

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,

"Tis 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 '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,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for
I could not well make out;
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory.

"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

After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlborough 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 everybody praised the Duke,
Who this great fight did win."
"But what good came of it at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he;

"But 'twas a famous victory."

Robert Southey

A STORY FOR A CHILD

Little one, come to my knee!

Hark, how the rain is pouring
Over the roof, in the pitch-black night,
And the wind in the woods a-roaring!

Hush, my darling, and listen,

Then pay for the story with kisses; Father was lost in the pitch-black night, In just such a storm as this is!

High up on the lonely mountains,

Where the wild men watched and waited;

Wolves in the forest, and bears in the bush,
And I on my path belated.

The rain and the night together

Came down, and the wind came after, Bending the props of the pine-tree roof, And snapping many a rafter.

I crept along in the darkness,

Stunned, and bruised, and blinded,-
Crept to a fir with thick-set boughs,
And a sheltering rock behind it.

There, from the blowing and raining,
Crouching, I sought to hide me:

Something rustled, two green eyes shone,
And a wolf lay down beside me.

Little one, be not frightened;
I and the wolf together,

Side by side, through the long, long night,
Hid from the awful weather.

His wet fur pressed against me;
Each of us warmed the other;
Each of us felt, in the stormy dark,
That beast and man was brother.

And when the falling forest

No longer crashed in warning,
Each of us went from our hiding-place
Forth in the wild, wet morning.

Darling, kiss me payment!

Hark, how the wind is roaring;

Father's house is a better place

When the stormy rain is pouring!

Bayard Taylor

THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS

King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court. The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in their

pride,

And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed:

And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts

below.

Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went

with their paws;

With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another,

Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother;

The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air;

Said Francis then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there."

De Lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous lively dame,

With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same;

She thought, "The Count, my lover, is brave as brave can .be;

He surely would do wondrous things to show, his love of

me;

King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine; I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine."

She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled;

He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild; The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his

place,

Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face.

"By heaven," said Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat;

"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like

that."

Leigh Hunt