I had, my Country !-am I to be blamed ? 5 Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. For dearly must we prize thee; we who find What wonder if a Poet now and then, 215 W. WORDSWORTH. HOHENLINDEN On Linden, when the sun was low, Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, The darkness of her scenery. 10 5 By torch and trumpet fast array'd 10 Then shook the hills with thunder riven, But redder yet that light shall glow And bloodier yet the torrent flow 15 20 'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave And charge with all thy chivalry ́! Few, few shall part, where many meet! 25 30 T. CAMPBELL. 216 AFTER BLENHEIM It was a summer evening, And by him sported on the green She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found Old Kaspar took it from the boy 5 10 And then the old man shook his head, 15 6 'Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he, 'Who fell in the great victory. 'I find them in the garden, The ploughshare turns them out. For many thousand men,' said he, 'Were slain in that great victory. 20 Now tell us what 'twas all about,' 25 And little Wilhelmine looks up 'Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for.' 30 'It was the English,' Kaspar cried, But every body said,' quoth he, 'That 'twas a famous victory. My father lived at Blenheim then, They burnt his dwelling to the ground, So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. With fire and sword the country round And many a childing mother then But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. They say it was a shocking sight For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun : But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. 35 40 45 50 'Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won 'Nay nay my little girl,' quoth he, It was a famous victory. 'And every body praised the Duke 'Why, that I cannot tell,' said he, 56 60 65 R. SOUTHEY. 217 PRO PATRIA MORI When he who adores thee has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 4 O! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame With thee were the dreams of my earliest love, 10 O! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live The days of thy glory to see; But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give Is the pride of thus dying for thee. T. MOORE. 16 218 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, O'er the grave where our Hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or 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, 5 10 But we steadfastly gaz'd on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 16 We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the Spirit that's gone But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring : And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. 20 25 |