While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls

Was sitting in the sun,

And by him sported on the green

His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

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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

That was so large, and smooth, and round. 12

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 the garden,

For there's many here about;

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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,"
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,

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'Who put the French to rout;

But what they fought each other for,
I could not well make out;

But every body said,” quoth he, "That 't was a famous victory.

"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 new-born baby died;

But things like that, you know, must be?
At every famous victory.

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"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, And our good Prince Eugene."

"Why't was a very wicked thing!"

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Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay . . nay. . my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory.

"And every body praised the Duke

Who this great fight did win."

"But what good came of it at last?"

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Quoth little Peterkin.

Why that I cannot tell," said he,
But 't was a famous victory."

1798.

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Robert Southey.

IVRY

A SONG OF THE HUGUENOTS

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!

And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry

of Navarre!

Now let there be the merry sound of music and

of dance,

Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France!

And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy

mourning daughters.

As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,

For cold, and stiff, and still are they who

wrought thy walls annoy.

Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the

chance of war,

Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and Henry of

Navarre.

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Oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at the

dawn of day,

We saw the army of the League drawn out in

long array;

With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel

peers,

And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's

Flemish spears.

There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the

curses of our land;

And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a trun

cheon in his hand:

And, as we looked on them, we thought of
Seine's empurpled flood,

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And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;

And we cried unto the living God, who rules

the fate of war,

To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of

Navarre.

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The King is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest,

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest.

He looked upon his people, and a tear was in

,,his eye;

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.

Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolied from wing to wing,

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Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save

our Lord the King!

'And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well

he may,

For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody 1 fray,

Press where ye see my white plume shine,

amidst the ranks of war,

And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of

Navarre."

Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the

mingled din

Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin.

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