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Like in loveliness were ye,
Henry, too, hath here his part;
By More, the learned and the good,—
By Katharine's wrongs and Boleyn's blood,
By the life so basely shed
Of the pride of Norfolk's line,
By the axe so often red,
And here lies one whose tragic name A reverential thought may claim;
That murder'd Monarch, whom the grave,
Ye whose relics rest around,
Of peace, in battle twice achieved;
One who reverently, for thee,
THE HOLLY TREE
O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see
The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Order'd by an intelligence so wise,
As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.
Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen
No grazing cattle through their prickly round
But as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarm'd the pointless leaves appear.
I love to view these things with curious eyes,
And in this wisdom of the Holly Tree
Can emblems see
Wherewith perchance to make a pleasant rhyme, One which may profit in the after time.
Thus, though abroad perchance I might appear
To those who on my leisure would intrude
Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be
Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree.
And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, Some harshness show,
All vain asperities I day by day
Would wear away,
Till the smooth temper of my age should be
And as when all the summer trees are secn
The Holly leaves a sober hue display
Less bright than they,
But when the bare and wintry woods we see,
So serious should my youth appear among
So would I seem amid the young and gay
That in my age as cheerful I might be
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
It was a summer evening,
And by him sported on the green
She saw her brother Peterkin
In playing there had found;
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,
'I find them in the garden,
For there's many here about;
The ploughshare turns them out!
'Now tell us what 't was all about,'
With wonder-waiting eyes;
And what they fought each other for.'
'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,
'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.