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She was a maiden city, bright and free;
LONDON, 1802 O Friend ! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest To think that now our life is only drest For show ; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, Or groom !-We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest; The wealthiest man among us is the best : No grandeur now in nature or in book Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore : Plain living and high thinking are no more : The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
When I have borne in memory what has tamed
On Linden, when the sun was low,
But Linden saw another sight,
The darkness of her scenery.
To join the dreadful revelry.
Far flash'd the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stainéd snow ; And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. '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 Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry ! Few, few shall part, where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
Old Kaspar's work was done,
Was sitting in the sun ;
She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round Which he beside the rivulet
In playing there had found;
Who stood expectant by ;
And with a natural sigh "'Tis some poor's fellow's skull,' said he, “Who fell in the great victory. 'I find them in the 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 every body said,' quoth he, • That 'twas 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 newborn baby died :
• They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won ;
Lay rotting in the sun :
• Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won
And our good Prince Eugene;'
Said little Wilhelmine ;
“And every body praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win.'
Quoth little Peterkin:-
PRO PATRIA MORI
When he who adores thee has left but the name
Of his fault and his sorrows behind,
Of a life that for thee was resign'd !
Thy tears shall efface their decree;
I have been but too faithful to thee.