ROBERT SOUTHEY. 1774-1843. (Manual, pp. 427-431.)

308. THE BATTLE of Blenheim.'

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,
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.

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 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:
While little Wilhelmine looks up,
With wonder-waiting eyes:

"Now tell us all about the war,

And what they killed each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they killed each other for,
I could not well make out.

But everybody said," quoth he,

"That 'twas a famous victory.

1 A battle fought near the village of Blenheim, Bavaria, August 2, 1704, in which the English Duke of Marlborough gained a victory over the French and Bavarians. It is called by the French the Battle of Hochstedt.

Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky
Thou shinest fair, with many a lovely ray,
Each in the other melting. Much mine eye
Delights to linger on thee; for the day,
Changeful and many-weathered, seemed to smile,
Flashing brief splendor through its' clouds awhile,
That deepened dark anon, and fell in rain:
But pleasant it is now to pause, and view
Thy various tints of frail and watery hue,
And think the storm shall not return again.

He rose in haste- beneath the walls

He saw the flood appear;

It hemmed him round-'twas midnight now
No human aid was near.

He heard the shout of joy! for now

A boat approached the wall:

And eager to the welcome aid

They crowd for safety all.

"My boat is small," the boatman cried,
""Twill bear but one away;

Come in, Lord William, and do ye
In God's protection stay."

The boatman plied the oar, the boat
Went light along the stream;
Sudden Lord William heard a cry,
Like Edmund's dying scream!

The boatman paused-
|—“Methought I heard
A child's distressful cry!"

""Twas but the howling winds of night,"

Lord William made reply.

Then William shrieked; — the hand he touched

Was cold, and damp, and dead!

He felt young Edmund in his arms,

A heavier weight than lead!

311. FROM THE "LIFE OF NELSON."

It had been part of Nelson's prayer, that the British fleet might be distinguished by humanity in the victory which he expected. Setting an example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing on the Redoubtable, supposing that she had struck, because her guns were silent; for, as she carried no flag, there was no means of instantly ascertaining the fact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared, he received his death. A ball fired from her mizzen-top, which, in the then situation of the two vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from that part of the deck where he was standing, struck the epaulet on his left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just in the heat of action. He fell upon his face, on the spot which was covered with his poor secretary's blood. Hardy, who was a few steps from him, turning round, saw three men raising him up. "They have done for me at last, Hardy," said he. "I hope not," cried Hardy. "Yes!" he replied; "my back-bone is shot through." Yet even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller-ropes, which had been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should be rove immediately; then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. Had he but concealed these badges of honor from the enemy, England, perhaps, would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar. The cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, over whose bodies he was with some difficulty.conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen's berth. It was soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was mortal. This, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. He himself being certain, from the sensation in his back, and the gush of blood he felt momently within his breast, that no human care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him, and attend to those to whom he might be useful; "for," said he, "you can do nothing for me." All that could be done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade to alleviate his intense thirst. He was in great pain, and expressed much anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself. As often as a ship struck, the crew of the Victory hurrahed; and at every hurrah, a visible expression of joy gleamed in the eyes and marked the countenance of the dying hero. But he became impatient to see Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared that some fatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly cried, "Will no one bring Hardy to me? he must be killed! he is surely dead!" An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time when Nelson received his wound, before Hardy could come to him. They shook hands in silence; Hardy in vain struggling to suppress the feelings of that most painful and yet sublimest moment.