I find them in the garden, for The plough-share turns them out; Now tell us what 'twas all about, It was the English, Kaspar cried, My father liv'd at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by, They burnt his dwelling to the ground, So with his wife and child he fled, C With fire and sword the country round And many a childing mother then, And new-born infant died. But things like that you know must be They say it was a shocking sight, 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 'twas a very wicked thing! And every body prais'd the Duke Who such a fight did win, But what good came of it at last? Why that I cannot tell, said he, HOHENLINDEN. On Linden, when the sun was low, But Linden shew'd another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death, to light The darkness of her scenery. By torch, and trumpet, fast array ́d, Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neigh'd, To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills, by thunder riven; Then flew the steed, to battle driven; And rolling like the bolts of heaven, Far flash'd their red artillery. But redder yet their fires shall glow, 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. 'Tis morn;-but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun, Where fiery Frank, and furious Hun, Shout in their sulphury canopy. Few, few shall part where many meet, The snow shall be their winding sheet, And every sod beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE. Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake, And my brave father's hope and joy; Poor foolish child! how pleas'd was I, And see the lighted windows flame! The people's shouts were long and loud; My mother, shuddering, clos'd her ears; Rejoice! Rejoice!" still cried the crowd; My mother answered with her tears. |