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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.
Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by;
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 hereabout; 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 tliey killed each other for."
“It was the English,” Kaspar cried,
“Who put the French to rout;
I could not well make out. But everybody said,” quoth he, “ That 'twas a famous victory.
“My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;
And he was forced to fly:
“With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And new-born 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 everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win.”
Quoth little Peterkin.
SONG OF MARION'S MEN.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
During the Revolutionary War Francis Marion raised in South Carolina a small force which rendered great service to the Ameri
Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
When Marion's name is told.
Our tent the cypress-tree;
As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.
Woe to the English soldiery,
That little dread us near !
A strange and sudden fear:
They grasp their arms in vain,
Are beat to earth again;
A mighty host behind,
Upon the hollow wind.
Then sweet the hour that brings release
From danger and from toil; We talk the battle over,
And share the battle's spoil.
As if a hunt were up,
To crown the soldier's cup.
That in the pine-top grieves,
On beds of oaken leaves.
Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leadsThe glitter of their rifles,
The scampering of their steeds. 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlight plain; 'Tis life to feel the night wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment-and away
Before the peep of day.
Warren's A:1dress at the Battle of Banker Hill.
Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,
For Marion are their prayers.
With kindliest welcoming,
And tears like those of spring.
And lay them down no more
Forever, from our shore.
WARREN'S ADDRESS AT THE BATTLE
OF BUNKER HILL.
General Joseph Warren of the American Army, a Boston physician, was killed at the battle of Bunker Hill, 1775.
Stand ! the ground's your own, my braves !
Fear ye foes who kill for hire ?
In the God of battles trust!
As where heaven its dews shall shed
In the bright October morning
Savoy's Duke had left his bride; From the castle, past the drawbridge,
Flowed the hunters' merry tide. Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering;
Gay, her smiling lord to greet, From her mullioned chamber casement
Smiles the Duchess Marguerite.
From Vienna, by the Danube,
Here she came, a bride, in spring. Now the autumn crisps the forest;
Hunters gather, bugles ring. Hark! the game's on foot; they scatter:
Down the forest-ridings lone, Furious, single horsemen gallop—
Hark! a shout-a crash—a groan !
Pale and breathless, came the hunters;
On the turf, dead, lies the boar, But the Duke lies stretched beside him,
Senseless, weltering in his gore. In the dull October evening,
Down the leaf-strewn forest-road, To the castle, past the drawbridge,
Came the hunters with their load.
In the hall, with sconces blazing,
Ladies waiting round her seat, Clothed in smiles, beneath the dais
Sat the Duchess Marguerite.