Stitch! stitch! stitch !

III
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Would that its tone could reach the

Who stood expectant by;
Rich!

And then the old man shook his head, She sang this "Song of the Shirt !" And with a natural sigh,

“ 'Tis some poor fellow's skull,” said he,

“Who fell in the great victory. JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT

IV TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND

"I find them in the garden, THE CRICKET

For there's many hereabout; GREEN little vaulter in the sunny grass,

And often when I go to plough,
Catching your heart up at the feel of

The ploughshare turns them out!
June,

For many thousand men,” said he,
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy

“Were slain in that great victory.' noon,

V When even the bees lag at the summoning brass :

“Now tell us what 'twas all about,” The poetry of earth is ceasing never :

Young Peterkin, he cries; On a lone winter evening, when the frost

And little Wilhelmine looks up Has wrought a silence, from the stove

With wonder-waiting eyes; there shrills

“Now tell us all about the war, The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing And what they fought each other for.”

ever, And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,

VI The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

“It was the English," Kaspar cried,

“Who put the French to rout;

But what they fought each other for, ROBERT SOUTHEY

I could not well make out;

But everybody said," quoth he, THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM “That 'twas a famous victory.

a

a

“Nay

IX

Britannia needs no bulwark,

No towers along the steep; “They say it was a shocking sight

Her march is o'er the mountain waves, After the field was won;

Her home is on the deep. For many thousand bodies here

With thunders from her native oak Lay rotting in the sun;

She quells the floods below But things like that, you know, must be

As they roar on the shore, After a famous victory.

Where the stormy winds do blow;

When the battle rages loud and long, X

And the stormy winds do blow. “Great praise the Duke of Marlboro'

The meteor flag of England won, And our good Prince Eugene.”

Shall yet terrific burn, “Why 'twas a very wicked thing!”

Till danger's troubled night depart Said little Wilhelmine.

And the star of peace return. nay ••• my

little girl,” Then, then, ye ocean warriors !
quoth he,

Our
song

and feast shall flow “It was a famous victory.

To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;

When the fiery fight is heard no more,
XI

And the storm has ceased to blow. "And everybody praised the Duke

Who this great fight did win.” “But what good came of it at last?”

HOHENLINDEN Quoth little Peterkin.

On Linden, when the sun was low, “Why, that I cannot tell,” said he,

All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, “But 'twas a famous victory.”

And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
THOMAS CAMPBELL

But Linden saw another sight,
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND

When the drum beat at dead of night, Ye mariners of England

Commanding fires of death to light That guard our native seas,

The darkness of her scenery.
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze!

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,

Each horseman drew his battle blade, Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe,

And furious every charger neighed, And sweep through the deep,

To join the dreadful revelry. While the stormy winds do blow;

Then shook the hills with thunder riven While the battle rages loud and long,

Than rushed the steed to battle driven, And the stormy winds do blow.

And louder than the bolts of heaven,

Far flashed the red artillery.
The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!

But redder yet that light shall glow, For the deck it was their field of fame, On Linden's hills of stainèd snow, And Ocean was their grave:

And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun While the stormy winds do blow;

Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, While the battle rages loud and long, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, And the stormy winds do blow.

Shout in their sulphurous canopy.