The Children's Garland from the Best Poets Part 31

With her his faith he meant to plight, And told her many a gallant story; Till war, their coming joys to blight, Call'd him away from Love to Glory!

Young Henry met the foe with pride; Jane followed, fought! ah, hapless story!

In man's attire, by Henry's side, She died for Love, and he for Glory.

_T. Dibdin_

XCIII

_AFTER 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 a 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 new-born baby died: But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory.

'They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here 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!'

Said little Wilhelmine; 'Nay, nay, my little girl,' quoth he, 'It was a famous victory.

'And every body praised the Duke Who this great fight did win.'

'But what good came of it at last?'

Quoth little Peterkin.

'Why that I cannot tell,' said he, 'But 'twas a famous victory.'

_R. Southey_

XCIV

_THE SAILOR'S MOTHER_

One morning (raw it was and wet-- A foggy day in winter time) A woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime: Majestic in her person, tall and straight; And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient spirit is not dead; Old times, thought I, are breathing there; Proud was I that my country bred Such strength, a dignity so fair: She begged an alms like one in poor estate; I looked at her again nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke, 'What is it?' said I, 'that you bear Beneath the covert of your cloak, Protected from this cold damp air?'

She answered, soon as she the question heard, 'A simple burthen, Sir, a little singing bird.'

And, thus continuing, she said, 'I had a son, who many a day Sail'd on the seas, but he is dead; In Denmark he was cast away: And I have travelled weary miles to see If aught that he had owned might still remain for me.

The bird and cage they both were his: 'Twas my son's bird; and neat and trim He kept it: many voyages The singing bird had gone with him; When last he sailed, he left the bird behind; From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind.'

_W. Wordsworth_

XCV

_MAHMOUD_

There came a man, making his hasty moan Before the Sultan Mahmoud on his throne, And crying out--'My sorrow is my right, And I _will_ see the Sultan, and to-night.'

'Sorrow,' said Mahmoud, 'is a reverend thing: I recognise its right as king with king; Speak on.' 'A fiend has got into my house,'

Exclaim'd the staring man, 'and tortures us: One of thine officers;--he comes, the abhorr'd, And takes possession of my house, my board, My bed:--I have two daughters and a wife, And the wild villain comes and makes me mad with life.'

'Is he there now?' said Mahmoud. 'No, he left The house when I did, of my wits bereft; And laugh'd me down the street because I vow'd I'd bring the prince himself to lay him in his shroud.

I'm mad with want, I'm mad with misery, And Oh, thou Sultan Mahmoud, G.o.d cries out for thee!'

The Sultan comforted the man and said, 'Go home, and I will send thee wine and bread.

(For he was poor,) and other comforts. Go; And should the wretch return let Sultan Mahmoud know.'

In two days' time, with haggard eyes and beard, And shaken voice, the suitor re-appeared, And said, 'He's come.'--Mahmoud said not a word, But rose and took four slaves each with a sword, And went with the vext man. They reach the place, And hear a voice and see a female face, That to the window flutter'd in affright.

'Go in,' said Mahmoud, 'and put out the light; But tell the females first to leave the room; And when the drunkard follows them, we come.

The man went in. There was a cry, and hark!

A table falls, the window is struck dark; Forth rush the breathless women, and behind With curses comes the fiend in desperate mind.

In vain: the sabres soon cut short the strife, And chop the shrieking wretch, and drink his b.l.o.o.d.y life.

'Now _light_ the light,' the Sultan cried aloud.

'Twas done; he took it in his hand and bow'd Over the corpse, and look'd upon the face; Then turn'd and knelt beside it in the place, And said a prayer, and from his lips there crept Some gentle words of pleasure, and he wept.

In reverent silence the spectators wait, Then bring him at his call both wine and meat; And when he had refresh'd his n.o.ble heart, He bade his host be blest, and rose up to depart.

The man amaz'd, all mildness now and tears, Fell at the Sultan's feet with many prayers, And begg'd him to vouchsafe to tell his slave, The reason first of that command he gave About the light: then when he saw the face, Why he knelt down; and lastly how it was That fare so poor as his detain'd him in the place.