Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
George Walter Thornbury 182876The Death of Marlborough
T
The sun shines through the tree,
Now, though unshaken by the wind,
The leaves fall ceaselessly;
The bells from Woodstock’s steeple
Shake Blenheim’s fading bough.
“This day you won Malplaquet,”—
“Aye, something then, but now!”
Wandering, pale and weak;
His thin lips move—so faint the sound
You scarce can hear him speak.
They lift a picture from the wall,
Bold eyes and swelling brow;
“The day you won Malplaquet,”—
“Aye, something then, but now!”
In faded velvet sheath:
The old man drops the heavy blade,
And mutters ’tween his teeth;
There ’s sorrow in his fading eye,
And pain upon his brow;
“With this you won Malplaquet,”—
“Aye, something then, but now!”
Flows down the avenue;
A mile of mourners, sable clad,
Walk weeping two by two;
The steward looks into the grave
With sad and downcast brow:
“This day he won Malplaquet,—
Aye, something then, but now!”