C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Battle of Blenheim
By Robert Southey (1774–1843)
I
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.
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.
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.
For there’s many hereabout;
And often when I go to plow,
The plowshare turns them out:
For many thousand men,” said he,
“Were slain in that great victory.”
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.”
“Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for,
I could not well make out:
But everybody said,” quoth he,
“That ’twas a famous victory.
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.
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.
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.
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,
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.”