Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
IV. PeaceThe Battle of Blenheim
Robert Southey (17741843)
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,—
“’T is some poor fellow’s skull,” said he,
“Who fell in the great victory.
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 the 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 ’t was 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 there,
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, ’t was 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 ’t was a famous victory.”