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And once again a fire of hell
Rain'd on the Russian quarters,
And bellowing of the mortars !
And Irish Nora's eyes are dim
For a singer dumb and gory ; And English Mary mourns for him
Who sang of “ Annie Laurie."
Sleep, soldiers ! still in honor'd rest
Your truth and valor wearing : The bravest are the tenderest,The loving are the daring.
HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE.
How sleep the Brave who sink to rest
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
(Sung on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead at Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S. C., 1867.)
SLEEP sweetly in your humble
graves, Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause ! Though yet no marble column craves
The pilgrim here to pause,
In seeds of laurel in the earth
The blossom of your fame is blown,
The shaft is in the stone !
Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years
Which keep in trust your storied tombs, Behold ! your sisters bring their tears,
And these memorial blooms.
Small tributes! but your shades will smile
More proudly on these wreaths to-day, Than when some cannon-moulded pile
Shall overlook this bay.
Stoop, angels, hither from the skies!
There is no holier spot of ground Than where defeated valor lies,
By mourning beauty crowned !
ON GOING TO THE WARS.
TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field ;
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore ;
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
Was sitting in the sun;
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
Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by;
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
hereabout; And often, when I go to plough,
The ploughshare turns them out; For many 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 everybody said,” quoth he,
That 'twas a famous victory.
My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;
And he was forced to fly;
“With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide;
And new-born baby died ;
“ They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won,-
Lay rotting in the sun ;
* Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
And our good prince Eugene.”
Said little Wilhelmine.