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Ye whose relics rest around,
One who reverently, for thee,
THE HOLLY TREE.
O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see
The Holly Tree ? The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves Order'd by an intelligence so wise, As might confound the Atheist's sophistries. Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen
Wrinkled and keen ;
Can reach to wound;
I love to view these things with curious eyes,
And moralize :
Can emblems see
Thus, though abroad perchance I might appear
Harsh and austere,
Reserved and rude,
And should my youth, as youth is apt I know,
Some harshness show,
Would wear away,
So bright and green,
Less bright than they,
The thoughtless throng,
More grave than they,
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
Old Kaspar's work was done,
Was sitting in the sun,
Roll something large and round,
In playing there had found;
Who stood expectant by ;
And with a natural sigh,
For there's many here about ;
The ploughshare turns them out!
Now tell us what 't was 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 't was a famous victory.
*My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by ;
And he was forced to fly;
8. . •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.' “Why 't was a very wicked thing!'
Said little Wilhelmine. 'Nay .. nay.. my little girl,' quoth he. • It was a famous victory.
11. * And everybody 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 't was a famous victory.'
STANZAS WRITTEN IN HIS LIBRARY.
My days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,
The mighty minds of old ;
With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe ;
How much to them I owe,