| 1 |
| It was a summer evening, |
| 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.
|
| 2 |
| 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, |
That was so large, and smooth, and
round.
|
| 3 |
| Old Kaspar took it from the boy, |
| 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.
|
| 4 |
| ‘I find them in the garden, |
| For there’s many here about; |
| And often when I go to plough, |
| The ploughshare turns them out! |
| For many thousand men’, said he, |
‘Were slain in that great victory.’
|
| 5 |
| ‘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.’
|
| 6 |
| ‘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 ‘t was a famous factory.
|
| 7 |
| ‘My father lived at Blenheim then, |
| 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.
|
| 8 |
| ‘With fire and sword the country round |
| 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.
|
| 9 |
| ‘They say it was a shocking sight |
| 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.
|
| 10 |
| ‘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.’ |
Westbury, 1798
|
| Robert
Southey |
Classic Poems |
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