86 THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. She saw her brother Peterkin In playing there, had found; He came to ask what he had found, Old Kaspar took it from the boy, 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. "I find them in the garden, For there's many here about; The ploughshare turns them out. "Now tell us what 't was all about," "It was the English," Kaspar cried, THE INCHCAPE ROCK. "My father lived at Blenheim then, They burned his dwelling to the ground, So with his wife and child he fled, "With fire and sword the country round And many a hapless mother then, But things like that, you know, must be "Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won, Said little Wilhelmine. Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory, "And every body praised the Duke, Why, that I cannot tell," said he, "But 't was a famous victory." 87 THE INCHCAPE ROCK.-Southey. No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, 88 THE INCHCAPE ROCK. Without either sign or sound of their shock, The abbot of Aberbrothok Had placed that bell on the Inchcape rock; When the rocks were hid by the surge's swell, The sun in heaven was shining gay, The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen, He felt the cheering power of spring, His eye was on the Inchcape float; And I'll plague the abbot of Aberbrothok." THE INCHCAPE ROCK. The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound, Quoth Sir Ralph, the rock "The next who comes to Wont bless the abbot of Aberbrothok." Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away; So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, On the deck the Rover takes his stand; Quoth Sir Ralph,-"It will be lighter soon, "Can'st hear," said one, "the breakers roar, 89 They hear no sound; the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along; Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock; O Death! it is the Inchcape rock. 90 TO MY BIRDIE. Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; TO MY BIRDIE. - Mrs. Southey. HERE's only you an' me, Birdie! here's only you an' me! An' there you sit, you humdrum fowl! Sae mute an' mopish as an owl, — Sour companie! Sing me a little song, Birdie! lift up a little lay! To stun them with your minstrelsie, The lee lang day; An' now we're only twa, Birdie! an' now we 're only twa; 'T were sure but kind and cozie, Birdie ! Dull care awa'. Ye ken when folks are paired, Birdie! ye ken when folks are paired, Life's fair, an' foul, and freakish weather, An' lignt an' lumbring loads, thegither Maun a' be shared; |