The last of all the bards was he,
Who sung of Border chivalry.
For, well-a-day! their date was fled,
His tuneful brethren all were dead;
And he, neglected and oppress'd,
Wish'd to be with them, and at rest.
No more, on prancing palfrey borne,
He caroll'd, light as lark at morn;
No longer courted and caress'd,
High placed in hall, a welcome guest,
He pour'd, to lord and lady gay,

The unpremeditated lay:

Old times were changed, old manners gone; A stranger fill'd the Stuarts' throne;

The bigots of the iron time

Had call'd his harmless art a crime.
A wandering harper, scorn'd and poor,
He begg'd his bread from door to door;
And tuned, to please a peasant's ear,
The harp a king had loved to hear.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

10. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

T was a summer evening,

IT

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.

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
That he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;
She ran to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

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.

"I find them in my garden, for
There's many hereabout;

And often when I go to plough
The ploughshare turns them out;
thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory."

For many

"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 kill'd each other for?"

"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout:
But what they kill'd each other for,
I could not well make out.
But every body said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory!

"My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;

They burn'd 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!

"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.

"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.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won,

And our good prince Eugene." "Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay-Nay-my little girl," quoth he,

"It was a famous victory!

"And every body 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 'twas a famous victory."

C

SOUTHEY.

11. THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ORCHARD.

A

YOUNGSTER at school, more sedate than the rest,

Had once his integrity put to the test:

His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And ask'd him to go and assist in the job.

He was shock'd and annoy'd, and answer'd—“Oh no!
What rob our poor neighbour! I pray you don't go;
Besides the man's poor, his orchard's his bread;
Then think of his children, for they must be fed."

"You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
But apples we want, and apples we'll have;

If you
will go with us, we'll give you a share,
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear.'

They spoke, and Tom ponder'd-"I see they will go;
Poor man! what a pity to injure him so!
Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could,
But staying behind will do him no good.

"If the matter depended alone upon me,

His apples might hang till they dropp'd from the tree;

But since they will take them, I think I'll go too;
He will lose none by me, though I get a few."

His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease,
And went with his comrades the apples to seize;
He blamed and protested, but join'd in the plan;
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man.

COWPER.

12. THE HEAVENLY CANAAN.

THERE

THERE is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign ;

Infinite day excludes the night,

And pleasures banish pain.

There everlasting spring abides,
And never-withering flowers:
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
That heavenly land from ours.
Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dress'd in living green;
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
While Jordan roll'd between.

But timorous mortals start and shrink
To cross this narrow sea;
And linger shivering at the brink,
And fear to launch away.

Oh! could we all our doubts remove,
Those gloomy doubts that rise;
And see the Canaan that we love,

With faith's unclouded eyes;

Could we but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o'er, -

Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood, Should fright us from the shore.

DR. WATTS.