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Coffee groves, whose ample shade Shall screen the dark Creolian maid. But soon, alas! his darling pleasure In watching this his precious treasure Is like to fade, — for water fails On board the ship in which he sails. Now all the reservoirs are shut, The crew on short allowance put. So small a drop is each man's share, Few leavings you may think there are To water these poor coffee plants;But he supplies their gasping wants;E'en from his own dry, parched lips He spares it for his coffee slips. Water he gives his nurslings first, Ere he allays his own deep thirst; Lest, if he first the water sip, He bear too far his eager lip. He sees them droop for want of more, Yet, when they reach the destined shore, With pride the heroic gardener sees A living sap still in the trees. The islanders his praise resound;Coffee plantations rise around;And Martinico loads her ships With produce from those dear-saved slips.
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. — Southey.
It was a summer evening,
And he before his cottage-door
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild, Wilhelmine.
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
She saw her brother Peterkin
Which he beside the rivulet,
He came 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, 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,
And often, when I go to plough,
For many thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory."
"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 killed each other for."
"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
But what they killed each other for,
But everybody 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;
"With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide;
And new-born baby, died.
"Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won, And our good Prince Eugene!"
"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't was a famous victory."
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
When the rocks were hid by the surge's swell,
The sun in heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round,
And there was joyance in their sound.
The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen,
He felt the cheering power of spring,
His eye was on the Inchcape float;
The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.
Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound, The bubbles rose and burst around;Quoth Sir Ralph, — " The next who comes to the rock
Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away;
So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky,
On the deck the Rover takes his stand;
"Can'st hear," said one, "the breakers roar,
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.