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“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 'twas a famous victory.
“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.
“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 ;
And 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 Marlbro' 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."



“How does the Water Come down at Lodore ? ”

My little boy ask'd me

Thus, once on a time;
And moreover he task'd me
To tell him in rhyme;

Anon at the word,
There first came one daughter,
And then came another,

To second and third
The request of their brother,
And to hear how the Water

Comes down at Lodore,
With its rush and its roar,

As many a time
They had seen it before.
So I told them in rhyme,
For of rhymes I had store;
And 'twas in my vocation

For their recreation
That so I should sing;

Because I was Laureate
To them and the King.
From its sources which well
In the tarn on the fell;

From its fountains

In the mountains, Its rills and its gills; Through moss and through brake, It runs and it

For awhile, till it sleeps
In its own little Lake.

And thence at departing,
Awakening and starting,
It runs through the reeds

And away it proceeds
Through meadow and glade,

In sun and in shade,
And through the wood-shelter,
Among crags in its flurry,


Here it comes sparkling,
And there it lies darkling ;
Now smoaking and frothing
Its tumult and wrath in,

Till in its rapid race,
On which it is bent,
It reaches the place
Of its deep descent.

The cataract strong
Then plunges along,
Striking and raging,

As if a war waging
Its caverns and rocks among :

Rising and leaping,

Sinking and creeping,

Swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing,

Flying and flinging,
Writhing and wringing,
Eddying and whisking,
Spouting and frisking,
Turning and twisting,

Around and around,
With endless rebound;

Smiting and fighting,

A sight to delight in;

Confounding, astounding, Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.

Collecting, projecting,
Receding and speeding,
And shocking and rocking,
And darting and parting,
And threading and spreading,
And whizzing and hissing,
And dripping and skipping,
And hitting and splitting,
And shining and twining,
And rattling and battling,
And shaking and quaking,
And pouring and roaring,
And waving and raving,
And tossing and crossing,
And flowing and going,
And running and stunning,
And foaming and roaming,
And dinning and spinning,
And dropping and hopping,
And working and jerking,
And guggling and struggling,

And heaving and cleaving,
And moaning and groaning;

And glittering and frittering,
And gathering and feathering,
And whitening and brightening,
And quivering and shivering,
And hurrying and skurrying,
And thundering and floundering;

Dividing and gliding and sliding,
And falling and brawling and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling,
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,
And clattering and battering and shattering;

Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting,
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying,
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
Recoiling, turmoiling, and toiling and boiling,
And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming,
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing,
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling,
And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing;
And so never ending, but always descending,
Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending,
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,
And this

the Water comes down at Lodore.


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