. Our Sunday book of reading and pictures . lend to the rhyme of the poetThe beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music,And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,And as silently steal away. LONGFELLOW. Ufte i2)atife o^ ^Penfteim. It was a summer evening, Old Kaspars work was done.And he, before his cottage door, Was sitting in the sun ;And by him sported on the greenHis little erandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother PeterkinRoll something large and round. That he, beside the rivulet.In playing there had found ; She ran to ask what he had fou
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. Our Sunday book of reading and pictures . lend to the rhyme of the poetThe beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. LONGFELLOW. Ufte i2)atife o^ ^Penfteim. It was a summer evening, Old Kaspars work was done.And he, before his cottage door, Was sitting in the sun ;And by him sported on the greenHis little erandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother PeterkinRoll 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 fellows skull, said he, Who fell in the great victory. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. I find them in my garden, for Theres many hereabout ;And often when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out;For many thousand men, said he, Were slain in that great victory. 233. 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 killed each other for? It was the English, Kaspar cried, Who put the French to rout; But what they killed each other for, I could not well make out.2 G 234 OUR SUNDA V BOOK. But everybody said, quoth he, That twas a famous victory. My father Hved at Blenheim then, Yon httle stream hard by;They burned his dweUing 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 wretched mother then And new-born baby died ;—But things like that, you know, must beAt 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 beAfter a famous victory. Grea