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 And then the old man shook his head, and with a natural sigh, ‘’Tis some poor fellow’s skull,’ said he Who fell in that great victory!

‘I find them in the garden, for there’s many here about; And often when I go to plough, the ploughshare turns them out: For many thousand men,’ said he, ‘Were slain in the great victory!’

‘Now tell us what ‘twas all about,’ young Peterkin he cries And little Wilhelmine looks up with wondering 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 route: But what they kill’d each other for 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 burned his dwelling to the ground, and he was forc’d 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!—