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 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 Malbro' won, and our good Prince Eugene.’ Why, ’twas a very wicked thing, said little Wilhemine, ‘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,’ quoth he, ‘But it was a famous victory!’ Southey.

O Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile, And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, When leagued oppression poured to Northern wars Her whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars. Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn;

Tumultuous horror brooded o’er her van, Presaging wrath to Poland—and to man!