The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck,
And he fix'd his eyes on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of Spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,

But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float;
Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok."

The boat is lower'd, 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 Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok."

Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away

He scour'd the seas for many a day;

And now grown rich with plunder'd store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.

Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."

"Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? For methinks we should be near the shore; Now where we are I cannot tell,

But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell."

They hear no sound, the swell is strong, Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock; Cried they, "It is the Inchcape Rock!"

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
He curst himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side,
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But even in his dying fear

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell,
The fiends below were ringing his knell.

AFTER BLENHEIM

ROBERT SOUTHEY

T was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door

Was sitting in the sun;

And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round
Which he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;

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 then the old man shook his head,

And with a natural sigh

"Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory."

"I find them in the garden,

For there's 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."

"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 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 everybody 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 newborn 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;

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 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 everybody 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."