XLIV. At that most blessed name, as at a spell, Conscience, the God within him, smote his heart. His hand for murder raised unharming fell, He felt cold sweat-drops on his forehead start, A moment mute in holy horror stood, Then cried, "Joy, joy, my God! I have not shed his blood!" XLV. He raised Anselmo up, and bade him live, XLVI. He ran with breathless speed,-he reach'd the door, He came to crave for pardon, to adore For grace vouchsafed; before the cross he fell, And raised his swimming eyes, and thought that there He saw the imaged Christ smile favouring on his XLVII. prayer. A blest illusion! From that very night THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. I. It was a summer evening, II. She saw her brother Peterkin In playing there, had found; III. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, 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. IV. I find them in the garden, for Now tell us what 'twas all about, With wonder-waiting eyes; Now tell us all about the war, And what they kill'd each other for. My father lived at Blenheim then, They burnt his dwelling to the ground, So with his wife and child he fled, VIII. With fire and sword the country round! And many a childing mother then, And new-born infant, died. But things like that, you know, must be IX. They say it was a shocking sight, For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, Nay-nay-my little girl, quoth he, |