9th Marines

I have been meaning to post this some time ago, but being plagued with procrastination the event has been deferred. Now is the time to put wants into action.

I was probably one of the least likely to get anything out of Gertrude Arnold's English literature class, but in the 60+ years since leaving those august halls I am probably the only one who reflects back upon some of the works we studied.

This is meant especially for the saber rattling patriots who frequent this site, but all may come away a bit wiser.

If you take the time to read it, it won't take too long, reflect on these four questions:
1) When did Southey write it?
2) What may have prompted his having written it?
3) Is there a message in the work that might be applicable to the United States in the 21st century?

The Battle of Blenheim
By 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 here about;
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 new-born baby died;
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

"They said 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."

Armageddun Loc: The show me state

"After Blenheim" is an anti-war poem written by English Romantic poet laureate Robert Southey in 1796 (see 1796 in poetry). The poem is set at the site of the Battle of Blenheim (1704), with the questions of small children about a skull one of them has found. An old man tells two small children of burned homes, civilian casualties, and rotting corpses, while repeatedly calling it "a famous victory".

Mollypitcher1

Frankly I prefer :
Take up our quarrel with the foe,
To you from failing hands we throw
the torch, Be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die,
We shall not sleep
Though poppies grow in Flander's Fields.

9th Marines

Thanks for sharing. As with scriptures, I like to see what preceded what is quoted, although I am familiar with what is quoted others may not.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead.
Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

9th Marines

And speaking of Flanders, among my favorite pieces of poetry/music is Eric Bogle's "The Green Fields of France" which he wrote in 1976. I believe you can hear John McDermott's rendition on YouTube if this piques your interest. Thanks for getting me on this roll.

Well, how do you do, young Willie McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside?
And rest for awhile ‘neath the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the great fallen in 1916,
I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and unseen?

Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the pipes lowly?
Did they play the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

Did you leave a family or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And though you died back in 1916,
To that faithful heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Forever entombed behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn, tattered and stained,
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?

The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm summer breeze makes the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
There’s no gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard it’s still No Man's Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation butchered and damned.

I can't help but wonder, young Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why did they die?
Did they really believe when they answered the call?"
Did you really believe that this war would end war?
The suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The k*****g, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For young Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Armageddun Loc: The show me state

Amen; both deeply inspiriing :XD: Amen