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Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy ;
While thus ) sing, I am a king,
Although a poor Blind Boy.
13.-ANIMALS AND THEIR COUNTRIES,
O’er Afric's sand the tawny lion stalks ;
On Phasis’ banks the graceful pheasant walks ;
The lonely eagle builds on Kilda's  shore;
Germania's forests feed the tusky boar ;
From Alp to Alp the sprightly ibex bounds ;
With peaceful lowings Britain's isle resounds;
The Lapland peasant o'er the frozen meer, 
Is drawn in sledges by the swift rein-deer ;
The river-horse and scaly crocodile
Infest the reedy banks of fruitful Nile ;
The dipsas (4) hisses over Mauritania's  plain,
And seals and spouting whales sport in the northern
 Phasis--a river in Persia
 Kilda-an island of Scotland, the most western of the Hebrides.
 Meer-a large lake.
 Dipsas-a venomous serpent.
 Mauritania- the ancient name of north-western Africa, now Fez and Morocco.
14.—THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
It 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,
That he beside the rivulet,
In playing there, had found;
She ran 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 my 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.'
To] This dreadful battle was fought in Queen Anne's reign, at Blenheim, a village in Bavaria, situated on the Danube.
 There's many--there is many-put for “there are many.”
 It is said that 36,000 men were left killed and wounded on the field.
“Now tell us what 'twas all about,”
Young Peterkin, he cries,
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder-waiting (1) eyes ;
“Now tell us all about the war,
And what they kill'd each other for."
“ It was the English,” Kaspar cried,
“That put the French to rout;
But what they kill'd each other for,
I 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 burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly ;
So with his wife and child he fled,
And knew not where to rest his head
“ With fire and sword the country round
They wasted far and wide,
And many a wretched mother, then,
And new-born infant, 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.  Wonder-waiting--waiting for wonders.  Quoth-says or said.  Yon little stream hard by-close to yonder little streain.
“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 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,” said he,
“ But "twas a famous victory.”
When avarice enslaves the mind,
And selfish views alone bear sway,
Man turns a savage to his kind,
And blood and rapine mark his way.
Alas.! for this poor, simple toy,
I sold a happy negro boy.
His father's hope, his mother's pride,
Though black, yet comely to the view;
I tore him helpless from their side,
· And gave him to a ruffian crew ;
To fiends that Afric's coast annoy,
I sold the trembling negro boy.
(1) An African prince, who once visited England, was asked what he had given for his watch; he answered, “what I will never give again-a fine boy."
From country, friends, and parents torn,
His tender limbs in chains confin’d,
I saw him o'er the billows borne,
And mark'd his agony of mind ;
But still to gain this simple toy,
I gave the weeping negro boy. Beneath a tyrant's harsh command,
He wears away his youthful prime,
Far distant from his native land,
A stranger in a foreign clime.
No hopeful dreams his nights employ,
A poor, dejected negro boy..
His wretched parents long shall mourn,
Shall long explore the distant main,
Eager to see the youth return-
But all their hopes and sighs are vain ;
They never shall the sight enjoy,
Of their lamented negro boy.
Camel, thou art good and mild,
Docile as a little child;
Thou wast made for usefulness,
Man to comfort and to bless :
Thou dost clothe him ; thou dost feed ;
Thou dost lend to him thy speed;
And through wilds of trackless sand,
In the hot Arabian land,
Where no rock its shadow throws;
Where no pleasant water flows;