WHY sound the brazen trumpets? Hussars, turn ye out! The field-marshal is riding abroad in the rout!
How sitteth he so lightly his steed prancing by,
How gleameth it so brightly, his sword waved on high!
And here the Germans are; hurrah, and hurrah!
The Germans they are merry, they're shouting hurrah!
Oh, mark ye how his bright eyes are gleaming so kind?—
Oh,
see ye how his gray locks do wave in the wind?-
Like ancient wine his age blooms, so freshly and free,
And therefore he the battle-field's guardian shall be.
And here the Germans are, &c.
He was the man who whilome, when none else could save,
Still looked in trust to Heaven, and still swung the glaive;
And deeply by the steel then on oath did he
The Frenchmen they should feel then how Germans repay.
And here the Germans are, &c.
He kept his oath when loudly the battle-call rang,
Oh, how the hoary youth then to saddletree sprang!
Full soon his gallant band all its might made them feel,
And swept them from the land with a besom of steel.
And here the Germans are, &c.
At Lützen, in the valley, such havoc he made,
That many a haughty Frenchman there lifeless was laid;
And thousands there were leaping and flying amain,
Ten thousand there were sleeping, who wake not again,
And here the Germans
are, &c.
At Katzbach, on the water, was fame too for him,
'Twas there he taught the Frenchmen right deftly to swim. Farewell, ye rascal Frenchmen; flee down to the sea,
Your graves, ye lawless scoundrels, the whale's maw shall be !
And here the Germans are, &c.
At Wartenburg, on the Elbe, too, he harassed them so,
Nor strong redoubt nor fortress could shelter the foe;
Again like timid hares o'er the field must they fly,
While at their heels our hero came shouting his cry!
And here the Germans are, &c.
At Leipsic on the plain,-oh, thrice honoured fight!
There perished with the Frenchmen, their glory and might;
And here the foes lie buried, and reck not their shame,
Here gained our gallant Blucher a field-marshal's name.
And here the Germans are, &c.
Then blow ye brazen trumpets! Hussars, turn ye out! Then ride, thou brave field-marshal, abroad through the
To vict'ry! to the Rhine!-o'er the Rhine then advance-
Thou ancient, gallant sabre, right onward to France!
And here the Germans are, &c.
THE people rise, the storm 's unchained! Who, folding his arms,
hath idle remained? Fie on thee, knave by the chimney stone, Crouching 'mid maidens
and dames alone. A wretched and pitiful
wight art thou;
No German maiden will kiss thee now,
To thee no song shall
delight impart,
And German wine shall
not glad thy heart.
Drink with me
men that be!
Waving our broadswords cheerily!
In the stormy night, when the wind blows cold,
In the driving rain, while our watch we hold,
Thou canst stretch thy length in the curtain'd bed,
Dreamily turning thy pillowed head.
A wretched and pitiful wight, &c.
When the trumpet's voice is heard abroad,
Stirring our hearts like the thunder of God,
In the theatre thou thy ease canst take,
And hear the ditties the actors make.
A wretched and pitiful wight, &c.
While the burning heat of the day we bear,
And water to quench our thirst is rare,
'Tis thine to carouse o'er the bright champagne,
And to load thy board till it groans again.
A wretched and pitiful wight, &c.
When, amid the turmoil of iron war,
Our thoughts to our true-loves wander far,
Thou'rt fain to furnish thy pocket with gold,
For a man like thee love is bought and sold.
A wretched and pitiful wight, &c.
When bullets whistle, and lances ring,
While abroad through our line stalks the shadowy king,
At the card-table thou thy foe canst kill,
Vanquishing kings with the bold spadille.
A wretched and pitiful wight, &c.
And when in the battle our time draws near,
Then welcome, brave death of the volunteer!
Beneath the coverlet death finds thee,
Tortured by med'cine and surgery.
Thou diest like a coward in silken bed;
No German maiden shall mourn thee dead,—
A German song shall not tell thy fame,
Nor a German wine-cup be pledged in thy name.
Drink with me-men that be!
Waving your broadswords cheerily !
PATRIOTIC SONG.
(Vaterlandslied.)
E. M. ARNDT.
GOD, who gave iron, purposed ne'er
That man should be a slave ;
Therefore the sabre, sword, and spear
In his right hand He gave.
Therefore He gave him fiery mood,
Fierce speech, and free-born breath,
That he might fearlessly the feud
Maintain through blood and death.
Therefore will we what God did say,
With honest truth, maintain,-
And ne'er a fellow-creature slay,
A tyrant's pay to gain!
But he shall perish by stroke of brand
Who fighteth for sin and shame,
And not inherit the German land
With men of the German name.
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