The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Should you of the comrades black demand-- That is Lutzow's wild and untamed band.
What pa.s.ses swift through the darksome glade, And roves o'er the mountains all?
It crouches in nightly ambuscade; The hurrah breaks round the foe dismayed, And the Frankish sergeants fall.
Should you of the rangers black demand-- That is Lutzow's wild and audacious band.
Where the vineyards flourish, there roars the Rhine; There the tyrant thought him secure; Then by thunder-crash and lightning-s.h.i.+ne In the waters plunges the fighting line; Of the hostile bank makes sure.
Should you of the swimmers black demand-- That is Lutzow's wild and foolhardy band.
There down in the valley what clamorous fight!
What clangor of b.l.o.o.d.y swords!
Fierce-hearted hors.e.m.e.n wage the fight, And the spark of freedom's at last alight, Flaming red the heavens towards.
Should you of the hors.e.m.e.n black demand-- That is Lutzow's wild and intrepid band.
Who with death-rattle there bid the day farewell 'Mid the moans of prostrate foes?
Of the hand of death the drawn features tell, Yet the dauntless hearts triumphant swell, For his Fatherland's safe each knows!
Should you of the black-clad fallen demand-- That is Lutzow's wild and invincible band.
The wild, fierce band and the Teuton band, For all tyrants' blood athirst!-- So you who would mourn us, be not unmanned; For the morning dawns, and we freed our land, Though to free it we won death first!
Then tell, at your grandsons' rapt demand: That was Lutzow's wild and unconquered band!
[Ill.u.s.tration: THEODOR KoRNER]
PRAYER DURING BATTLE[13](1813)
Father, I call to thee.
The roaring artillery's clouds thicken round me, The hiss and the glare of the loud bolts confound me.
Ruler of battles, I call on thee O Father, lead thou me!
O Father, lead thou me; To victory, to death, dread Commander, O guide me; The dark valley brightens when thou art beside me; Lord, as thou wilt, so lead thou me.
G.o.d, I acknowledge thee.
G.o.d, I acknowledge thee; When the breeze through the dry leaves of autumn is moaning, When the thunder-storm of battle is groaning, Fount of mercy, in each I acknowledge thee.
O Father, bless thou me!
O Father, bless thou me; I trust in thy mercy, whate'er may befall me; 'Tis thy word that hath sent me; that word can recall me.
Living or dying, O bless thou me!
Father, I honor thee.
Father, I honor thee; Not for earth's h.o.a.rds or honors we here are contending; All that is holy our swords are defending; Then falling, and conquering, I honor thee.
G.o.d, I repose in thee.
G.o.d, I repose in thee; When the thunders of death my soul are greeting, When the gashed veins bleed, and the life is fleeting, In thee, my G.o.d, I repose in thee.
Father, I call on thee.
_MAXIMILIAN GOTTFRIED VON SCHENKENDORF_
THE MOTHER TONGUE[14] (1814)
Mother tongue, oh, tongue most dear, Sweet and gladsome to mine ear!
Word that first I heard, endearing Word of love, first timid sound That I stammered--still I'm hearing Thee within my soul profound.
Oh, my heart will ever grieve When my Fatherland I leave, For in foreign tongues repeating Words of strangers, I lose cheer.
Oh, they seem not like a greeting, And I'll never hold them dear.
Speech so wonderful to hear-- How thou ringest pure and clear!
Though thy beauty hath enthralled me, Still I'll deepen my delight, Awed, as if my fathers called me From the grave's eternal night.
Ring on ever, tongue of old, Tongue of lovers, heroes bold!
Rise, old song, though lost for ages, From thy secret tomb, and go Live again in sacred pages, Set all hearts once more aglow.
Breath of G.o.d is everywhere, Custom sacred here as there.
Yet when I give thanks, am praying, A beloved heart would seek, When my highest thoughts I'm saying-- Then my mother tongue I speak.
[Ill.u.s.tration: MAXIMILIAN GOTTFRIED VON SCHENKENDORF]
SPRING GREETING TO THE FATHERLAND[15] (1814)
Fatherland, thy pleasures greet me After bondage, war's distress!
I must steep my soul completely Here in all thy gorgeousness.
Where the oak-trees murmur mildly With their crowns to heaven raised, Mighty streams are roaring wildly-- There the German land be praised.
From the Rhinefall, all delighted, I have walked, from Danube's spring; Mildly, in my soul benighted Love-stars rose, illumining; Now I would descend, and brightly Radiate a joyous s.h.i.+ne Into Neckar's valleys sprightly, O'er the blue and silver Main.
Onward fly, my message, bringing Freedom's greeting evermore, Far away thou shalt be ringing By my home on Memel's sh.o.r.e.
Where the German tongue is spoken, Hearts have fought to make her free-- Fought right gladly--there unbroken Stays our sacred Germany.
All with sunlight seems a-blazing, All things seem adorned with green-- Pastures where the herds are grazing, Hills where ripening grapes are seen.
Such a spring time has not graced thee, Fatherland, for thousand years; Glory of thy fathers faced thee Once in dreams, and now appears.
Once more weapons must be wielded; Go, a spirit-fray begin, Till the latest foe has yielded-- He who threatens you within.
Pa.s.sions vile ye should be blighting, Hate, suspicion, envy, greed-- Then take, after heavy fighting, German hearts, the rest ye need.
Then shall all men be possessing Honor, humbleness, and might, And thus only can the blessing Sent our monarch s.h.i.+ne with right.
All the ancient sins must perish-- In the G.o.d-sent deluge all, And the heritage we cherish To a worthy heir must fall.
G.o.d has blessed the grain that's growing And the vineyard's fruit no less; Men with hunter's joy are glowing; In the homes reigns happiness.
