They
felt their hearts' wounds, and wept aloud. An electric shock, as it
were, pervaded the whole assembly; not an eye remained dry, not a
heart was unmoved; even Schleiermacher's voice was tremulous when he
uttered his "Amen!"
They departed from the church to the Potsdam gate, and along the
road leading to Potsdam, continuing their march on the following
day, after being joined by the company which La Motte Fouque had
recruited in that city. The grief of their separation from their
dear ones was forgotten as they hastened toward the future--a future
of battles and victories.
"Now, no more tears, no more sighs! Let us sing a merry song!" said
the young volunteers.
"Yes. Where is a poet who can sing us a song such as we need now?"
"Fouque is here; let him sing! Yes, Fouque is among us! We have
elected him captain! He is a chivalrous soldier, and gained his
spurs in 1794, during the war against the French. He deserves to be
our captain!"
"But he deserves, too, to be our bard, for by his 'Undine' he has
also won his laurels as a poet."
"Let us have a song, brave La Motte Fouque!" shouted all the
volunteers. "There is Father Jahn, who will persuade him. Ask Fouque
to sing us a war-song!"
Jahn galloped up to the poet, who was riding in thoughtful silence
at the head of his company; it is true, he had heard the
solicitations of the young men, but continued his way, smiling and
muttering to himself.
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