Quickly and merrily to die
Is better than the sick-bed sigh,
And an unhonored grave.
Our heart at last resumes its life--
Our tongues now urge to holy strife;
The broken chains we see.
When all seemed lost, a saving hand
From heaven vouchsafes to bless our land,
And make us strong and free.
O happy day! The sun new-born
Is dancing as on Easter morn!
See, risen brothers, see!
"We come from slavery's grave unbound,
And mountains and the vales resound
With songs of jubilee.
Ascending from Oppression's night,
Behold the dawn of freedom's light!
Soldiers of God, arise!
The enemy will rue this day,
For victory's eagle scents the prey
And onward quickly flies.
To arms! to horse! my comrades brave!
And let the battle-standard wave,
For now is honor's day.
The dying shout of bloody strife
Is better than the pining life
That sinks by slow decay."]
"Yes, it is better to die quickly and merrily than slowly pine away
and perish in disgrace," repeated a sonorous voice behind him. It
was Leonora, who had just entered the room, unnoticed by her father,
and had listened to the last verse of his song. "Yes, the song is
right," she said, enthusiastically. "But I, father, have already
been pining away for a long time. The first volunteer I saw was as a
dagger that pierced my soul, and ever since I have been ill and
suffering, and in my heart a voice has been continually singing the
words I once heard at the theatre: 'I wish to be a man!'"
"And why do you wish to be a man?" asked her father, bowing his
head, and seemingly devoting his whole attention to his work.
Pages:
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408