Martin. The lady again withdrew to the door. On both sides stood the
two young volunteers, with their blooming faces, and between these
two groups stood the tall and noble form of the young poet, whose
fine face beamed with courage and energy, and on whose brow genius
had pressed the kiss of inspiration.
"Now, listen attentively!" said Theodore Korner, smiling. "My song
is easy to sing, for who is ignorant of the song of the Rhenish
wine? Let us sing it to that melody!"
And through the tailor's shop, hitherto so peaceful and silent,
resounded the song of the Black Riflemen:
"In's Feld, in's Feld, die Rachegeister mahnen,
Auf, deutsches Volk, zum Krieg!
In's Feld, in's Feld! Hoch flattern unsere Fahnen,
Sie fuhren uns zum Sieg!"
"Klein ist die Schaar, doch gross ist das Vertranen
Auf den gerechten Gott!
Wo seine Engel ihre Veste bauen,
Sind Hollenkunste Spott."
"Gebt kein Pardon! Konet Ihr das Schwert nicht heben,
So wurgt sie ohne Scheu!
Und hoeh verkauft den letzten Tropfen Leben,
Der Tod macht Alle freil"
[Footnote:
To the field! the spirits of vengeance cry;
Rise, and your country save!
Uplift your eagle banners to the sky--
For victory they wave!
In number small, but great our confidence
In a just God's decree;
When His own angels build our sure defence,
Vain is hell's strategy.
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