Alle Donner, die der Himmel sendet,Sollten rufen: Volk erwache! feiges;
Greife zum Schwerte.
Rache! Rache! heissen, blut'gen Tod
Sklavenfürsten und dem Knecht der fliehet!
Männerwort gefürchtet und gepriesen,
Männliche Tugend!
Ach wohin? wo Winkelried erlag,
Wilhelm schlug, und Ruyter tapfer siegte;
Auf den höchsten Alpen, in den tiefsten
Sümpfen ist Knechtschaft.
Auch du, Hermann's, auch du, kühnes Volk?
Auf! Erwache! Schüttle deine Ketten,
Dass die Schmach die Welt vernehme, bald auch
Blutige Rache!
Lieder helfen hier and Mäler nicht.
Mäler? Tief im Herzen sei das Denkmal,
An dem Thurm der selbstgebornen Tugend
Hebe dich, Jüngling!
Und voran geworfen kühn die Brust,
Und empor das Auge zu dem Himmel,
Hoch die Fahne! Hoch zum Himmel! Höher
Flammende Herzen.
Tod, du süsser, für das Vaterland,
Süsser als der Brautgruss, als das Lallen
Auf dem Mutterschooss des ersten Kindes,
Sei mir willkommen!
Was das Lied nicht löset, löst das Schwert,
Blinkend Heil, umgürte meine Hüften!
Vor der Schande kannst du Tapfre retten,
Zierde der Tapfern!
Just when the youth had sung the last verse in a ringing voice, he had reached the bush. And now there arose above it two pale heads, wrapped in white, blood-stained handkerchiefs, and sang in enthusiastic tone the last verse of the song they had heard:
Was das Lied nicht löset, löst das Schwert!
Blinkend Heil, umgürte meine Hüften!
Vor der Schande kannst du Tapfre retten,
Zierde der Tapfern!
CHAPTER III.
THE OATH OF VENGEANCE.
Speechless with surprise, the youth had listened to the song, and fixed his large eyes steadfastly on the two officers, whose uniforms and wounds revealed to him the melancholy fate that had befallen them during the last few days.
When the two were silent, he approached them with an air of profound respect.
"Bravo, officers of Auerstadt or Jena," he said, with a voice trembling with emotion, "permit a poor young wanderer to present his respects to you, and to thank you, in the name of the German fatherland, for the wounds on your foreheads. Such wounds are also an 'ornament of the brave.'" [An allusion to the last line of the original song.]
"And such words are an ornament of a noble heart," exclaimed Schill, offering his hand to the youth.
He took it with a joyful gesture, and, quickly kneeling down, imprinted a glowing kiss on the feverish hand of the wounded officer.
"My God!" exclaimed Schill, surprised, "what are you doing? How can a man kiss another's hand and kneel before him? Rise!"
"I am no man," said the youth, deeply moved. "I am but a poor boy, who has not yet done any thing for his country, and, perhaps, never will be able to do any thing for it, but who feels the most profound respect for those who were more fortunate than he. I, therefore, kiss your hand as Catholics kiss the hands of their saints and martyrs. For are you not at the present hour a martyr of German liberty? Hence, sir, give me your hand, too. Let me press my poor lips on it, also. It is the only way for me to manifest my profound respect for you."
"No," said Count Pückler, feelingly, "you shall not kiss my hand, but my cheeks and my lips. Let me embrace you, young man, let me embrace you for the boon you have conferred on us by your words. Come, sir!"
The young man uttered a joyous cry, and, rising quickly, threw himself with youthful impetuosity into the count's arms.
"I will and must have my share in the embrace," exclaimed Schill, smiling; "did not you before expressly request me, comrade, to lend you my left arm for every embrace? Well, then, here it is."
He quickly wound his left arm around the necks of the others, and pressed them firmly to his heart. When they withdrew their arms again, tears were glistening in the eyes of the officers as well as in those of the youth.
"Grief and adversity cause men easily to fraternize," said Schill, "and therefore we shall be brethren henceforward."
"You will be my brethren?" exclaimed the young man, joyfully. "You will permit the poor boy to call two heroes brethren?"
"Heroes!" said Pückler, sighing. "Then you do not know, my friends, that we were disgracefully defeated and trampled under foot in yesterday's battle?"
"I know that, but know also that the luck of battles is not the true standard for the bravery of warriors. You at least did not run, and, like true heroes, you bear your wounds on your foreheads; your mothers, therefore, will proudly bid you welcome; your betrothed or your wives will embrace you with rapturous tears, and your friends will be proud of your valor."
"Does it not seem almost as though he had heard our mournful and despondent words, and wished to comfort us?" asked Schill, turning to the count. "His blue eyes apparently do not behold only our physical wounds, but also those which cause our hearts to bleed, and he wishes to apply a balm to them by his sweet, flattering words."
"He wishes to console the poor defeated, and reconcile them to their fate," said Pückler, nodding kindly to the youth.
"You have a better and more generous opinion of me than I deserve," he said, sadly bowing his head so as to shake its exuberant mass of long, fair hair. "I simply told you what I thought, and what every one who looks at both of you will and must think."
"Would to God you spoke the truth, young man!" said Count Pückler, mournfully. "Believe me, however, but few will think like yourself; a great many will rejoice at seeing us defeated and humiliated."
