| |
| IN the woods is a village small | |
| Lying in the sunshine’s gold; | |
| By the hillside house, the last of all, | |
| Sits a woman old, so old. | |
| She sits and spins no more, | 5 |
| Her thread slips to her feet, | |
| She thinks of the days of yore | |
| And sinks into slumber sweet. | |
| |
| Noonday steals with quiet deep | |
| O’er the glimmering green, and now | 10 |
| Even thrush and cricket sleep | |
| And the steer before the plough. | |
| All at once they’re marching by, | |
| Gleaming the woods along— | |
| Ahead of the soldiers fly | 15 |
| Drum-beats and fifes’ gay song. | |
| |
| And to the song of Blücher brave, | |
| “They’re here!” cries the village gay, | |
| And all the little maidens wave, | |
| And the boys cry out: “Hurray!” | 20 |
| God bless the harvest gold, | |
| And all the wide world too! | |
| The Emperor’s soldiers bold | |
| The fields are marching through! | |
| |
| Turning round by the hillside near, | 25 |
| Where the last house seems to smile, | |
| See, the first in the woods disappear, | |
| And the old woman wakes meanwhile. | |
| So heavy her heart is growing | |
| In deepest revery, | 30 |
| Her tears are flowing, flowing: | |
| “Like one of these was he!” | |
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