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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
The Song of the Field-Marshal
By Ernst Moritz Arndt (1769–1860)
 
WHAT’S the blast from the trumpets? Hussars, to the fray!
The field-marshal 1 rides in the rolling mellay:
So gay on his mettlesome war-horse he goes,
So fierce waves his glittering sword at his foes.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!        5
The Germans are joyful: they’re shouting hurrah!
 
Oh, see as he comes how his piercing eyes gleam!
Oh, see how behind him his snowy locks stream!
So fresh blooms his age, like a well-ripened wine,
He may well as the battle-field’s autocrat shine.        10
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they’re shouting hurrah!
 
It was he, when his country in ruin was laid,
Who sternly to heaven uplifted his blade,
And swore on the brand, with a heart burning high,        15
To show Frenchmen the trade that the Prussians could ply.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they’re shouting hurrah!
 
That oath he has kept. When the battle-cry rang,
Hey! how the gray youth to the saddle upsprang!        20
He made a sweep-dance for the French in the room,
And swept the land clean with a steel-ended broom.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they’re shouting hurrah!
 
At Lützen, in the meadow, he kept up such a strife,        25
That many thousand Frenchmen there yielded up their life;
That thousands ran headlong for very life’s sake,
And thousands are sleeping who never will wake.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they’re shouting hurrah!        30
 
On the water, at Katzbach, his oath was in trim:
He taught in a moment the Frenchmen to swim.
Farewell, Frenchmen; fly to the Baltic to save!
You mob without breeches, catch whales for your grave.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!        35
The Germans are joyful: they’re shouting hurrah!
 
At Wartburg, on the Elbe, how he cleared him a path!
Neither fortress nor town barred the French from his wrath;
Like hares o’er the field they all scuttled away,
While behind them the hero rang out his Huzza!        40
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they’re shouting hurrah!
 
At Leipzig—O glorious fight on the plain!—
French luck and French might strove against him in vain;
There beaten and stiff lay the foe in their blood,        45
And there dear old Blücher a field-marshal stood.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they’re shouting hurrah!
 
Then sound, blaring trumpets! Hussars, charge once more!
Ride, field-marshal, ride like the wind in the roar!        50
To the Rhine, over Rhine, in your triumph advance!
Brave sword of our country, right on into France!
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful; they’re shouting hurrah!
 
Note 1. Blücher. [back]
 
 
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