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Home  »  library  »  poem  »  The Drum

C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Drum

By Friedrich Rückert (1788–1866)

Translation of Charles Timothy Brooks

OH, the drum—it rattles so loud!

When it calls me with its rattle

To the battle—to the battle—

Sounds that once so charmed my ear

I no longer now can hear;

They are all an empty hum,

For the drum—

Oh, the drum—it rattles so loud!

Oh, the drum—it rattles so loud!

At the door with tearful eye,

Father, mother, to me cry;—

Father! mother! shut the door!

I can hear you now no more!

Ye might as well be dumb,

For the drum—

Oh, the drum—it rattles so loud!

Oh, the drum—it rattles so loud!

At the corner of the street,

Where so oft we used to meet,

Stands my bride, and cries, “Ah, woe!

My bridegroom, wilt thou go?”

Dearest bride, the hour is come!

For the drum—

Oh, the drum—it rattles so loud!

Oh, the drum—it rattles so loud!

My brother in the fight

Bids a last, a long good-night;

And the guns, with knell on knell,

Their tale of warning tell;—

But my ear to that is numb,

For the drum—

Oh, the drum—it rattles so loud!

Oh, the drum—it rattles so loud!

There’s no such stirring sound

Is heard the wide world round

As the drum that with its rattle

Echoes Freedom’s call to battle!

I fear no martyrdom

While the drum—

Oh, the drum—it rattles so loud!