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Translated by H. W. Dulcken
FORTH from Berlin a brave hero did ride, | |
| And troopers six hundred after him hied; | |
| Six hundred troopers of gallant mood, | |
| Who all were athirst for the Frenchman’s blood.— | |
| O Schill, thy sword smiteth hard! | 5 |
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| And there were marching, these riders beside, | |
| A thousand soldiers of courage tried; | |
| O soldiers, may Heaven bless each blow | |
| That ’s destined to lay a Frenchman low.— | |
| O Schill, thy sword smiteth hard! | 10 |
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| Thus forth wends the brave, the gallant Schill; | |
| To fight the Frenchman it is his will. | |
| Nor for king nor for emperor combats he, | |
| But for fatherland and for liberty.— | |
| O Schill, thy sword smiteth hard! | 15 |
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| At Dodendorf did those soldiers good | |
| Dye the fat earth with the Frenchmen’s blood. | |
| Two thousand men by their swords were slain, | |
| To trust to their heels the rest were fain.— | |
| O Schill, thy sword smiteth hard! | 20 |
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| Then stormed they Dömitz, that fortress strong, | |
| And cast out the Frenchman’s rascal throng: | |
| To Pomerania they then passed o’er, | |
| Where no Frenchman shall cry his “qui vive” more.— | |
| O Schill, thy sword smiteth hard. | 25 |
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| To Stralsund the troops came thundering on! | |
| O Frenchmen, like birds could ye but be gone! | |
| O, could ye feathers and pinions find, | |
| For Schill is coming, who rides like the wind.— | |
| O Schill, thy sword smiteth hard! | 30 |
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| Into the city he thundered amain, | |
| Where Wallenstein once kept his watch in vain,— | |
| Where slept in the gate the Twelfth Charles so sound; | |
| But towers and wall are now razed to the ground.— | |
| O Schill, thy sword smiteth hard! | 35 |
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| O, woe to ye Frenchmen! How death doth mow! | |
| The swords of the riders, how ruddy they glow! | |
| How boils in the troopers their German blood! | |
| To slaughter the Frenchmen it seemeth them good.— | |
| O Schill, thy sword smiteth hard! | 40 |
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| O, woe to thee, Schill, thou hero free, | |
| What treacherous toils are laid for thee! | |
| On land they are flying, but from the main | |
| Comes creeping the traitorous serpent, the Dane.— | |
| O Schill, thy sword smiteth hard! | 45 |
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| O Schill, brave Schill, thou hero stout, | |
| Why rodest not thou with the troopers out? | |
| Thy courage why hide ’neath the rampart’s shade? | |
| In Stralsund now shall thy grave be made.— | |
| O Schill, thy sword smiteth hard! | 50 |
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| O Stralsund, Stralsund, thou heavy town! | |
| The bravest spirit in thee went down! | |
| A ball his gallant heart hath torn, | |
| And knaves of the hero made jest and scorn.— | |
| O Schill, thy sabre smote hard! | 55 |
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| For a saucy Frenchman he cried aloud, | |
| “Like a dog we ’ll bury this hero proud! | |
| Like a thief whose body on gallows and wheel | |
| Hath made for the kite and the raven a meal!”— | |
| O Schill, thy sabre smote hard. | 60 |
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| They carried him out when all was dumb, | |
| Without sound of fife, without beat of drum.— | |
| No music of cannon or gun they gave, | |
| Wherewith to salute the soldier’s grave.— | |
| O Schill, thy sabre smote hard! | 65 |
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| From off his shoulders they cut his head; | |
| His corpse in a worthless grave they laid. | |
| Till the judgment day he his rest must take: | |
| God grant he may then to joy awake.— | |
| O Schill, thy sabre smote hard! | 70 |
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| The pious and gallant heart sleeps on, | |
| With no stone to tell of the deeds he ’s done; | |
| But, though no honor-stone hath he, | |
| His name shall never forgotten be.— | |
| O Schill, thy sabre smote hard! | 75 |
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| When saddles the trooper his steed so light, | |
| When swingeth the trooper his sword so bright, | |
| He cries in anger, “Sir Schill, Sir Schill, | |
| On the Frenchman revenge thy wrongs I will!”— | |
| O Schill, thy sabre smote hard. | 80 |
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