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Translated by J. Hughes
PRINCE EUGENE, our noble leader, | |
| Made a vow in death to bleed, or | |
| Win the Emperor back Belgrade: | |
| “Launch pontoons, let all be ready | |
| To bear our ordnance safe and steady | 5 |
| Over the Danube,”—thus he said. | |
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| There was mustering on the border | |
| When our bridge in marching order | |
| Breasted first the roaring stream: | |
| Then at Sembin, vengeance breathing, | 10 |
| We encamped to scourge the heathen | |
| Back to Mahood, and fame redeem. | |
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| ’T was on August one and twenty, | |
| Scouts with glorious tidings plenty | |
| Galloped in through storm and rain; | 15 |
| Turks they swore three hundred thousand, | |
| Marched to give our Prince a rouse, and | |
| Dared us forth to battle-plain. | |
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| Then at Prince Eugene’s headquarters | |
| That our fine old fighting Tartars, | 20 |
| Generals and field-marshals all, | |
| Every point of war debated, | |
| Each in his turn the signal waited | |
| Forth to march and on to fall. | |
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| For the onslaught all were eager | 25 |
| When the word sped round our leaguer: | |
| “Soon as the clock chimes twelve to-night, | |
| Then bold hearts sound boot and saddle, | |
| Stand to your arms and on to battle, | |
| Every one that has hands to fight!” | 30 |
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| Musketeers, horse, yägers, forming, | |
| Sword in hand, each bosom warming, | |
| Still as death we all advance; | |
| Each prepared, come blows or booty, | |
| German-like to do our duty, | 35 |
| Joining hands in the gallant dance. | |
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| Our cannoneers, those tough old heroes, | |
| Struck a lusty peal to cheer us, | |
| Firing ordnance great and small; | |
| Right and left our cannon thundered | 40 |
| Till the Pagans quaked and wondered, | |
| And by platoons began to fall. | |
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| On the right, like a lion angered, | |
| Bold Eugene cheered on the vanguard; | |
| Ludovic spurred up and down, | 45 |
| Crying, “On, boys, every hand to ’t, | |
| Brother Germans, nobly stand to ’t, | |
| Charge them home for our old renown!” | |
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| Gallant Prince, he spoke no more; he | |
| Fell in early youth and glory, | 50 |
| Struck from his horse by some curst ball: | |
| Great Eugene long sorrowed o’er him, | |
| For a brother’s love he bore him, | |
| Every soldier mourned his fall. | |
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| In Waradin we laid his ashes; | 55 |
| Cannon peals and musket flashes | |
| O’er his grave due honors paid: | |
| Then the old Black Eagle flying, | |
| All the Pagan powers defying, | |
| On we marched and stormed Belgrade. | 60 |
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