Why are the trumpets blowing? Ye hussars, away!
‘T is the Field-Marshal rideth, with flying fray;
He rideth so joyous his mettlesome steed,
He swingeth so keenly his bright-flashing blade!
His oath he hath redeemed; when the battle cry rang.
Ha! The old boy! How to saddle he sprang!
It was he who led off the last dance of the ball;
With besom of iron he swept clean the hall!
At Lützen, on the mead, there he struck such a blow,
That end with the fright stood the hair of the foe,
That thousands ran off with hurrying tread,
Ten thousand slept soundly the peace of the dead!
At Katzbach, by the stream, he there played his part;
He taught you, O Frenchmen, the swimmer’s good art!
Farewell to you, Frenchmen, away to the waves!
And take, ye sans-culottes, the whales for your graves!
At Wartburg, on the Elbe, how before him all yielded!
Nor fortress nor castle the Frenchmen shielded;
Again they must spring like hares o’er the field,
And the hero’s hurrah after them pealed.
At Leipsic, on the mead, – O, honor’s glorious fight!
There he shattered the fortunes of France and her might;
There lie they all safely, since so hardly they fell;
And there the old Blücher played the field-marshal well..