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HURRAH, GERMANIA!
(July 25, 1870)
Hurrah! thou lady proud and fair,
Hurrah! Germania mine!
What fire is in thine eye, as there
Thou bendest o'er the Rhine!
How in July's full blaze dost thou
Flash forth thy sword, and go,
With heart elate and knitted brow,
To strike the invader low!
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! Germania!
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No thought hadst thou, so calm and light,
Of war or battle plain,
But on thy broad fields, waving bright,
Didst mow the golden grain,
With clashing sickles, wreaths of corn,
Thy sheaves didst garner in,
When, hark! across the Rhine War's horn
Breaks through the merry din!
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! Germania!
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Down sickle then and wreath of wheat
Amidst the corn were cast,
And, starting fiercely to thy feet,
Thy heart beat loud and fast;
Then with a shout I heard thee call:
"Well, since you will, you may!
Up, up, my children, one and all,
On to the Rhine! Away!"
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! Germania!
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From port to port the summons flew,
Rang o'er our German wave;
The Oder on her harness drew,
The Elbe girt on her glaive;
Neckar and Weser swell the tide,
Main flashes to the sun,
Old feuds, old hates are dash'd aside,
All German men are one!
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! Germania!
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Suabian and Prussian, hand in hand,
North, South, one host, one vow!
"What is the German's Fatherland?"
Who asks that question now?
One soul, one arm, one close-knit frame,
One will are we today;
Hurrah, Germania! thou proud dame,
Oh, glorious time, hurrah!
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! Germania!
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Germania now, let come what may,
Will stand unshook through all;
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This is our country's festal day;
Now woe betide thee, Gaul!
Woe worth the hour a robber thrust
Thy sword into thy hand!
A curse upon him that we must
Unsheathe our German brand!
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! Germania!
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For home and hearth, for wife and child,
For all loved things that we
Are bound to keep all undefiled
From foreign ruffianry!
For German right, for German speech,
For German household ways,
For German homesteads, all and each,
Strike home through battle's blaze!
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! Germania!
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Up, Germans, up, with God! The die
Clicks loud--we wait the throw!
Oh, who may think without a sigh
What blood is doom'd to flow?
Yet, look thou up, with fearless heart!
Thou must, thou shalt prevail!
Great, glorious, free as ne'er thou wert,
All hail, Germania, hail!
Hurrah! Victoria!
Hurrah! Germania!
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THE DEAD TO THE LIVING
July, 1848
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Tents, guards and sentry-calls!
A merry night along the shore of the Danube!
Horses stand around in circles
tethered to pegs;
On the narrow saddle-tree
hang heavy carbines.
Around the fire on the ground,
at the hoofs of the horses,
lies the Austrian squad.
Upon his mantle each man lies;
feathers wave from their shakos:
the lieutenant and the cornet are playing at dice.
By his weary dappled steed,
upon a woollen blanket, rests
the trumpeter, all alone:
"Leave the dice, leave the cards!
The imperial battle-standards
should be celebrated with a cavalry song!
"Our battle of eight days ago
I have, for the use of the entire army,
put into fitting rhyme;
I have also set it myself to music;
therefore, whites and reds -
mark me and give me your ears!"
And he sings the new song
softly: once, twice, thrice,
to the men of the cavalry;
and when for the last time
he sings the ending, there erupts
a full, mighty chorus:
"Prince Eugene, noble knight!"
hey!, that resounds like thunder
far and wide, even into the Turkish camp.
The trumpeter strokes his mustache,
steps aside, and creeps off
to the peddler woman.
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EMIGRANTS
1832
I cannot take my eyes away
From you, ye busy, bustling band,
Your little all to see you lay
Each in the waiting boatman’s hand.
Ye men, that from your necks set down
Your heavy baskets on the earth,
Of bread, from German corn baked brown,
By German wives, on German hearth.
And you, with braided tresses neat,
Black Forest maidens, slim and brown,
How careful, on the sloop’s green seat,
You set your pails and pitchers down.
Ah! oft have home’s cool shady tanks
Those pails and pitchers filled for you;
By far Missouri’s silent banks
Shall these the scenes of home renew–
The stone-rimmed fount, in village street,
Where oft ye stooped to chat and draw–
The hearth, and each familiar seat–
The pictured tiles your childhood saw.
Soon, in the far and wooded West
Shall log-house walls therewith be graced;
Soon, many a tired, tawny guest
Shall sweet refreshment from them taste.
From them shall drink the Cherokee,
Faint with the hot and dusty chase;
No more from German vintage, ye
Shall bear them home, in leaf-crowned grace.
Oh say, why seek ye other lands?
The Neckar’s vale hath wine and corn;
Full of dark firs the Schwarzwald stands;
In Spessart rings the Alp-herd’s horn.
Ah, in strange forests you will yearn
For the green mountains of your home;
To Deutschland’s yellow wheat-fields turn;
In spirit o’er her vine-hills roam.
How will the form of days grown pale
In golden dreams float softly by,
Like some old legendary tale,
Before fond memory’s moistened eye!
The boatman calls–go hence in peace!
God bless you, wife and child, and sire!
Bless all your fields with rich increase,
And crown each faithful heart’s desire!
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