And faces sunken in decay—­the proper Regents now! 
  There we should lie and say to you:  “Ere we could waste away,
  Your Freedom-gift, ye archons brave, is rotting in decay! 
  The Corn is housed which burst the sod, when the March sun on us shone,
  But before all other harvests was Freedom’s March-seed mown! 
  Chance poppies, which the sickle spared, among the stubbles stand;
  Oh, would that Wrath, the crimson Wrath, thus blossomed in the land!”
  And yet, it does remain; it springs behind the reaper’s track;
  Too much had been already gained, too much been stolen back;
  Too much of scorn, too much of shame, heaped daily on your head—­
  Wrath and Revenge must still be left, believe it, from the Dead! 
  It does remain, and it awakes—­it shall and must awake! 
  The Revolution, half complete, yet wholly forth will break. 
  It waits the hour to rise in power, like an up-rolling storm,
  With lifted arms and streaming hair—­a wild and mighty form! 
  It grasps the rusted gun once more, and swings the battered blade,
  While the red banners flap the air from every barricade! 
  Those banners lead the German Guards—­the armies of the Free—­
  Till Princes fly their blazing thrones and hasten towards the sea! 
  The boding eagles leave the land—­the lion’s claws are shorn—­
  The sovereign People, roused and bold, await the Future’s morn! 
  Now, till the wakening hour shall strike, we keep our scorn and wrath
  For you, ye Living! who have dared to falter on your path! 
  Up, and prepare—­keep watch in arms! Oh, make the German sod,
  Above our stiffened forms, all free, and blest by Freedom’s God;
  That this one bitter thought no more disturb us in our graves: 
  “They once were free—­they fell—­and now, forever they are Slaves!”

* * * * *

HURRAH, GERMANIA![46] (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!

  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!

  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!