Then she looked at him so terribly that a shudder ran over him, and said, “Go at once; I wish to be like unto God.”  “Alas, wife,” said the man, falling on his knees before her, “the Flounder cannot do that; he can make an emperor and a pope; I beseech you, go on as you are, and be Pope.”  Then she fell into a rage, and her hair flew wildly about her head, and she cried, “I will not endure this, I’ll not bear it any longer; wilt thou go?” Then he put on his trousers and ran away like a madman.  But outside a great storm was raging and blowing so hard that he could scarcely keep his feet; houses and trees toppled over, the mountains trembled, rocks rolled into the sea, the sky was pitch black, and it thundered and lightened, and the sea came in with black waves as high as church-towers and mountains, and all with crests of white foam at the top.  Then he cried, but could not hear his own words—­

  “Flounder, Flounder, in the sea,
  Come, I pray thee, here to me;
  For my wife, good Ilsabil,
  Wills not as I’d have her will”

“Well, what does she want, then?” asked the Flounder.  “Alas,” said he, “she wants to be like unto God.”  “Go to her, and you will find her back again in the dirty hovel.”  And there they are living still at this very time.

ERNST MORITZ ARNDT

* * * * *

  SONG OF THE FATHERLAND[9] (1813)

  God, who gave iron, purposed ne’er
    That man should be a slave;
  Therefore the sabre, sword, and spear
    In his right hand He gave. 
  Therefore He gave him fiery mood,
    Fierce speech, and free-born breath,
  That he might fearlessly the feud
    Maintain through blood and death.

  Therefore will we what God did say,
    With honest truth, maintain—­
  And ne’er a fellow-creature slay,
    A tyrant’s pay to gain! 
  But he shall perish by stroke of brand
    Who fighteth for sin and shame,
  And not inherit the German land
    With men of the German name.

  O Germany! bright Fatherland! 
    O German love so true! 
  Thou sacred land—­thou beauteous land—­
    We swear to thee anew! 
  Outlawed, each knave and coward shall
    The crow and raven feed;
  But we will to the battle all—­
    Revenge shall be our meed.

  Flash forth, flash forth, whatever can,
    To bright and flaming life! 
  Now, all ye Germans, man for man,
    Forth to the holy strife! 
  Your hands lift upward to the sky—­
    Your hearts shall upward soar—­
  And man for man let each one cry,
    Our slavery is o’er!

  Let sound, let sound, whatever can
    Trumpet and fife and drum! 
  This day our sabres, man for man,
    To stain with blood, we come;
  With hangman’s and with coward’s blood,
    O glorious day of ire
  That to all Germans soundeth good!—­
    Day of our great desire!