The old drum-major it is that we see;
Poor fellow, he’s pull’d down sadly!
In the Emperor’s time a youngster was he,
And merrily lived and gladly.
He used to balance his ponderous stick,
While a smile on his face play’d lightly;
The silver-lace on his tunic so thick
In the rays of the sun gleam’d brightly.
Whene’er with a mighty roll of the drum
He enter’d a village or city,
He caused an echo responsive to come
In the heart of each girl, plain or pretty.
He came and saw and conquer’d too
Each fair one welcomed him in;
His black moustache was wetted through
With tears of German women.
Resistance was vain! In every land
That the foreign invaders came to,
The Emperor vanquished the gentlemen, and
The drum-major each maiden and dame too.
Our sorrows full long we patiently bore
Like oaks, with no one to heed ’em,
Until the Authorities gave us once more
The signal to battle for freedom.
Like buffaloes rushing on to the fray,
We toss’d our horns up proudly,
The yoke of France we cast away,
The songs of Körner sang loudly.
O terrible verses! the tyrant’s ear
At their awful sound revolted;
The Emperor and the drum-major in fear
Precipitately bolted.
They both of them reap’d the wages of sin,
And came to an end inglorious;
The Emperor Napoleon tumbled in
The hands of the Britons victorious.
In Saint Helena his time he now pass’d
In martyrdom, banish’d from France, Sir,
And, after long suff’ring, died at last
Of that terrible ailment cancer.