"No, it has not been crushed. No, it will not die!" exclaimed Schill, in an outburst of generous rage. "It is only necessary to instill genuine vitality into its veins, and to awaken it from its lethargy by soul-stirring exhortations, as our young friend here encouraged and strengthened us an hour ago by his noble song. Oh, sing again, friend Staps! Purify the air—which is still infected by the words of the imperial bulletin—purify it by another German song, and let the native oak, which has listened to our disgrace, now hear also manly words. Sing! and may your voice reach our poor soldiers who are closing their eyes on the battle-field; and may it breathe the consolation into their ears, 'You die for Germany, but Germany does not die—she lives, and will rise again!'"
"Yes, I will sing," said Frederick Staps, enthusiastically, "but I wish that every note issuing from my breast would transform itself into a sword, and strike around with the storm's resistless fury!"
"In that case all of us, and yourself, too, would be the first victims," said Pückler, with a melancholy smile.
"Of what consequence are our lives, if they are given up for the fatherland?" exclaimed Staps, fervently. "Oh, believe me, I could, like Mucius Scaevola, lay my hand on the red-hot iron, and not wince, but sing jubilant hymns, if I thought that my torture would be useful to my country. Now, I can only sing, only pray, only weep. But who knows whether I shall not become one day a modern Mucius Scaevola, a modern Moeros, and deliver the world from its tyrant?"
And suddenly raising his voice, with a radiant face, he began to sing:
Frisch auf! Es ruft das Vaterland
Die Männer in die Schlacht.
Frisch auf! Zu dämpfen Trug und Schand!
Heran mit Macht, mit Macht!
Heran und braucht den Männerleib,
Wozu ihn Gott gebaut:
Zum Schirm der Jungfrau und dem Weib,
Dem Säugling und der Braut!
Denn ein Tyrann mit Lügenwort
Und Strick und Henkerschwert,
Uebt in dem Vaterlande Mord,
Und schändet Thron und Heerd,
Und will, so weit die Sonne scheint
Der einz'ge König sein;
Ein Menschenfeind, ein Freiheitsfeind,
Spricht er: die Welt ist mein!
Verhüt' es Gott und Hermann's Blut!
Nie werde solches wahr!
Erwache, alter deutscher Muth,
Der Recht und Licht gebar!
Erwache! sonder Rast und Ruh,
Schlag' Jeden der dir droht,
Und ruf' ihm deutsche Losung zu:
"Sieg gelt' es, oder Tod!"[7]
"Victory or death!" shouted the two officers, raising their hands and eyes toward heaven.
"When will the Germans sing and act in this manner?" asked Count Pückler, sadly.