“Downward the Danube floweth broad,
So strength-assured, so peaceable;
Fast in her arms the land she holds,
And to her soft heart closely folds
Those marches she must cover well.
Widdin and Kalafat stand there
Backed in the golden evening gleam,
And quiet broodeth over all—
Lo! thunders peal and lightnings fall!
The firm earth shakes, smoke veils the stream!
See, hissing in the golden flood,
And shrilly whistling through the air,
Flung from black fiery cannon-mouth
Brotherly greetings hustle forth!
The dreadful shells fly here and there!
High on the topmost parapet
There stands Prince Karl so tranquilly.
Men! Gaze straight in the eyes of death,
Your leader nothing pondereth
Of dangers which around him be.
He looks with earnest countenance
Afield, and asks if Fortune’s hand
Will help him storm with footmen brave
Widdin, and bridge blue Danube’s wave
For passage of his hero band.
But ah! One pace in front of him
A crash, a sparkling, splintering shock!
Startled they see, where that bomb came,
Their Prince amid a sea of flame
Erect, alone, firm as the rock.
One soldier wildly signs the cross,
Another sinks upon his knees—
‘Our Prince is hurt, O cruel fate!
The only helmsman of the State.’
Lamentingly so clamour these.
But he, his war-cap waving high
Clear and alert, from manly breast
Cries out—‘The music suits me so;
This is my tune, this air I know!
Hurrah! Now have I of life’s best.’
And Danube heard the martial voice,
Her deep heart thrilled, she knew its tone;
Her waves, as they went limpid by,
Responded in serene reply
To Hohenzollern’s noble son.”