He is already in our midst. As yet he is in hiding. But on the morrow his call will ring out, and his confidence glow through every man's heart.
William of Orange!
III
The call has come. They are flocking in on every road. Groups of peasants and artisans. Masters, and apprentices among them. And the greybeards have taken their old weapons from the wall.
Halberds flash in the sunlight. Old-fashioned furniture of war. But still more ardently do their eyes flash. All are of one mind. All driven on irresistibly by one single impulse.
So they pass singing along the highroads. They had almost forgotten how to sing. But now it breaks out the more joyously in the sunlight—the solemn chant.
Dumfounded, the Spanish outpost, under cover of a hedge, gapes after them. Let them run, the spies. The spell is broken. Let them hear of it till their ears ring again.
The morning sun is shining. But we are marching to death and singing:
"Happy is he who knows how to die for God and his dear Fatherland."
IV