Vonce more again thro' Lorraine, ze Sherman bands did come.
I vent to find ze sveetheart, but grass vos on ze slain,
Ze cruel Var had murdered ze Fraulein of Lorraine!—
Shust vere mine heart is beating, I keep ze treasure zare,
Mit mine own blood upon it, von braid of golden hair,
Und all dried up und vithered, und gone to dust again,
Von flower zat vonce vos jewelled ze grave zats in Lorraine.
Ah vot is deed of glory, ven blood is on ze vings
Of love, zat makes ze heaven on earth, und vot are kings?
Auch! I vill have no patience. Strike up ze Band again,