You come, O battle, weighed down already with
Young men from their hills, down into the vale,
From where the reckless shrike penetrates,
Assured of their art and arms, but more secure
Are their souls, these young men arriving to strike
At the righteous, like wizards’ sorcery,
And their songs of the fatherland
Palsy the knees that drew lots for the privilege.
O take me, take me to the ranks, the front line,
So I do not have to die a common death!
I do not care to die in vain, but
Gladly will fall on the offering hill
For the Fatherland, bleed the blood of the heart
For the Fatherland - and soon it is done! To you,
Dear one, I come, who has taught me
How to live and die, with you down below
How often in light I’ve thirsted to see you,
Your hero and your poet from ancient times!
Now kind your hello to the lowly
Stranger in the brotherly underground;
And victory’s messengers come down: The battle
Is ours! Live aloft, O Fatherland,
And do not count the dead! You are not,
My dear, one too many fallen.
Young men from their hills, down into the vale,
From where the reckless shrike penetrates,
Assured of their art and arms, but more secure
Are their souls, these young men arriving to strike
At the righteous, like wizards’ sorcery,
And their songs of the fatherland
Palsy the knees that drew lots for the privilege.
O take me, take me to the ranks, the front line,
So I do not have to die a common death!
I do not care to die in vain, but
Gladly will fall on the offering hill
For the Fatherland, bleed the blood of the heart
For the Fatherland - and soon it is done! To you,
Dear one, I come, who has taught me
How to live and die, with you down below
How often in light I’ve thirsted to see you,
Your hero and your poet from ancient times!
Now kind your hello to the lowly
Stranger in the brotherly underground;
And victory’s messengers come down: The battle
Is ours! Live aloft, O Fatherland,
And do not count the dead! You are not,
My dear, one too many fallen.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Der Tod fürs Vaterland
Du kömmst, o
Schlacht! schon wogen die Jünglinge
Hinab von ihren
Hügeln, hinab ins Tal,
Wo keck
herauf die Würger dringen,
Sicher
der Kunst und des Arms, doch sichrer
Kömmt über sie die
Seele der Jünglinge,
Denn die
Gerechten schlagen, wie Zauberer,
Und ihre
Vaterlandsgesänge
Lähmen
die Kniee den Ehrelosen.
O nimmt mich,
nimmt mich mit in die Reihen auf,
Damit ich einst
nicht sterbe gemeinen Tods!
Umsonst zu
sterben, lieb' ich nicht, doch
Lieb ich,
zu fallen am Opferhügel
Fürs Vaterland, zu
bluten des Herzens Blut
Fürs Vaterland
- und bald ist's geschehn! Zu euch,
Ihr Teuern!
komm ich, die mich leben
Lehrten
und sterben, zu euch hinunter
Wie oft im Lichte
dürstet' ich euch zu sehn,
Ihr Helden und
ihr Dichter aus alter Zeit!
Nun grüßt
ihr freundlich den geringen
Fremdling
und brüderlich ists hier unten;
Und Siegesboten
kommen herab: Die Schlacht
Ist unser! Lebe
droben, o Vaterland,
Und zähle
nicht die Toten! Dir ist,
Liebes!
nicht Einer zu viel gefallen.
