The Yagers, Sergeant, and Trumpeter.
SERGEANT.
We thank ye—and room will gladly make.
To Bohemia welcome.
FIRST YAGER.
Snug enough here!
In the land of the foe our quarters were queer.
TRUMPETER.
You haven't the look on't—you're spruce to view.
SERGEANT.
Ay, faith, on the Saal, and in Meissen, too,
Your praises are heard from the lips of few.
SECOND YAGER.
Tush, man! why, what the plague d'ye mean?
The Croat had swept the fields so clean,
There was little or nothing for us to glean.
TRUMPETER.
Yet your pointed collar is clean and sightly,
And, then, your hose that sit so tightly!
Your linen so fine, with the hat and feather,
Make a show of smartness altogether!
(To Sergeant.)
That fortune should upon younkers shine—
While nothing in your way comes, or mine.
SERGEANT.
But then we're the Friedlander's regiment
And, thus, may honor and homage claim.
FIRST YAGER.
For us, now, that's no great compliment,
We, also, bear the Friedlander's name.
SERGEANT.
True—you form part of the general mass.
FIRST YAGER.
And you, I suppose, are a separate class!
The difference lies in the coats we wear,
And I have no wish to change with you there.
SERGEANT.
Sir Yager, I can't but with pity melt,
When I think how much among boors you've dwelt.
The clever knack and the proper tone,
Are caught by the general's side alone.
FIRST YAGER.
Then the lesson is wofully thrown away,—
How he hawks and spits, indeed, I may say
You've copied and caught in the cleverest way;
But his spirit, his genius—oh, these I ween,
On your guard parade are but seldom seen.
SECOND YAGER.
Why, zounds! ask for us wherever you will,
Friedland's wild hunt is our title still!
Never shaming the name, all undaunted we go
Alike through the field of a friend, or a foe;
Through the rising stalk, or the yellow corn,
Well know they the blast of Holk's Yager horn.
In the flash of an eye, we are far or near,
Swift as the deluge, or there or here—
As at midnight dark, when the flames outbreak
In the silent dwelling where none awake;
Vain is the hope in weapons or flight,
Nor order nor discipline thwart its might.
Then struggles the maid in our sinewy arms,
But war hath no pity, and scorns alarms.
Go, ask—I speak not with boastful tongue—
In Bareuth, Westphalia, Voigtland, where'er
Our troops have traversed—go, ask them there—
Children and children's children long,
When hundreds and hundreds of years are o'er,
Of Holk will tell and his Yager corps.
SERGEANT.
Why, hark! Must a soldier then be made
By driving this riotous, roaring trade!
'Tis drilling that makes him, skill and sense—
Perception—thought—intelligence.
FIRST YAGER.
'Tis liberty makes him! Here's a fuss!
That I should such twaddle as this discuss.
Was it for this that I left the school?
That the scribbling desk, and the slavish rule,
And the narrow walls, that our spirits cramp,
Should be met with again in the midst of the camp?
No! Idle and heedless, I'll take my way,
Hunting for novelty every day;
Trust to the moment with dauntless mind,
And give not a glance or before or behind.
For this to the emperor I sold my hide,
That no other care I might have to bide.
Through the foe's fierce firing bid me ride,
Through fathomless Rhine, in his roaring flow,
Where ev'ry third man to the devil may go,
At no bar will you find me boggling there;
But, farther than this, 'tis my special prayer,
That I may not be bothered with aught like care.
SERGEANT.
If this be your wish, you needn't lack it,
'Tis granted to all with the soldier's jacket.
FIRST YAGER.
What a fuss and a bother, forsooth, was made
By that man-tormentor, Gustavus, the Swede,
Whose camp was a church, where prayers were said
At morning reveille and evening tattoo;
And, whenever it chanced that we frisky grew,
A sermon himself from the saddle he'd read.
SERGEANT.
Ay, that was a man with the fear of God.
FIRST YAGER.
Girls he detested; and what's rather odd,
If caught with a wench you in wedlock were tacked,—
I could stand it no longer, so off I packed.
SERGEANT.
Their discipline now has a trifle slacked.
FIRST YAGER.
Well, next to the League I rode over; their men
Were mustering in haste against Magdeburg then.
Ha! that was another guess sort of a thing!
In frolic and fun we'd a glorious swing;
With gaming, and drinking, and girls at call,
I'faith, sirs, our sport was by no means small.
For Tilly knew how to command, that's plain;
He held himself in but gave us the rein;
And, long as he hadn't the bother of paying,
"Live and let live!" was the general's saying.
But fortune soon gave him the slip; and ne'er
Since the day of that villanous Leipzig affair
Would aught go aright. 'Twas of little avail
That we tried, for our plans were sure to fail.
If now we drew nigh and rapped at the door,
No greeting awaited, 'twas opened no more;
From place to place we went sneaking about,
And found that their stock of respect was out;
Then touched I the Saxon bounty, and thought
Their service with fortune must needs be fraught.
SERGEANT.
You joined them then just in the nick to share
Bohemia's plunder?
FIRST YAGER.
I'd small luck there.
Strict discipline sternly ruled the day,
Nor dared we a foeman's force display;
They set us to guard the imperial forts,
And plagued us all with the farce of the courts.
War they waged as a jest 'twere thought—
And but half a heart to the business brought,
They would break with none; and thus 'twas plain
Small honor among them could a soldier gain.
So heartily sick in the end grew I
That my mind was the desk again to try;
When suddenly, rattling near and far,
The Friedlander's drum was heard to war.
SERGEANT.
And how long here may you mean to stay?
FIRST YAGER.
You jest, man. So long as he bears the sway,
By my soul! not a thought of change have I;
Where better than here could the soldier lie?
Here the true fashion of war is found,
And the cut of power's on all things round;
While the spirit whereby the movement's given
Mightily stirs, like the winds of heaven,
The meanest trooper in all the throng.
With a hearty step shall I tramp along
On a burgher's neck as undaunted tread
As our general does on the prince's head.
As 'twas in the times of old 'tis now,
The sword is the sceptre, and all must bow.
One crime alone can I understand,
And that's to oppose the word of command.
What's not forbidden to do make bold,
And none will ask you what creed you hold.
Of just two things in this world I wot,
What belongs to the army and what does not,
To the banner alone is my service brought.
SERGEANT.
Thus, Yager, I like thee—thou speakest, I vow,
With the tone of a Friedland trooper now.
FIRST YAGER.
'Tis not as an office he holds command,
Or a power received from the emperor's hand;
For the emperor's service what should he care,
What better for him does the emperor fare?
With the mighty power he wields at will,
Has ever he sheltered the land from ill?
No; a soldier-kingdom he seeks to raise,
And for this would set the world in a blaze,
Daring to risk and to compass all—
TRUMPETER.
Hush—who shall such words as these let fall?
FIRST YAGER.
Whatever I think may be said by me,
For the general tells us the word is free.
SERGEANT.
True—that he said so I fully agree,
I was standing by. "The word is free—
The deed is dumb—obedience blind!"
His very words I can call to mind.
FIRST YAGER.
I know not if these were his words or no,
But he said the thing, and 'tis even so.
SECOND YAGER.
Victory ne'er will his flag forsake,
Though she's apt from others a turn to take:
Old Tilly outlived his fame's decline,
But under the banner of Wallenstein,
There am I certain that victory's mine!
Fortune is spell-bound to him, and must yield;
Whoe'er under Friedland shall take the field
Is sure of a supernatural shield:
For, as all the world is aware full well,
The duke has a devil in hire from hell.
SERGEANT.
In truth that he's charmed is past a doubt,
For we know how, at Luetzen's bloody affair,
Where firing was thickest he still was there,
As coolly as might be, sirs, riding about.
The hat on his head was shot thro' and thro',
In coat and boots the bullets that flew
Left traces full clear to all men's view;
But none got so far as to scratch off his skin,
For the ointment of hell was too well rubbed in.
FIRST YAGER.
What wonders so strange can you all see there?
An elk-skin jacket he happens to wear,
And through it the bullets can make no way.
SERGEANT.
'Tis an ointment of witches' herbs, I say,
Kneaded and cooked by unholy spell.
TRUMPETER.
No doubt 'tis the work of the powers of hell.
SERGEANT.
That he reads in the stars we also hear,
Where the future he sees—distant or near—
But I know better the truth of the case
A little gray man, at the dead of night,
Through bolted doors to him will pace—
The sentinels oft have hailed the sight,
And something great was sure to be nigh,
When this little gray-coat had glided by.
FIRST YAGER.
Ay, ay, he's sold himself to the devil,
Wherefore, my lads, let's feast and revel.
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg