Classic Poem

By what name, thou gallant Prussian,
Say, wilt thou thy Blücher call?
Close thy classic books; the Russian
Gives him the best name of all.
There 's no name in classic story
Can speak his peculiar glory;
Marshal Forward! Marshal Forward!
Marshal Forward beats them all!

Over forest, flood, and mountain,
Forward march! was still the word;
From the Oder's farthest fountain
To the Elbe-stream flashed his sword.
Now upon the Rhine we find him, —
Now he leaves the Rhone behind him, —
Marshal Forward! Marshal Forward!
Forward! Forward! That 's the word!

Ha! French marshals, wherefore quake ye,
Wherefore hang your heads for shame,
And behind your walls betake you,
When ye hear our Blücher's name?
Marshal Backward, — that 's the coward!
Call the brave man Marshal Forward!
Marshal Forward! Marshal Forward!
Suits alone the Blücher's fame.