Loud rings the battle trumpet,
Far resounding, far swelling!
Rouse, heroes, rouse to the conflict!
See, yonder the dark foe
Sweeps, like a winter storm!

On speeds the fierce invader,
Wild as ocean high-heaving!
Strong nerve ye, boldly to meet him!
Back hurl him, as dashed wave
Rolls from the rock-bound shore!

Earth far has shook beneath him,
All-invading, all-subduing!
Yet fear not, — country is sacred!
Who arms for his loved home,
Fights with the sword of Heaven!


Think, O think, how much thou lov'dst me,
When my cheek was fresh and fair!
Do not coldly now forget me,
Though its bloom has gone!

Think how oft we sat together!
Happy were our moments then.
Then my eye was bright with pleasure, —
Now 't is dimmed with tears.

Like a rose was then my beauty,
Rose that opens first in spring.
Then my charms could more allure thee, —
I could love not more.

Leave, O, leave me not forsaken!
I will love thee ever true.
Pale my cheek, and sorrow-stricken, —
Love still lights my soul.


Bright flows the meadow stream, and o'er it bends the willow; —
There sat the maid I love, and wove her flowers in garlands:
There sits no gentle maid; — O, canst thou tell me, willow,
Where I can find the maid that sat at evening by thee?

Light on the meadow stream there floats a rosy garland; —
Fair maiden wove the flowers, and dropped them in the water.
" Go, garland, " thus she said, " and whisper to my lover:
True ever is thy love, — her heart will ne'er forget thee. "

Low droops the willow-tree, — its leaf is pale and yellow:
There flows no meadow stream, — the summer sun has dried it.
Brown all the grass below, — no maiden gathers flowers;
Sits there no more at eve, to weave her flowers in garlands.

See! on the pebbles lies a soiled and withered garland; —
Such is my withered heart, and so my hope has faded.
False maiden wove the flowers, and cast them in the water; —
Soon dried the stream away, and withered lay the garland.
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