"In God's name, witless son of mine, what shall become of thee?" So oft the white-haired sergeant cried in his perplexity, That 'neath the burden of the tune Sven's patience fell to earth, And weighed he, far as in him lay, his own degree of worth. So, when upon a certain day the sergeant raised again The burden of the tiresome tune, "What wilt thou be, O Sven?" The old man scarce believed his ears when, all unwontedly, Sven's massive jaws wide opened with, "A soldier I will be!" Then loud the sergeant laughed in scorn, and answered mockingly, "What! thou wouldst bear a rifle?--thou, a booby! Shame on thee!" "Why," said the boy, "here 'neath my hands unhandy works each thing: Less handiness may serve to die for country and for king." Old Duva stood a while amazed, then went in grieving mood, And pack on back Sven forth did fare to where the barracks stood. His stature fine, his sturdy height, all lesser needs o'erweighed, And one in Dunker's company young Sven was quickly made. But when was need that he should learn the drill and carriage meet, God wot it was a sight to see how chance did guide his feet: The corporal laughed aloud and cried, and cried and laughed again, But still unchanged did his recruit in frown and fun remain. Yet tireless was he, certainly, if ever mortal yet: He marched and stamped that earth did shake, and laid the dust with sweat; But at the word to change or move he missed the meaning quite: When "Left face!" called the corporal, Sven's face looked toward the right. Now he was taught to order arms, and arms to shoulder too, To fix his bayonet, and present; and all, it seemed, he knew, But at the "Order" usually he fixed his bayonet, And at "Present" as gracefully his gun his shoulder met. And so it came Sven Duva's drill was far and wide renowned: 'Midst all--commander, captains, men--the good jest passed around; But Sven still kept his quiet way--was patient as before, And always hoped for better times. And so broke out the war. Now 'midst his comrades question rose, since they their land must shield, If Sven were sane enough to go with them unto the field. He let them talk, stood calmly by, and said in coolest tone, "If with the ranks I cannot go, why I can go alone." They let him keep his soldier arms, nor put his hands away, For he was servant in the halt and soldier in the fray; But board or sword, 'twas one with him: his cool way still he had, And none might call him coward, though betimes they called him mad. Once Sandels was in full retreat, pushed back by Russian ranks, And yielding step by step along a river's reedy banks: Ahead, a foot-bridge crossed the stream upon the army's way, Where--scarcely twenty men they were--a little outpost lay.