Victoria! with us is God; There lies the haughty foe! He falls, for righteous is our God; Victoria! he lies low. 'T is true our father[14] is no more, Yet hero-like be went, And now the conquering host looks o'er From high and starry tent. The noble man, he led the way For God and Fatherland, And scarce was his old head so gray As valiant his hand. With fire of youth and hero-craft A banner snatching, he Held it aloft upon its shaft For all of us to see; And said,--"My children, now attack,-- Take each redoubt and gun!" And swifter than the lightning track We followed, every one. Alas, the flag that led the strife Falls with him ere we win! It was a glorious end of life: O fortunate Schwerin! And when thy Frederic saw thee low, From out his sobbing breath His orders hurled us on the foe In vengeance for thy death. Thou, Henry,[15] wert a soldier true, Thou foughtest royally! From deed to deed our glances flew, Thou lion-youth, with thee! A Prussian heart with valor quick, Right Christian was his mood: Red grew his sword, and flowing thick His steps with Pandourt[16]-blood. Full seven earth-works did we clear, The bear-skins broke and fled; Then, Frederic, went thy grenadier High over heaps of dead: Remembered, in the murderous fight, God, Fatherland, and thee,-- Turned, from the deep and smoky night, His Frederic to see, And trembled,--with a flush of fear His visage mounted high; He trembled, not that death was near, But lest thou, too, shouldst die: Despised the balls like scattered seed, The cannon's thunder-tone, Fought fiercely, did a hero's deed, Till all thy foes had flown. Now thanks he God for all His might, And sings, Victoria! And all the blood from out this fight Flows to Theresia. And if she will not stay the plague, Nor peace to thee concede, Storm with us, Frederic, first her Prague, Then, to Vienna lead! [Footnote 14: Marshal Schwerin, seventy years of age, who was killed at the head of a regiment, with its colors in his hand, just as it crossed through the fire to the enemy's intrenchments.] [Footnote 15: The King's brother.] [Footnote 16: A corps of foot-soldiers in the Austrian service, eventually incorporated in the army. They were composed of Servians, Croats, etc., inhabitants of the military frontier, and were named originally from the village of Pandúr in Lower Hungary, where probably the first recruits were gathered.] The love which the soldiers had for Frederic survived in the army after all the veterans of his wars had passed away. It is well preserved in this camp-song:-- THE INVALIDES AT FATHER FREDERIC'S GRAVE. Here stump we round upon our crutches, round our Father's grave we go, And from our eyelids down our grizzled beards the bitter tears will flow. 'T was long ago, with Frederic living, that we got our lawful gains: A meagre ration now they serve us,--life's no longer worth the pains.