We sigh not, and the eye’s not moisten’d, We laugh at times, we often smile; In not a look, in not a gesture The secret comes to light the while. Deep in our bleeding spirit hidden, It lies in silent misery; If in our wild heart it finds language, The mouth’s still closed convulsively. Ask of the suckling in the cradle, Ask of the dead man in the grave; They may perchance disclose the secret To which I never utt’rance gave. 6. ON THE WATCHMAN’S ARRIVAL IN PARIS. “Good watchman with face so sad and despairing, “Why runnest thou hither with headlong speed? “My dear fellow-countrymen, how are they faring? “My fatherland, is it from tyranny freed?” All’s going on well, and liberty’s blessing Is showering silently on us its stores, And Germany, calmly and safely progressing, Unfolds and develops herself within doors. Unlike France, superficial are none of her blossoms,-- _There_ freedom but touches the outside of life; ’Tis but in the depths of their innermost bosoms That freedom with Germans is found to be rife. They’ll finish Cologne’s great cathedral, they tell us, The Hohenzollerns[A] have brought this to pass; A Hapsburg[A] has shown himself equally zealous, A Wittelsbach[14] gives it some fine painted glass. That true Magna Charta, a free constitution, They’ve promised, and surely their promise they’ll keep; A king’s word’s a prize, without circumlocution,-- Like the Nibelung stone in the Rhine it lies deep. The Brutus of rivers, the free Rhine, they surely Can never remove him from out of his bed; The Dutchman his feet have fasten’d securely, The Switzers securely are holding his head. God will grant us a fleet, if we prove persevering; Our patriotic exuberant strength Will find a vent in sailing and steering, The pain of imprisonment ending at length. The seeds cast their shells and the spring’s blooming sweetly, We draw a free breath at this time of the year; If permission to print is denied us completely, The censorship will of itself disappear. 7. THE DRUM-MAJOR.[15] The old drum-major it is that we see; Poor fellow, he’s pull’d down sadly! In the Emperor’s time a youngster was he, And merrily lived and gladly. He used to balance his ponderous stick, While a smile on his face play’d lightly; The silver-lace on his tunic so thick In the rays of the sun gleam’d brightly. Whene’er with a mighty roll of the drum He enter’d a village or city, He caused an echo responsive to come In the heart of each girl, plain or pretty. He came and saw and conquer’d too Each fair one welcomed him in; His black moustache was wetted through With tears of German women.