Resistance was vain! In every land That the foreign invaders came to, The Emperor vanquished the gentlemen, and The drum-major each maiden and dame too. Our sorrows full long we patiently bore Like oaks, with no one to heed ’em, Until the Authorities gave us once more The signal to battle for freedom. Like buffaloes rushing on to the fray, We toss’d our horns up proudly, The yoke of France we cast away, The songs of Körner sang loudly. O terrible verses! the tyrant’s ear At their awful sound revolted; The Emperor and the drum-major in fear Precipitately bolted. They both of them reap’d the wages of sin, And came to an end inglorious; The Emperor Napoleon tumbled in The hands of the Britons victorious. In Saint Helena his time he now pass’d In martyrdom, banish’d from France, Sir, And, after long suff’ring, died at last Of that terrible ailment cancer. The poor drum-major, too, fell in disgrace, And lost his situation; In our hotel he took the place Of boots,--what degradation! He warms the oven, he scours the pots, And wood and water fetches; His grey head wags as he wheezingly trots Up the stairs, so weak the poor wretch is. When Fritz comes to see me, he finds himself Inclined to jeer and rally The comical lanky poor old elf And his motions shilly-shally. O Fritz, a truce to raillery, please! The sons of Germany never Should fallen greatness love to tease, Or to torment endeavour. Such people you ought to regard with pride And filial piety rather; Perchance upon the mother’s side The old man is your father! 8. DEGENERACY. Has Nature’s self been going backward, And human faults assuming, then? The very plants and beasts, I fancy, Now lie as much as mortal men. I trust not in the lily’s chasteness; The colour’d fop, the butterfly, Toys with her, kisses, round her flutters, Till lost is all her purity. The violet’s modesty moreover I hold full cheap. The little flower With the coquettish breezes trifles, In secret pants for fame and power. I doubt if Philomel appreciates The time she sings with pompous mien; She overdoes it, sobs, and warbles Methinks from nought but pure routine. Truth from the earth is fast departing, The days of Faith are also o’er; The dogs still wag their tails, smell bully And yet are faithful now no more. 9. HENRY. In Canossa’s castle courtyard Stands the German Cæsar Henry, Barefoot, clad in penitential Shirt--the night is cold and rainy. From the window high above him Peep two figures, and the moonlight Gregory’s bald head illumines And the bosom of Mathilda.