SERGEANT. And how long here may you mean to stay? FIRST YAGER. You jest, man. So long as he bears the sway, By my soul! not a thought of change have I; Where better than here could the soldier lie? Here the true fashion of war is found, And the cut of power's on all things round; While the spirit whereby the movement's given Mightily stirs, like the winds of heaven, The meanest trooper in all the throng. With a hearty step shall I tramp along On a burgher's neck as undaunted tread As our general does on the prince's head. As 'twas in the times of old 'tis now, The sword is the sceptre, and all must bow. One crime alone can I understand, And that's to oppose the word of command. What's not forbidden to do make bold, And none will ask you what creed you hold. Of just two things in this world I wot, What belongs to the army and what does not, To the banner alone is my service brought. SERGEANT. Thus, Yager, I like thee--thou speakest, I vow, With the tone of a Friedland trooper now. FIRST YAGER. 'Tis not as an office he holds command, Or a power received from the emperor's hand; For the emperor's service what should he care, What better for him does the emperor fare? With the mighty power he wields at will, Has ever he sheltered the land from ill? No; a soldier-kingdom he seeks to raise, And for this would set the world in a blaze, Daring to risk and to compass all-- TRUMPETER. Hush--who shall such words as these let fall? FIRST YAGER. Whatever I think may be said by me, For the general tells us the word is free. SERGEANT. True--that he said so I fully agree, I was standing by. "The word is free-- The deed is dumb--obedience blind!" His very words I can call to mind. FIRST YAGER. I know not if these were his words or no, But he said the thing, and 'tis even so. SECOND YAGER. Victory ne'er will his flag forsake, Though she's apt from others a turn to take: Old Tilly outlived his fame's decline, But under the banner of Wallenstein, There am I certain that victory's mine! Fortune is spell-bound to him, and must yield; Whoe'er under Friedland shall take the field Is sure of a supernatural shield: For, as all the world is aware full well, The duke has a devil in hire from hell. SERGEANT. In truth that he's charmed is past a doubt, For we know how, at Luetzen's bloody affair, Where firing was thickest he still was there, As coolly as might be, sirs, riding about. The hat on his head was shot thro' and thro', In coat and boots the bullets that flew Left traces full clear to all men's view; But none got so far as to scratch off his skin, For the ointment of hell was too well rubbed in. FIRST YAGER. What wonders so strange can you all see there? An elk-skin jacket he happens to wear, And through it the bullets can make no way. SERGEANT. 'Tis an ointment of witches' herbs, I say, Kneaded and cooked by unholy spell. TRUMPETER. No doubt 'tis the work of the powers of hell.