Thus, with the bullet in the breast, the gash upon the brow,
  You laid us at the altar’s foot, with deep and solemn vow! 
  “Come down!” ye cried—­he trembling came—­even to our bloody bed;
  “Uncover!” and ’twas tamely done!—­(like a mean puppet led,
  Sank he whose life had been a farce, with fear unwonted shaken). 
  Meanwhile his army fled the field, which, dying, we had taken! 
  Loudly in “Jesus, thou my trust!” the anthem’d voices peal;
  Why did the victor-crowds forget the sterner trust of steel?

  That morning followed on the night when we together fell,
  And when ye made our burial, there was triumph in the knell! 
  Though crushed behind the barricades, and scarred in every limb,
  The pride of conscious Victory lay on our foreheads grim! 
  We thought:  the price is dearly paid, but the treasures must be true,
  And rested calmly in the graves we swore to fill for you!

  Alas! for you—­we were deceived!  Four moons have scarcely run,
  Since cowardly you’ve forfeited what we so bravely won! 
  Squandered and cast to every wind the gain our death had brought! 
  Aye, all, we know—­each word and deed our spirit-ears have caught! 
  Like waves came thundering every sound of wrong the country through: 
  The foolish war with Denmark!  Poland betrayed anew! 
  The vengeance of Vendean men in many a province stern! 
  The calling back of banished troops!  The Prince’s base return! 
  Wherever barricades were built, the lock on press and tongue! 
  On the free right of all debate, the daily-practised wrong! 
  The groaning clang of prison-doors in North and South afar! 
  For all who plead the People’s right, Oppression’s ancient bar! 
  The bond with Russia’s Cossacks!  The slander fierce and loud,
  Alas! that has become your share, instead of laurels proud—­
  Ye who have borne the hardest brunt, that Freedom might advance,
  Victorious in defeat and death—­June-warriors of France! 
  Yes, wrong and treason everywhere, the Elbe and Rhine beside,
  And beat, oh German men! your hearts, with calm and sluggish tide?
  No war within your apron’s folds?  Out with it, fierce and bold! 
  The second, final war with all who Freedom would withhold! 
  Shout:  “The Republic!” till it drowns the chiming minster bells,
  Whose sound this swindle of your rights by crafty Austria tells!

  In vain!  ’Tis time your faltering hands should disentomb us yet,
  And lift us on the planks, begirt with many a bayonet;
  Not to the palace-court, as then, that he may near us stand—­
  No; to the tent, the market-place, and through the wakening land! 
  Out through the broad land bear us—­the dead Insurgents sent,
  To join, upon our ghastly biers, the German Parliament. 
  Oh solemn sight! there we should lie, the grave-earth on each brow,