Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV. 1876–79.
The Gueux Night-watch
By Ferdinand Freiligrath (18101876)
A
Just out of Rotterdam,
In buff and feathered beaver,
They ’re hard at flask and dram;
The troop are bound for Flushing,
And start ere day shall break;
With singing and with lushing
’T is best to keep awake.
Snow shines on creek and shore:
Well in his mantle muffled,
The sentry guards the door.
To stand the sleety breeze in,
No trooper loves, perdy;
“The devil take this freezing,
Your ‘upsee-frieze’ for me!”
Loud chorusing inside;
“Brave William the Nassauer
Am I, a German tried.
As Prince of Orange, truly
My birthright free I gain;
And still have honored duly
The while the King of Spain.”
He peeps within the house;
There ’s song, and toast, and whooping;
There ’s talking of the cause
For which they ’re armed and herded,
And sworn to die at need:
The sturdy warriors bearded
Harangue and feud and plead.
The bulky barrels shine;
By buxom wenches aided,
The hostess serves the wine.
For cap, a garnish warlike
Of gilded foil is worn:
’T is thus the Holland fair like
Their temples to adorn.
The busy household plies;
The troopers sit, the sabre
Between their booted thighs.
And if the plume with powder
Embrowned their beavers wear,
They cock them but the prouder
Above their yellow hair.
The wine springs foaming high;
“The Gueux, the Gueux forever!”
Full thirty voices cry.
And when the flask grows dry-lipped,
And emptied is the cup,
With rim adroitly filliped
They turn the glasses up.
Each glass becomes a bell
To toll amidst their singing
The King’s and Alva’s knell.
Thereat each trooper seizes
Unconsciously his sword,
And still the song increases,
Till thus afar ’t is heard:
Up, nations, to your feet!
Our first of worthy princes
With hearty welcome greet.
Let each, like gallant freemen,
Beside his banner stand,
And help to start the demon,
Black Alva, from the land.
He comes to right your wrong,
And help you to possession
Of what you ’ve lost too long.
Each king of Spain’s adherent
Give succor to his choice;
For Orange, his lieutenant,
For William, raise your voice!
Proclaim no treacheries!”
“They stick to the board like limpets!”
The sergeant grumbling cries.
“To horse! ’t is time we ’re making
At once for Count Lumé;
And were the dawn not breaking,
The snow would light our way!”
“Hark! calls the sentinel?”
Their chargers from the stables
Led out, they spring to selle,
Fast through the frosty morning
Trot o’er the ringing ground;
From Rotte’s sluices turning
For Scheldt the troop is bound.