Christoph August Tiedge (1752–1841)

Translated by Charles T. Brooks

YE who so keenly mourn the loved one’s death,

Go with me to the mound that marks his grave,

And breathe awhile the consecrated breath

Of the old oak whose boughs high o’er him wave.

Sad Friendship there hath laid the young and brave;

Her hand shall guide us thither. Hark! she saith,

‘Beneath the hallowed oak’s cool, peaceful breath

These hands had dug the hero’s silent grave:

Yet were the dear remains forbid to rest

Where lip to lip in bloody strife was pressed,

And ghastly death stares from the mouldering heap;

A statelier tomb that sacred dust must keep;

A German prince hath spoken: This new guest,

And noblest, in a princely hall shall sleep.’