Theodor Körner (1791–1813)

Translated by Charles T. Brooks

HOW soft thy sleep!—The tranquil features seem

To breathe again thy life’s fair dreams e’en now,

’Tis Slumber droops his wings around thy brow,

And sacred Peace hath veiled the eye’s pure beam.

So slumber on, till, O my country! thou,

While beacon-smoke from every hill doth stream,

And the long-rusted swords, impatient, gleam,

Shalt raise to heaven the patriot’s holy vow.

Down, down through night and death, God’s way may lie;

Yet this must be our hope—our battle-cry:

Our children’s children shall as freemen die!

When Freedom’s morning, bloody-red, shall break,

Then, for thy bleeding, praying country’s sake,

Then, German wife, our guardian angel, wake!