FIRST SHARPSHOOTER.
The Lorrainers go on with the strongest tide,
Where spirits are light and courage tried.
DRAGOON.
An Irishman follows his fortune's star.
SECOND SHARPSHOOTER.
The Tyrolese for their sovereign war.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Then, comrades, let each of our corps agree
A pro memoria to sign-that we,
In spite of all force or fraud, will be
To the fortunes of Friedland firmly bound,
For in him is the soldier's father found.
This we will humbly present, when done,
To Piccolomini-I mean the son-
Who understands these kind of affairs,
And the Friedlander's highest favor shares;
Besides, with the emperor's self, they say
He holds a capital card to play.
SECOND YAGER.
Well, then, in this, let us all agree,
That the colonel shall our spokesman be!
ALL (going).
Good! the colonel shall our spokesman be.
SERGEANT.
Hold, sirs-just toss off a glass with me
To the health of Piccolomini.
SUTLER-WOMAN (brings a flask).
This shall not go to the list of scores,
I gladly give it-success be yours!
CUIRASSIER.
The soldier shall sway!
BOTH YAGERS.
The peasant shall pay
DRAGOONS and SHARPSHOOTERS.
The army shall flourishing stand!
TRUMPETER and SERGEANT.
And the Friedlander keep the command!
SECOND CUIRASSIER (sings).
Arouse ye, my comrades, to horse! to horse!
To the field and to freedom we guide!
For there a man feels the pride of his force
And there is the heart of him tried.
No help to him there by another is shown,
He stands for himself and himself alone.
[The soldiers from the background have come forward during the singing
of this verse and form the chorus.
CHORUS.
No help to him by another is shown,
He stands for himself and himself alone.
DRAGOON.
Now freedom hath fled from the world, we find
But lords and their bondsmen vile
And nothing holds sway in the breast of mankind
Save falsehood and cowardly guile.
Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow,
The soldier, alone, is the freeman now.
CHORUS.
Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow,
The soldier, alone, is the freeman now.
FIRST YAGER.
With the troubles of life he ne'er bothers his pate,
And feels neither fear nor sorrow;
But boldly rides onward to meet with his fate-
He may meet it to-day, or to-morrow!
And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say,
Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day!
CHORUS.
And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say,
Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day!
[The glasses are here refilled, and all drink.
SERGEANT.
'Tis from heaven his jovial lot has birth;
Nor needs he to strive or toil.
The peasant may grope in the bowels of earth,
And for treasure may greedily moil
He digs and he delves through life for the pelf,
And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself.
