To such a terrible nation, which hurries along like a tempest!

For they summon together the young and the old from all quarters,
Rushing wildly along, while the multitude little is caring

Even for death; when one falls, his place is straight fill'd by another,
Ah! and can Germans dare to remain at home in their dwellings,

Thinking perchance to escape from the widely-threat'ning disaster?
Dearest mother, I tell you that I to-day am quite sorry

That I was lately excused, when they selected the fighters
Out of the townfolk. 'Tis true I'm an only son, and more-over

Large is our inn, and our business also is very important;
Were it not better however for me to fight in the vanguard

On the frontier, than here to await disaster and bondage?
Yes, my spirit has told me, and in my innermost bosom

Feel I courage and longing to live and die for my country,
And to others to set an example worthy to follow.

Oh, of a truth, if the strength of the German youths was collected
On the frontier, all bound by a vow not to yield to the stranger,

He on our noble soil should never set foot, or be able
Under our eyes to consume the fruits of the land, or to issue

Orders unto our men, or despoil our women and maidens!
See, good mother, within my inmost heart I've determined

Soon and straightway to do what seems to me right and becoming;
For the man who thinks long, not always chooses what best is.

See, I will not return to the house, but will go from here straightway
Into the town, and there will place at the fighters' disposal

This stout arm and this heart, to serve, as I best can, my country.
Then let my father say whether feelings of honour are stirring

In my bosom or not, and whether I yearn to mount upwards."
Then with significance answer'd his good and sensible mother,

Shedding tears in silence, which easily rose in her eyelids:--
"Son, what has wrought so strange a change in your temper and feelings,

That you freely and openly speak to your mother no longer,
As you till yesterday did, nor tell her truly your wishes?

If another had heard you speaking, he doubtless would praise you
Highly, and deem your new resolution as worthy of honour,

Being deceived by your words, and by your manner of speaking.
I however can only blame you. I know you much better.

You are concealing your heart, and very diff'rent your thoughts are;
For I am sure you care not at all for drum and for trumpet,

Nor, to please the maidens, care you to wear regimentals.
For, though brave you may be, and gallant, your proper vocation

Is to remain at home, the property quietly watching.
Therefore tell me truly: What means this sudden decision?"

Earnestly answer'd the son:--"You are wrong, dear-mother, one day is
Unlike another. The youth soon ripens into his manhood.

Ofttimes he ripens better to action in silence than living
That tumultuous noisy life which ruins so many.

And though silent I have been, and am, a heart has been fashion'd
Inside my bosom, which hates whateverunfair and unjust is,

And I am able right well to discriminate secular matters.
Work moreover my arms and my feet has mightily strengthen'd.

All that I tell you is true; I boldlyventure to say so.
And yet, mother, you blame me with reason; you've caught me employing

Words that are only half true, and that serve to conceal my true feelings.
For I must need confess, it is not the advent of danger

Calls me away from my father's house, nor a resolute purpose
Useful to be to my country, and dreaded to be by the foeman.

Words alone it was that I utter'd,--words only intended
Those deep feelings to hide, which within my breast are contending.

And now leave me, my mother! For as in my bosom I cherish
Wishes that are but vain, my life will be to no purpose.

For I know that the Unit who makes a self-sacrifice, only
Injures himself, unless all endeavour the Whole to accomplish."

"Now continue," replied forthwith his sensible mother:--
"Tell me all that has happen'd, the least as w'ell as the greatest

Men are always hasty, and only remember the last thing,
And the hasty are easily forced from the road by obstructions.

But a woman is skillful, and full of resources, and scorns not
Bye-roads to traverse when needed, well-skill'd to accomplish her purpose.

Tell me then all, and why you are stirr'd by such violent feelings
More than I ever have seen, while the blood is boiling within you,

And from your eyes the tears against your will fain would fall now."
Then the youth gave way to his sorrow, and burst into weeping,

Weeping aloud on the breast of his mother, and softly replying
"Truly, my father's words to-day have wounded me sadly,

Never have I deserved at his hands such treatment,--no, never!
For to honour my parents was always my wish from my childhood,

No one ever appear'd so prudent and wise as my parents,
Who in the darker days of childhood carefully watch'd me.

Much indeed it has been my lot to endure from my playmates,
When with their knavish pranks they used to embitter my temper.

Often I little suspected the tricks they were playing upon me:
But if they happen'd to ridicule Father, whenever on Sundays

Out of church he came with his slow deliberate footsteps,
If they laugh'd at the strings of his cap, and his dressing-gown's flowers,

Which he in stately wise wore, and to-day at length has discarded,
Then in a fury I clench'd my fist, and, storming and raging,

Fell upon them and hit and struck with terrible onslaught,
Heedless where my blows fell. With bleeding noses they halloed,

And could scarcely escape from the force of my blows and my kicking.
Then, as in years I advanced, I had much to endure from my father,

Who, in default of others to blame, would often abuse me,
When at the Council's last sitting his anger perchance was excited,

And I the penalty paid of the squabbles and strife of his colleagues.
You yourself have oft pitied me; I endured it with patience,

Always rememb'ring the much-to-be-honour'd kindness of parents,
Whose only thought is to swell for our sakes their goods and possessions,

And who deprive themselves of much, to save for their children.
But, alas, not saving alone, for enjoyment hereafter,

Constitutes happiness, no, not heaps of gold or of silver,
Neither field upon field, however compact the estate be.

For the father grows old, and his son at the same time grows older,
Feeling no joy in To-day, and full of care for To-morrow.

Now look down from this height, and see how beauteous before us
Lies the fair rich expanse, with vineyard and gardens at bottom;

There are the stables and barns, and the rest of the property likewise;
There I also descry the back of our house, in the gables

Of the roof may be seen the window of my small apartment.
When I remember the time when I used to look out for the moon there

Half through the night, or perchance at morning awaited the sunrise,
When with but few hours of healthy sleep I was fully contented,

Ah, how lonely do all things appear! My chamber, the court, and
Garden, the beautiful field which spreads itself over the hillside;

All appears but a desert to me: I still am unmarried!"
Then his good mother answer'd his speech in a sensible manner

"Son, your wish to be able to lead your bride to her chamber,
Turning the night to the dearest and happiest half of your lifetime,

Making your work by day more truly free and unfetter'd,
Cannot be greater than that of your father and mother. We always

Urged you,--commanded, I even might say,--to choose some fair maiden.
But I know full well, and my heart has told me already

If the right hour arrives not, or if the right maiden appears not
Instantly when they are sought for, man's choice is thrown in confusion,

And he is driven by fear to seize what is counterfeit only.
If I may tell you, my son, your choice already is taken,

For your heart is smitten, and sensitive more than is usual.
Answer me plainly, then, for my spirit already has told me:

She whom now you have chosen is that poor emigrantmaiden!"
"Yes, dear mother, you're right!" the son with vivacity answer'd

Yes, it is she! And unless this very day I conduct her
Home as my bride, she will go on her way and escape me for ever,

In the confusion of war, and in moving backwards and forwards.
Mother, then before my eyes will in vain he unfolded

All our rich estate, and each year henceforward be fruitful.
Yes, the familiar house and the garden will be my aversion.