 | The Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant |  |
THE SHARPENING OF THE SABRE.
FROM THE GERMAN. AUTHOR UNKNOWN.
Burning thoughts within me call
For the good old brand I wore;
Hand the sabre from the wall—
Let me try its weight once more.
Bring the sharpening-stone to me,
Sharp must now my sabre be.
For the good old brand I wore;
Hand the sabre from the wall—
Let me try its weight once more.
Bring the sharpening-stone to me,
Sharp must now my sabre be.
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Sabre, thou didst look so dull,
Under dust and spider-net!
Ah, thou shalt be beautiful,
With the blood of foemen wet!
Turn, boy, turn the stone for me,
Sharper must my sabre be.
Under dust and spider-net!
Ah, thou shalt be beautiful,
With the blood of foemen wet!
Turn, boy, turn the stone for me,
Sharper must my sabre be.
Come and fill this faithful hand,
Be again my own true sword,
Till the lost, lost Fatherland
Shall be rescued and restored.
Turn, boy, turn the stone for me,
Sharper must my sabre be.
Be again my own true sword,
Till the lost, lost Fatherland
Shall be rescued and restored.
Turn, boy, turn the stone for me,
Sharper must my sabre be.
For the sacred German realm,
For our honor trodden low,
Sabre! strike, through shield and helm,
One good blow, a mighty blow.
Turn, boy, turn the stone for me,
Sharper must my sabre be.
For our honor trodden low,
Sabre! strike, through shield and helm,
One good blow, a mighty blow.
Turn, boy, turn the stone for me,
Sharper must my sabre be.
Brothers, win the banner back!
We must earn the death of men;
Brothers, win the banner back!
I shall die contented then.
Turn, boy, turn the stone for me,
Sharper must my sabre be.
We must earn the death of men;
Brothers, win the banner back!
I shall die contented then.
Turn, boy, turn the stone for me,
Sharper must my sabre be.
Heard I not, before the door,
Peal the trumpet's thrilling blast?
Heard I not the cannon's roar?
Ah, 'twas but the storm that passed!
Turn, boy, turn the stone for me,
Sharp must now my sabre be.
Peal the trumpet's thrilling blast?
Heard I not the cannon's roar?
Ah, 'twas but the storm that passed!
Turn, boy, turn the stone for me,
Sharp must now my sabre be.
New York, 1836. Evening Post, July, 1836.
| The Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant | |