ON THE GRAVE OF MAJOR SCHILL,
BURIED ON THE GLACIS OF STRALSUND.
[_]
Schill was one of those bold spirits who, in the days
of German degradation, sustained the ancient memory of their
country's valour. After the battle of Jena, he burst from
Berlin, with his own regiment of hussars; and at their
head, with a few volunteers, kept the French communications
in alarm, taking Marshal Victor, and scouring the country up
to the Baltic. He was finally attacked by a superior force in
Stralsund, and, after a desperate struggle, slain.
STRANGER.
German soldier, is thy tear
Shed on a felon's sepulchre?
What can shelter in that heap,
But some guilty outcast's sleep?—
Yet, many a footstep freshly round
Marks it, like loved and holy ground.
SOLDIER.
Stranger! this heap is all the grave
Of one who died, as die the brave!
And never bosom's nobler tide
Stain'd flood or field, than when he died.
Stranger! no stone might dare to tell
His name, who on this red spot fell.
These steps are steps of German men,
Who, when the tyrant's in his den,
Come nightly here with solemn tread,
To vow their vengeance o'er the dead.
Dead!—No! that spirit's light'ning still!
Stranger! thou seest the grave of Schill.