Wallenstein's Camp. Friedrich von Schiller

I jogged with the succors to Mantua;

        And back again came, under Feria:

        Then, joining a Spanish regiment,

        I took a short cut across to Ghent;

        And now to Bohemia I'm come to get

        Old scores paid off, that are standing yet,

        If a helping hand by the duke be lent —

        And yonder you see my sutler's tent.

FIRST YAGER

        Well, all things seem in a flourishing way,

        But what have you done with the Scotchman, say,

        Who once in the camp was your constant flame?

SUTLER-WOMAN

        A villain, who tricked me clean, that same

        He bolted, and took to himself whate'er

        I'd managed to scrape together, or spare,

        Leaving me naught but the urchin there.

SOLDIER-BOY (springing forward)

        Mother, is it my papa you name?

FIRST YAGER

        Well, the emperor now must father this elf,

        For the army must ever recruit itself.

SCHOOLMASTER

        Forth to the school, ye rogue – d'ye hear?

FIRST YAGER

        He, too, of a narrow room has fear.

        SERVANT GIRL (entering).

        Aunt, they'll be off.

SUTLER-WOMAN

                   I come apace.

FIRST YAGER

        What gypsy is that with the roguish face?

SUTLER-WOMAN

        My sister's child from the south, is she.

FIRST YAGER

        Ay, ay, a sweet little niece – I see.

        SECOND YAGER (holding the girl).

        Softly, my pretty one! stay with me.

GIRL

        The customers wait, sir, and I must go.

      [Disengages herself, and exit.

FIRST YAGER

        That maiden's a dainty morsel, I trow!

        And her aunt – by heaven! I mind me well, —

        When the best of the regiment loved her so,

        To blows for her beautiful face they fell.

        What different folks one's doomed to know!

        How time glows off with a ceaseless flow!

        And what sights as yet we may live to see!

      (To the Sergeant and Trumpeter.)

        Your health, good sirs, may we be free,

        A seat beside you here to take?

      SCENE VI

      The Yagers, Sergeant, and Trumpeter.

SERGEANT

        We thank ye – and room will gladly make.

        To Bohemia welcome.

FIRST YAGER

                   Snug enough here!

        In the land of the foe our quarters were queer.

TRUMPETER

        You haven't the look on't – you're spruce to view.

SERGEANT

        Ay, faith, on the Saal, and in Meissen, too,

        Your praises are heard from the lips of few.

SECOND YAGER

        Tush, man! why, what the plague d'ye mean?

        The Croat had swept the fields so clean,

        There was little or nothing for us to glean.

TRUMPETER

        Yet your pointed collar is clean and sightly,

        And, then, your hose that sit so tightly!

        Your linen so fine, with the hat and feather,

        Make a show of smartness altogether!

      (To Sergeant.)

        That fortune should upon younkers shine —

        While nothing in your way comes, or mine.

SERGEANT

        But then we're the Friedlander's regiment

        And, thus, may honor and homage claim.

FIRST YAGER

        For us, now, that's no great compliment,

        We, also, bear the Friedlander's name.

SERGEANT

        True – you form part of the general mass.

FIRST YAGER

        And you, I suppose, are a separate class!

        The difference lies in the coats we wear,

        And I have no wish to change with you there.

SERGEANT

        Sir Yager, I can't but with pity melt,

        When I think how much among boors you've dwelt.

        The clever knack and the proper tone,

        Are caught by the general's side alone.

FIRST YAGER

        Then the lesson is wofully thrown away, —

        How he hawks and spits, indeed, I may say

        You've copied and caught in the cleverest way;

        But his spirit, his genius – oh, these I ween,

        On your guard parade are but seldom seen.

SECOND YAGER

        Why, zounds! ask for us wherever you will,

        Friedland's wild hunt is our title still!

        Never shaming the name, all undaunted we go

        Alike through the field of a friend, or a foe;

        Through the rising stalk, or the yellow corn,

        Well know they the blast of Holk's Yager horn.

        In the flash of an eye, we are far or near,

        Swift as the deluge, or there or here —

        As at midnight dark, when the flames outbreak

        In the silent dwelling where none awake;

        Vain is the hope in weapons or flight,

        Nor order nor discipline thwart its might.

        Then struggles the maid in our sinewy arms,

        But war hath no pity, and scorns alarms.

        Go, ask – I speak not with boastful tongue —

        In Bareuth, Westphalia, Voigtland, where'er

        Our troops have traversed – go, ask them there —

        Children and children's children long,

        When hundreds and hundreds of years are o'er,

        Of Holk will tell and his