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BRAVE Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight
From Prussia's timid region. Go, and rest
With heroes, 'mid the Islands of the Blest.
Or in the fields of empyrean light. A meteor wert thou crossing a dark night;
Yet shall thy name, conspicuous and sublime,
Stand in the spacious firmament of time,
Fixed as a star: such glory is thy right.
Alas! it may not be: for earthly fame Is fortune's frail dependent; yet there lives
A Judge, who, as man claims by merit, gives; To whose all-pondering mind a noble aim,
Faithfully kept, is as a noble deed; In whose pure sight all virtue doth succeed.
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
But, hark!-that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat,
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is it is - the cannon's opening roar!
Within a windowed niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain: he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because he deemed it near,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell:
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.