The Death Day of Körner

A song for the death-day of the brave— A song of pride! The youth went down to a hero's grave, With the sword, his bride.†

He went, with his noble heart unworn, And pure, and high; An eagle stooping from clouds of morn, Only to die!

He went with the lyre, whose lofty tone Beneath his hand Had thrill'd to the name of his God alone, And his Father-land.

And with all his glorious feelings yet In their first glow, Like a southern stream that no frost hath met To chain its flow.

A song for the death-day of the brave— A song of pride! For him that went to a hero's grave, With the sword, his bride.

He hath left a voice in his trumpet-lays To turn the flight, And a guiding spirit for after days, Like a watch-fire's light.

And a grief in his father's soul to rest, Midst all high thought, And a memory unto his mother's breast, With healing fraught.

And a name and fame above the blight Of earthly breath, Beautiful—beautiful and bright, In life and death!

A song for the death-day of the brave— A song of pride! For him that went to a hero's grave, With the sword, his bride! F. H.