longings for war, till the whole nation arises in its rage and
expels the enemy from the country! My friend, we have now witnessed the
downfall of Prussia, but henceforth we must exert ourselves in order to
witness also her regeneration. We ourselves must be the--"

"Hush!" said Pueckler, hastily. "Just look there, and then take your
sabre."

They were now near a field-path leading to a small wood which a slender
youth had just left, and was hastily approaching them. As yet, however,
he was so far from them that they were unable to distinguish his
features or his dress, and to discern whether he was an armed soldier or
a peaceable wanderer.

"It is, doubtless, a French soldier, and his comrades are lying in
ambush," murmured Pueckler, placing his hand on his sword.

"If he wants to attack us, he had better say his death-prayers," said
Schill, calmly. "There are two of us, and each has one uninjured arm."

The youth had meanwhile drawn nearer, and they saw that he did not wear
any uniform.

"He is very young," said Pueckler, "and a civilian. He has apparently not
yet seen us. That bush yonder is concealing us from his eyes. Let us
stoop a little, and, as the path lies beyond, he may pass by without
noticing us."

They knelt down behind the bush, but, while doing so, took their swords,
and prepared for an attack. Then they held their breath and listened.

Profound silence reigned around, and nothing was to be heard but the
quick steps of the wanderer, who drew nearer and nearer. Suddenly this
silence was interrupted by a fresh and youthful voice, singing the air
of a popular song.

"Ah, he sings," murmured Schill. "He who can sing to-day, must be very
harmless, and it is not worth while to kill him."

"Hush! hush! let us listen to his song. He is now singing words to the
melody. Just listen!"

The voice resounded nearer and nearer to the two listeners, and they
could understand the words he was singing:

O Hermann! for thy country's fall
No tears! Where vanquished valor bled
The victor rules, and Slavery's pall,
Upon these hills and vales is spread.
Shame burns within me, for the brave
Lie mouldering in the freeman's grave.

No voice! where sturdy Luther spoke
Fearless for men who dared be free!
O would that Heaven's thunder woke
My people for their liberty!
Must heroes fight and die in vain?--
Ye cowards! grasp your swords again!