Читать книгу Songs of the Army of the Night - Francis William Lauderdale Adams - Страница 28

TO THE EMPEROR WILLIAM.

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You are at least a man, of men a king.

You have a heart, and with that heart you love.

The race you come from is not gendered of

The filthy sty whose latest litter cling

Round England’s flesh-pots, gorged and gluttoning.

No, but on flaming battle-fields, in courts

Of honour and of danger old resorts,

The name of Hohen-Zollern clear doth ring.

O Father William, you, not falsely weak,

Who never spared the rod to spoil the child,

Our mighty Germany, we only speak

To bless you with a blessing sweet and mild,

Ere that near heaven your weary footsteps seek

Where love with liberty is reconciled.

Songs of the Army of the Night

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