Full thirty years art thou of age, hast many a
storm lived through,
Brother-like hast round me tightened,
And whenever cannons lightened,
Both of us no terror knew.
Wet soaking to the skin we lay for many a
blessed night,
Thou alone hast warmth imparted,
And if I was heavy-hearted,
Telling thee would make me light.
My secrets thou hast never spoke, wert ever still and true;
Every tatter did befriend me,
Therefore I'll no longer mend thee,
Lest, old chap, 't would make thee new.
And dearer still art thou to ma when jests about thee roll;
For where the rags below are dropping,
There went through the bullets popping,--
Every bullet makes a hole.
And when the final bullet comes to stop a German heart,
Then, old cloak, a grave provide me,
Weather-beaten friend, still hide me,
As I sleep in thee apart.
There lie we till the roll-call together in the grave:
For the roll I shall be heedful,
Therefore it will then be needful
For me an old cloak to have.
The next one is taken from a student-song book, and was probably
written in 1814:--
THE CANTEEN.
Just help me, Lottie, as I spring;
My arm is feeble, see,--
I still must have it in a sling;
Be softly now with me!
But do not let the canteen slip,--
Here, take it first, I pray,--
For when that's broken from my lip,
All joys will flow away.
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