.
Snug enough here!
In the land of the foe our quarters were queer.

TRUMPETER.
You haven't the look on't--you're spruce to view.

SERGEANT.
Ay, faith, on the Saal, and in Meissen, too,
Your praises are heard from the lips of few.

SECOND YAGER.
Tush, man! why, what the plague d'ye mean?
The Croat had swept the fields so clean,
There was little or nothing for us to glean.

TRUMPETER.
Yet your pointed collar is clean and sightly,
And, then, your hose that sit so tightly!
Your linen so fine, with the hat and feather,
Make a show of smartness altogether!
(To Sergeant.)
That fortune should upon younkers shine--
While nothing in your way comes, or mine.

SERGEANT.
But then we're the Friedlander's regiment
And, thus, may honor and homage claim.

FIRST YAGER.
For us, now, that's no great compliment,
We, also, bear the Friedlander's name.

SERGEANT.
True--you form part of the general mass.

FIRST YAGER.
And you, I suppose, are a separate class!
The difference lies in the coats we wear,
And I have no wish to change with you there.

SERGEANT.
Sir Yager, I can't but with pity melt,
When I think how much among boors you've dwelt.
The clever knack and the proper tone,
Are caught by the general's side alone.

FIRST YAGER.
Then the lesson is wofully thrown away,--
How he hawks and spits, indeed, I may say
You've copied and caught in the cleverest way;
But his spirit, his genius--oh, these I ween,
On your guard parade are but seldom seen.

SECOND YAGER.
Why, zounds! ask for us wherever you will,
Friedland's wild hunt is our title still!
Never shaming the name, all undaunted we go
Alike through the field of a friend, or a foe;
Through the rising stalk, or the yellow corn,
Well know they the blast of Holk's Yager horn.
In the flash of an eye, we are far or near,
Swift as the deluge, or there or here--
As at midnight dark, when the flames outbreak
In the silent dwelling where none awake;
Vain is the hope in weapons or flight,
Nor order nor discipline thwart its might.
Then struggles the maid in our sinewy arms,
But war hath no pity, and scorns alarms.
Go, ask--I speak not with boastful tongue--
In Bareuth, Westphalia, Voigtland, where'er
Our troops have traversed--go, ask them there--
Children and children's children long,
When hundreds and hundreds of years are o'er,
Of Holk will tell and his Yager corps.

SERGEANT.
Why, hark! Must a soldier then be made
By driving this rio