as all tovaer--
Wann kumt de duetsche Adler un bringt
Di wedder, du duetsche Ehr?

Wak op du Floth, wak op du Meer!
Wak op du Dunner, un week de Eer!
Wi sitt op Haepen un Wedderkehr--
Wi truert alleen ant Meer.

_Summer_, 1851.

They march so sad across the Elbe,
So heavy, step by step,--
The swallow wanders, the stork departs,--
They come back in the year to come.

Adieu, adieu, thou German host!
"Adieu, adieu, thou Holsten sea!
Adieu, in hope, and to meet again!"
We mourn alone by the sea.

The stork comes back, the swallow sings
As blithe as ever before,--
When will the German eagle return,
And bring thee back, thou German honor!

Wake up, thou flood! wake up, thou sea!
Wake up, thou thunder, and rouse the land!
We are sitting in hope to meet again,--
We mourn alone by the sea.

III.

_Winter_, 1863.

Dar kumt en Brusen as Vaerjahswind,
Dat draehnt as waer dat de Floth,--
Will't Froehjahr kamen to Wihnachtstid?
Hoelpt Gott uns suelb'n inne Noth?

Vun alle Bargen de Kruez un Quer
Dar is dat wedder dat duetsche Heer!
Dat gelt op Nu oder Nimmermehr!
So rett se, de duetsche Ehr!

Wi hoert den Adler, he kumt, he kumt!
Noch eenmal haept wi un harrt!
Is't Friheit endlich, de he uns bringt?
ls't Wahrheit, wat der ut ward?

Sunst hoelp uns Himmel, nu geit't ni mehr!
Hoelp du, un bring uns den Herzog her!
Denn wuellt wi starben vaer duetsche Ehr!
Denn begravt uns in duetsche Eer!

30 _December_, 1863.

_Winter_, 1863.

There comes a blast like winter storm;
It roars as it were the flood.
Is the spring coming at Christmas-tide?
Does God himself help us in our need?

From all the hills on the right and left,
There again comes the German host!
It is to be now or never!
O, save the German honor!

We hear the eagle, he comes, he comes!
Once more we hope and wait!
Is it freedom at last he brings to us?
Is it truth what comes from thence?

Else Heaven help us, now it goes no more!
Help thou, and bring us our Duke!
Then will we die for German honor!
Then bury us in German earth!

_December_ 30, 1863.

It is not, however, in war songs or political invective that the poetical
genius of Klaus Groth shows to advantage. His proper sphere is the quiet
idyl, a truthful and thoughtful description of nature, a reproduction of
the simplest and deepest feelings of the human heart, and all this in the
homely, honest, and heartfelt language of his own "Platt Deutsch." That
the example of Burns has