High over heaps of dead:

Remembered, in the murderous fight,
God, Fatherland, and thee,--
Turned, from the deep and smoky night,
His Frederic to see,

And trembled,--with a flush of fear
His visage mounted high;
He trembled, not that death was near,
But lest thou, too, shouldst die:

Despised the balls like scattered seed,
The cannon's thunder-tone,
Fought fiercely, did a hero's deed,
Till all thy foes had flown.

Now thanks he God for all His might,
And sings, Victoria!
And all the blood from out this fight
Flows to Theresia.

And if she will not stay the plague,
Nor peace to thee concede,
Storm with us, Frederic, first her Prague,
Then, to Vienna lead!

[Footnote 14: Marshal Schwerin, seventy years of age, who was killed at
the head of a regiment, with its colors in his hand, just as it crossed
through the fire to the enemy's intrenchments.]