I cleave the air through the murky night,
High o'er the forests and sleeping towns;
Below me drifts the shimmering light -
A glorious fresco on vale and downs;
My sea hath no billows nor rocky shores,
And only the winds disturb my soul;
I care not for those who slumber in death,
For my bomb is bloody and death my goal -
And all for the Vaterland!
Where the currents cross and the cruisers speed
I sail towards the North in a piteous sky;
I hear the night wind's surging note
As it mingles its requiem with the widow's cry.
Above me there streams a light from heaven,
But I bow my head and veil my eyes
As I plough the fields with my fateful keel
And sow the highways with tears and sighs -
And all for the Vaterland!
And hate is the banner I unfurl so wide
That its blood-dripp'd folds may catch the breeze;
That e'en from the balcony of heaven on high
May be seen this banner on all the seas.
No triumph of arms is my flight by night,
It is only a part of a murderous raid:
Dropping a bomb on an innocent child
Or a crowing babe in its cradle laid -
And all for the Vaterland!
For Thomas Walsh.