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.
"And why for that so anxious?--pshaw!
It is not worth a pin:
The common glass, the bit of straw,
And not a drop within!"
No matter, Lottie, take it out,--
'T is past your reckoning:
Yes, look it round and round about,--
There drank from it--my King!
By Leipsic near, if you must know,--
'T was just no children's play,--
A ball hit me a grievous blow,
And in the crowd I lay;
Nigh death, they bore me from the scene,
My garments off they fling,
Yet held I fast by my canteen,--
There drank from it--my King!
For once our ranks in passing through
He paused,--we saw his face;
Around us keen the volleys flew,
He calmly kept his place.
He thirsted,--I could see it plain,
And courage took to bring
My old canteen for him to drain,--
He drank from it--my King!
He touched me on the shoulder here,
And said, "I thank thee, friend,
Thy liquor gives me timely cheer,--
Thou didst right well intend."
O'erjoyed at this, I cried aloud,
"O comrades, who can bring
Canteen like this to make him proud?--
There drank from it--my King!"
That old canteen shall no one have,
The best of treasures mine;
Put it at last upon my grave,
And under it this line:
"He fought at Leipsic, whom this green
Is softly covering;
Best household good was his canteen,--
There drank from it--his King!"