The Trumpeter of Katzbach

A trumpeter at Katzbach,
As the storm of fight swept by,
His life-blood ebbing slowly,
Had laid him down to die.

No ease the wound was bringing
Within his stricken breast;
Until he hears of victory
He does not pray for rest.

As he lay alone and dying,
Upon the blood-stained ground,
Upon his ear comes floating
A clarion's well-known sound.

From the cold earth he rises,
As he hears the glorious strain;
And on his stately charger
The trumpeter sits again.

Then forth he takes his trumpet,
Once more with nervous hand.
And rings with peal like thunder,
Victoria! o'er the land.

Victory! sounds the trumpet,
Victory! far and near!
Again that glorious echo
Sings thrilling on the ear.

But with that blast of thunder
His martial spirit fled;
And from his stately charger
The trumpeter falls dead!

Then as their comrade's obsequies
The serried ranks attend,
Spake softly the field-marshal,
"His was a happy end!"