"I will not
consciously permit myself to be made giddy by the dizziness of romantic
self-deception!" answered reason--but now Prince Louis felt as though
some stranger, from whom he must turn indignantly, was uttering the
words.
The Third Westphalian covered the opposite ascent. The foremost ranks
were already at the top and paused a moment, for a murderous fire
greeted the first heads which appeared, and several men, mortally
wounded, rolled down again. But the rest pressed on, using both hands
and feet to climb the hill, whose ascent would have been mere sport for
fresh youths, skilled in gymnastic exercises, but which must have
seemed terribly steep to harassed, exhausted troops. As they worked
their way upward with the utmost zeal, evidently striving to excel one
another, Prince Louis thought of some stanzas in the Winter Tale of his
favorite author, Heine:
"That lovable, worthy Westphalian race,
I ever have loved it extremely,
A nation so firm, so faithful, so true,
Ne'er given to boasting unseemly.
How proudly they stood with their lionlike hearts
In the noble science of fencing"--[1]
And with their "lion-like hearts" they reached the crest of the hill
and, summoning all their remaining breath, dashed forward.
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