Ludwig Uhland (1787–1862)

I HAD a faithful comrade,

None better you could find.

The battle drum beat gaily,

He marched beside me daily,

And never fell behind.

A cannon ball came flying—

Is’t for me or is’t for thee?

It threw him down, and dying

Before my feet he’s lying,

Just like a part of me.

His hand he wants to give me,

While I must load anew;

My hand cannot be given—

Now fare thou well in heaven,

My comrade good and true!