REQUIEM FOR AN OLD SOLDIER

REQUIEM FOR AN OLD SOLDIER 
on the 381st anniversary of his lamentable death.
A eulogy written in iambic pentameter 
by Sandra Dermark on the 29th-30th of April, 2013

There once was a commander long ago,
an old Walloon, with silver locks and beard,
not overcome by drink, nor wench, nor foe,
unwed, to God and Kaiser true alone,
a scourge to foes, a father to his men.
Such was one Jean 't Serclaes, Count of Tilly,
who had, after harsh Jesuit boarding school,
for decades served the Habsburg dynasty,
given command over the Catholic League.
Yet, after six-and-thirty victories
against the Protestants and their allies,
his fortunes would take a turn for the worse.
For Sweden's ruler, younger and more free,
recently landed, was ready to fight
for the Protestants' freedom of belief.
And thus, on the vast plains of Breitenfeld,
both armies clashed with all their bravery.
Gustavus, with advanced technology,
and new strategy plans recently known,
made himself the sole master of the field.
Over the League set the September sun:
two thirds of men had died, and Leipzig fell.
Tilly would rather have been slain than lived.
Such a debacle shattered his career.
And thus, sternly pursued by Swedish ranks,
defeated by the Vasa constantly,
he was obliged to flee back south again,
until he reached the ford across the Lech,
in the springtime of 1632.
There, the League finally entrenched itself.
The Swedes showed soon up on the other side,
determined to cross to Bavarian lands.
Would Count Tilly let such a foe succeed?
He saw a wooden bridge raised by the Swedes,
who then began to cross the confluence.
Despair tore at his bosom painfully.
Alas, were he but killed at Breitenfeld!
Within, a repressed wish of suicide
found its way to his very consciousness.
He knew that there was no deadlier sin,
but the stain on his good name left no chance.
Sword drawn, ready for one last rendezvous,
there he gallops, leading the Catholic ranks,
ready to keep the bridge across the Lech!
Now they battle the Swedish ranks! What now?
Tilly falters and falls, pale, from his steed!
Carried off by Croatians and Walloons,
who retreat, letting the Swedes cross the bridge,
he's examined: they find a bullet hole
in his right thigh, precisely above the knee!
Ablaze with fever, seized with searing pain,
the old commander now contends with death.
Though he's been wounded many times before,
he can't resist: there is no hope for life.
Tears are shed by both officers and men
as the surgeon, a blond, rosy young gent,
tells them their leader is about to die.
And then he bursts into warm tears himself,
and turns his steps towards the Swedish camp:
he is the surgeon to the King of Swedes,
by his liege to the hold of Ingolstadt 
sent, to tend to the wounded Count Tilly.
Gustavus seizes the physician tight,
and decides to mourn such a worthy foe,
while, on his deathbed, in the locked hold,
the elderly commander shuts his eyes,
as blue as the Bavarian skies above,
and, pale as his hair, ceases then to breathe,
lulled into rest for all eternity.