"At Mantua in chains The gallant Hofer lay, In Mantua to death Led him the foe away; His brothers’ hearts bled for the chief, For Germany disgrace and grief And Tyrol’s mountain land! His hands behind him clasped, With firm and measured pace, Marched Andrew Hofer on; He feared not death to face, Death whom from Iselberg aloft Into the vale he sent so oft In Tyrol’s holy land. But when from dungeon-grate, In Mantua’s stronghold, Their hands on high he saw His faithful brothers hold, “O God be with you all!” he said, “And with the German realm betrayed, And Tyrol’s holy land!” The drummer’s hand refused To beat the solemn march, While Andrew Hofer passed The portal’s gloomy arch; In fetters shackled, yet so free, There on the bastion stood he, Brave Tyrol’s gallant son. They bade him then kneel down, He answered, “I will not! Here standing will I die, As I have stood and fought, As now I tread this bulwark’s bank, Long life to my good Kaiser Frank, And, Tyrol, hail to thee!” A grenadier then took The bandage from his hand, While Hofer spoke a prayer His last on earthly land. “Mark well!” he with loud voice exclaimed, “Now fire! Ah! ’t was badly aimed! O Tyrol, fare thee well!”"