Denn I coomed to a rock py der rifer,Vhere a stein ish of harpe form,-Jahrdausand in, oud, it standet'-Und nopody blays but de shtorm.
Here, vonce on a dimes, a vitches,Soom melodies here peginned,De harpe ward all zu steine,Die melodie ward zu wind.
Und so mit dis tox-i-gation,Vitch hardens de outer Me;Ueber stein and schwein, de weineShdill harps oud a melodie.
Boot deeper de Ur-lied ringet',Ober stein und wein und svines,Dill it endeth vhere all peginnet,Und alles wird ewig zu eins,In de dipsy, treamless sloomperVhich units de Nichts und Seyns.
Und im Mondenlicht it moormoors,Und it burns by waken wein,In Madchenlieb or SchnapsenrauschDas Absolut ist dein.
Die Speer die er thut fuhrendie ist sehr gross und lang,Das sollt du glauben mire,gemacht von Vogelsgang.Sein Ross das ist die Heide,das sollt du glauben mir,Darauf er nun thut reiten,fuhrwahr das sag ich dir.- Ein schon nerr Lied von dem Mai Undvon dem Herbst. 16th century.
HERR SCHNITZERL make a ph'losopede,Von of de pullyest kind;It vent mitout a vheel in front,And hadn't none pehind.Von vheel vas in de mittel, dough,And it vent as sure ash ecks,For he shtraddled on de axel dree,Mit der vheel petween his lecks.
Und vhen he vant to shtart it offHe paddlet mit his feet,Und soon he cot to go so vastDat efery dings he peat.He run her out on Broader shtreed,He shkeeted like der vind,Hei! how he bassed de vancy crabs,And lef dem all pehind!
De vellers mit de trottin nagsPooled oop to see him bass;De Deutschers all erstaunished saidt:"Potztausend! Was ist das?"Boot vaster shtill der Schnitzerl flewedOn - mit a ghastly shmile;He tidn't tooch de dirt, py shings!Not vonce in half a mile.
Oh, vot ish all dis eart'ly pliss?Oh, vot ish man's soocksess?Oh, vot ish various kinds of dings?Und vot ish hobbiness?Ve find a pank node in de shtreedt,Next dings der pank ish preak!Ve folls, and knocks our outsides in,Vhen ve a ten shtrike make.
So vas it mit der SchnitzerleinOn his philosopede.His feet both shlipped outsidevard shoostVhen at his exdra shpeed.He felled oopon der vheel of coorse;De vheel like blitzen flew!Und Schnitzerl he vos schnitz in vact,For it shlished him grod in two.
Und as for his philosopede,Id cot so shkared, men say,It pounded onward till it ventGanz tyfelwards afay.Boot vhere ish now der Schnitzerl's soul?Vhere dos his shbirit pide?In Himmel droo de endless plue,It takes a medeor ride.
Vhen Breitmann hear dat SchnitzerlVas quardered into dwo,Und how his crate philosopedeTo 'm tyfel had peen flew,He dinked und dinked so heafy,Ash only Deutschers can,Denn saidt, "Who mighdt peliefetDish is de ent of man?"
"De human souls of beoplesExisdt in deir idees,Und dis of Wolfram SchnitzerlMighdt drafel many vays.In his Bestimmung des MenschenDer Fichte makes pelieve,Dat ve brogress oon-endtlyIn vhat pehindt ve leave.
"De shparrow falls ground-downvartsOr drafels to de West;De shparrows dat coom afder,Bild shoost de same old nest.Man had not vings or fedders,Und in oder dings, 'tis set,He tont coom up to shparrows,But on nests he goes ahet.
"O! vliest dou droo bornin' vorldts,Und nebuloser foam,By monsdrous mitnight shiant forms,Or vhere red tyfels roam;Or vhere de ghosdts of shky-rocketsPeyond creation flee?Vhere e'er dou art, O Schnitzerlein,Crate Saindt! Look down on me!
"Und deach me how you maketDat crate philosopede,Vhich roon dwice six mals vasterAsh any Arap shteed.Und deach me how to 'stonish volk,Und knock dem oud de shpots.Coom pack to eart', O Schnitzerlein,Und pring id down to dots!"
Shoost ash dish vordt vent outvarts,Hans dinked he saw a vlash,Und oonterwards de dableHe doompelt mit a crash.Und to him, moong de glasses,Und pottles ash vas proke,Mit his het in a cigar-box,A foice from Himmel shpoke:
"Adsum, Domine Breitmann!Herr Copitain, here I pe!So dell me rite honeste,Quare inquietasti me?Te video inter spoonibus,Et largis glassis too,Cerevisia repletis,Sicut percussus tonitru!"
Denn Breitmann ansver Schnitzerl;"Coarctor nimis, see!Siquidem PhilistiimPugnant adversum me.Ergo vocavi te,Ash Saul vocavit Sam-Uel, ut mi ostenderesQuid teufel faciam?"
Denn de shpirit (in Lateinisch)Saidt "Bene, dat's de talk,Non habes in hoc shanty,A shingle et some chalk?Non video inkum nec calamos(I shpose some bummer shdole 'em),Levate oculos tuos, son,Et aspice ad linteolum!"
Denn Breitmann see de biece of chalkVhich riset vrom de vloor,Und signed a fine philosopedeAlone, oopon de toor.De von dat Schnitzerl fobricate,Und oonderneat' he see:Probate inter equites,(Try dis in de cavallrie).
Der Breitmann shtood oop from de vloor,Und leanet on a post;Und saidt: "If dis couldt, shouldt hafe peen,Dar vouldt, mighdt peen a ghosdt;Boot if id pe noumenon,Phenomenoned indeed,Or de soobyectif obyectified,I'fe cot de philosopede."
Denn out he seekt a plackschmit,Ash vork in iron-steel,To make him a philosopedeMit shoost an only vheel.De dings vas maket simple,Ash all crate idees shouldt pe,For 'tvas noding boot a gart-vheel,Mit a dwo-feet axel dree.
De dimes der Breitmann doomple,In learnin' for to ride,Vas ofdener ash de sand-crainsDat rollen in de tide.De dimes he cot oopsettet,In shdeerin' left und righdt,Vas ofdener ash de cleamin' shdars,Dat shtud de shky py night.
Boot de vorstest of de veaduresIn dis von-vheel horse, you pet,Ish dat man couldt go so nicely,Pefore he get oopset.Some dimes he co like plazes,Und doorn her, extra-fine;Und denn shlop ofer - dis is votHafe kill der Schnitzerlein.
Soosh droples ash der Breitmann hafe,To make dis 'vention go,Vas nefer seen py mordal man,Oopon dis vorldt pelow.He doomplet righdt - he doomplet left,He hafe a dousand doomps;Dere nefer vas a gricket ballAsh get soosh 'fernal boomps.
Boot - ash he'd shvearet he'd poot it droo,He shvear't it moost pe tone;Dough he schimpft' und flucht' gar laesterlich,He visht he't ne'er pegun.Mit "Hagel! Blitz! Kreuz-sakrament!"He maket de Houser ring,Und vish der Schnitzerl vas in hell,For deachin' him dis ding.
Nun - goot! At lasht he cot it,Und peautifool he goed,"Dis day," saidt he, "I'll 'stonish folkA ridin' in de road.Dis day, py shings! I'll do it,Und knock dings oud of sight:"-Ach weh! - for Breitmann dat dayVas not be-markt mit vhite.
De noombers of de Deutsche volk,Dat coomed dis sighdt to see,I dink, in soper earnst-hood,Mighdt not ge-reckonet pe.For miles dey shtoodt along de road,Mein Gott! - boot dey wer'n dry;Dey trinket den lager-bier shops out,Pefore der Hans coom py.
Vhen all at vonce drementous griesDe fery coondry shook,Und beople's shkreemt, "Da ist er! - Schau!Here cooms der Breitmann, look!"Mein Gott! vas efer soosh a sighdt!Vas efer soosh a gry!Vhen like a brick-pat in a vighdt,Der Breitemann roosh py?
Oh mordal man! Vhy ish idt, douHast passion to go vast?Vhy ish id dat te tog und horseLikes shbeed too quick to lasht?De pugs, de pirds, de pumple-pees,Und all dat ish, 'tvouldt seemIsh nefer hobby boot, exsepdt,Vhen pilin' on de shdeam.
Der Breitmann flew! Von mighdy gryAsh he vent scootin' bast;Von derriple, drementous yell;-Dat day de virst - und lasht.Vot ha! Vot ho! Vhy ish it dus?Vhot makes dem shdare aghasht?Vhy cooms dat vail of vild deshbair?Ish somedings cot ge-shmasht?
Yea, efen so. Yea, ferily,Shbeak, soul!-it ish dy biz!Der Breitmann shkeet so vast alongDey fairly heard him whizz.Vhen shoost oopon a hill-top pointIt caught a pranch ge-bent,Und like an apple from a shling,Afay Hans Breitmann vent.
Vent droo de air an hoondert feetAllowin' more or lees:-Denn, pob-pob-pob - a mile or dwoHe rollet along - I guess.Say - hast dou seen a gannon ballHalf shpent, shtill poundin' on,Like made of gummi-lasticum?-So vent der Breitmann.
Dey bick him oop - dey pring him in,No wort der Breitmann shboke.Der doktor look - he shwear erstauntDat nodings ish peen proke."He rollt de rocky road entlang,He pounce o'er shtock und shtone,You'd dink he'd knocked his outsites in,Yet nefer preak a pone!"
All shtill Hans lay, bevilderfied;He seemt not mind de shaps,Nor mofed oontil der medicusHafe dose him vell mit schnapps.De schmell voke oop de boetryOf tays vhen he vas yoong,Und he murmulte de fragmendsOf an sad romantish song:
"Ash sommer pring de rosesUnd roses pring de dew,So Deutschland gifes de maidensWho fetch de bier for you.Komm Maidelein! rothe Waengelein!Mit wein-glass in your paw!Ve'll get troonk among de roses,Und pe soper on de shtraw!
"Ash vinter pring de ice-windVitch plow o'er Burg und hill,Hard times pring in de landlord,Und de landlord pring the pill.Boot sing Maidelein - rothe Waengelein!Mit wein glass in your paw!Ve'll get troonk among de roses,Und pe soper on de shtraw!"
Dey dook der Breitmann homewarts,Boot efer on de vayHe nefer shpeaket no man,Und nodings else couldt say,Boot, "Maidelein - rothe Waengelein!Mit wein-glass in her paw,Ve'll get troonk among de roses,Und pe soper on de shtraw!"
Dey laid der Hans im bette,Peneat' de eider doun,Und sembelet all de doktorsWho doktor in de town,-Dat ish, de Deutsche Aertzte,-For Breitmann alvays says,De Deutschers ish de onliesMit originell idees.
Der vas Doktor Moritz Schlinkenschlag,Dat vork ash Cafeopath,Und de learned Cobus Schoepfskopf,Who use de milchy bath;Und Korschalitschky aus Boehmen,Vhat cure mit slibovitz,Und Wechselbalg, der Preusse,Who only 'tend to fits.
Dere vas Strobbich aus Westfalen,Who mofe all eart'ly illsMit concentrirter Schinken juice,Und Pumpernickel pills.Und a bier-kur man from Munich,Und a grape-curist from Rhein,Und von who shkare tiseasesMit a dose of Schlesier-wein.
So dey meet in consooldation,Mit Doktor Winkeleck,Who proctice "renovation"Mit sauer-kraut und speck.Und dat no man shouldt pe shlightet,Or dreatet ash a tunce,Dey 'greed to dry deir systemsOopon Breitmann - all at vonce.
Dat ish, mit de exscepdionOf gifin' Schlesier-wein:For de remedy vas dangerfullFor von who trink from Rhein.Ash der Teufel vonce deklaret,Vhen he taste it on a shpree,Dat a man, to trink soosh liquor,Moost a porn Silesian pe.
So dey all vent los at Breitmann,Und woonderfool to dell,He coom to his Gesundheit,Und pooty soon cot vell.Some hinted at Natura,Mit her olt vis sanatrix,Boot eash doktor shvore he curet him,Und de rest were taugenix.
I know not vot der BreitmannMore newly has pegun;Boot dey say he talks day-daylyMit Dana of de Sun.Dey talk in Deutsch togeder,Und volk say de end will be,Philosopedal shangesIn de Union Cavallrie.
Gott helf de howlin' safage!Got helf de Indi-an!Shouldt Breitmann shoin his forcesMit Sheneral Sheridan!Und denn, to sing his braises,I'll write anoder lied:Hier hat dis dale an ende,Of Breitmann's Philosopede!
DAT pooty liddle vidowVot ve dosh'nt vish to name,Ish still leben on dat liddle shtreet,A doin' shoost de same.De glerks aroundt de gornersSomedimes goes round to zeeHow die tarlin' liddle vitchy ees,Und ask 'er how she pe.Dey lofes her ver' goot liquoer,Dey lofes her liddle shtore;Dey lofes her little paby,But dey lofes die vidow more.To dalk mit dat shveet vidow,Ven she hands das lager round,Vill make der shap dat does idPe happy, ve'll be pound.Dat ish if we can vell pelieveDe glerks vat drinks das beer,Who goes in dere for noding elshe,Put simply for to zee her.
Oh yes I know die wittwe,Mit eyes so prite und proun!She's de allerschoenste wittweVot live in dis here down.In her plack silk gown - mine grashious!-All puttoned to de neck-Und a pooty liddle collar,Mitout a shpot or shpeck.Ho! clear de drack you oder fraus-You can't pegin to shineVhen de lofely vidder cooms along-Dis vidder ash ish mine!Ho! clear de drack you Yankee chaps,You Englishers und sooch,You can't pegin to coot me out,Mitout you dalks in Dootch.Ich hab die schoene wittweSchon lange nit gesehn,Ich sah sie gestern AbendWohl bei dem Counter Stehn.Die Wangen rein wie Milch and BlutDie Augen hell und klar.Ich hab sie sechsmal auch gekusst-Potztausend! das ist wahr.[10]
"Hiltibraht enti Hadubrant."
I DINKS I'll go a vightin'" - outshpoke der Breitemann."It's eighdeen hoonderd fordy-eight since I kits swordt in hand;Dese fourdeen years mit Hecker all roostin' I haf been,Boot now I kicks der Teufel oop and goes for sailin' in."
"If you go land out-ridin'," said Caspar Pickletongue,"Foost ding you knows you cooms across some repels prave and young.Away down Sout' in Tixey, dey'll split you like a clam"-"For dat," spoke out der Breitmann, "I doos not gare one tam!
"Who der Teufel pe's de repels, und vhere dey kits deir sass?If dey make a run on Breitmann he'll soon let out de gas;I'll shplit dem like kartoffels; I'll schlog em on de kop;I'll set de plackguarts roonin' so, dey don't know vhere to shtop."
Und de outshpoke der Breitmann, mit his schlaeger py his side:"Forvarts, my pully landsmen! it's dime to run and ride;Vill riden, vill vighten - der Copitain I'll pe,It's sporn und horn und saddle now - all in de Cavallrie!"
Und ash dey rode droo Vinchesder, so herrlich to be seen,Dere coomed some repel cavallrie a riden' on de creen;Mit a sassy repel Dootchman - an colonel in gommand,Says he, "Vot Teufel makes you here in dis mein Faderland?
"You're dressed oop like a shentleman mit your plackguart Yankee crew, You mudsills and meganics! Der Teufel put you droo! Old Yank, you ought to shtay at home und dake your liddle horn, Mit some oldt voomans for a noorse" - der Breitmann laugh mit shkorn.
"Und should I trink mein lager beer und roost mine self to home?I'fe got too many dings like you to mash beneat' my thoom:In many a fray und fierce foray dis Dootchman will be fearedPefore he stops dis vightin' trade - 'twas dere he grayedhis peard."
"I pools dat peard out py de roots - I gifes him such a dwistDill all de plood roons out, you tamned old Apolitionist!You creenpacks mit your swordt und vatch, right oferyou moost shell,Und den you goes to Libby stright - und after dat to h-ll!"
"Mein creenpacks and mein schlaeger, I kits 'em in New York,To gife dem up to creenhorns, young man, is not de talk;"De heroes shtopped deir sassin' here und grossed deir sabres dwice,Und de vay dese Deutschers vent to vork vos von pig ding on ice.
Der younger fetch de older such a gottallmachty shmackDer Breitmann dinks he really hears his skool go shplit and crack;Der repel shoomps dwelfe paces back, und so he safe his life:Der Breitmann says: "I guess dem shoomps, youlearns dem of your vife."
"If I should learn of vomans I dinks it vere a shame,Bei Gott I am a shentleman, aristograt, and game.My fader vos anoder - I lose him fery young-Der Teufel take your soul! Coom on! I'll split yourvaggin' tongue!"
A Yankee drick der Breitmann dried - dat oldt gray-pearded man-For ash the repel raised his swordt, beneat' dat sword he ran.All round der shlim yoong repels vaist his arms oldtBreitmann pound,Und shlinged him down oopon his pack and laidt him on der ground.
"Who rubs against olt kittle-pots may keep vhite - if he can,Say vot you dinks of vightin' now mit dis oldt shentleman?Your dime is oop; you got to die, und I your breest vill pe;Peliev'st dou in Moral Ideas? If so, I lets you free."[12]
"I don't know nix apout ideas - no more dan 'pout Saint Paul,Since I'fe peen down in Tixey I kits no books at all;I'm greener ash de clofer-grass; I'm shtupid as a shpoon;I'm ignoranter ash de nigs - for dey takes de Tribune.
"Mein fader's name vas Breitmann, I heard mein mutter say,She read de bapers dat he died after she rooned afay;Dey say he leaf some broperty - berhaps 'tvas all a sell-If I could lay mein hands on it I likes it mighty vell."
"Und vas dy fader Breitmann? Bist du his kit and kin?Denn know dat ich der Breitmann dein lieber Vater bin?"Der Breitmann poolled his hand-shoe off und shooked him py de hand;"Ve'll hafe some trinks on strengt' of dis - or else mayI be tam'd!"
"Oh! fader, how I shlog your kop," der younger Breitmann said;"I'd den dimes sooner had it coom right down on mein own headt!""Oh, never mind - dat soon dry oop - I shticks him mit a blaster;If I had shplit you like a fish, dat vere an vorse tisasder."
Dis fight did last all afternoon - wohl to de fesper tide,Und droo de streets of Vinchesder, der Breitmann he did ride.Vot vears der Breitmann on his hat? De ploom of fictory!Who's dat a ridin' py his side? "Dis here's mein son," says he.
How stately rode der Breitmann oop! - how lordly he kit down!How glorious from de great pokal he drink de beer so prown!But der Younger bick der parrel oop und schwig him all at one."Bei Gott! dat settles all his dings - I know dou art mein son!"
Der one has got a fader; de oder found a child.Bofe ride oopon one war-path now in pattle fierce und vild.It makes so glad our hearts to hear dat dey did so succeed-Und damit hat sein Ende DES JUNGEN BREITMANN'S LIED.
DER BREITMANN mit his gompanyRode out in Marylandt."Dere's nix to trink in dis countrie;ine droat's as dry as sand.It's light canteen und haversack,It's hoonger mixed mit doorst;Und if ve had some lager beerI'd trink oontil I boorst.Gling, glang, gloria!Ve'd trink oontil ve boorst.[13]
Herr Leut'nant, take a dozen men,Und ride dis land around!Herr Feldwebel, go foragin'Dill somedings goot is found.Gotts-donder! men, go ploonder!Ve hafn't trinked a bitDis fourdeen hours! If I had beerI'd sauf oontil I shplit!Gling, glang, gloria!Ve'd sauf oontil ve shplit!"
At mitternacht a horse's hoofsCoom rattlin' droo de camp;"Rouse dere! - coom rouse der house dere!Herr Copitain - ve moost tromp!De scouds have found a repel town,Mit repel davern near,A repel keller in de cround,Mit repel lager beer!!Gling, glang, gloria!All fool of lager beer!"
Gottsdonnerkreuzschockschwerenoth!How Breitmann broked de bush!"O let me see dat lager beer!O let me at him rush!Und is mein sabre sharp und true,Und is mein var-horse goot?To get one quart of lager beerI'd shpill a sea of ploot.Gling, glang, gloria!I'd shpill a sea of ploot.
"Fuenf hoonderd repels hold de down,One hoonderd strong are ve;Who gares a tam for all de oddsVhen men so dirsty pe."And in dey smashed and down dey crashed,Like donder-polts dey fly,Rash fort as der vild yaeger coomsMit blitzen droo de shky.Gling, glang, gloria!Like blitzen droo de shky.
How flewed to rite, how flewed to leftDe moundains, drees, und hedge;How left und rite de yaeger corpsVent donderin' droo de pridge.Und splash und splosh dey ford de shtreamVhere not some pridges pe:All dripplin' in de moondlight peamStracks vent de Cavallrie.Gling, glang, gloria!Der Breitmann's cavallrie.
Und hoory, hoory, on dey rote,Oonheedin' vet or try;Und horse und rider shnort and blowedUnd shparklin' bepples fly.Ropp! Ropp! I shmell de parley-prew!Dere's somedings goot ish near.Ropp! Ropp! - I scent de kneiperei;Ve've got to lager beer!Gling, glang, gloria!Ve've got to lager beer!
Hei! how de carpine pullets klingedOopon de helmets hart!Oh, Breitmann - how dy sabre ringed;Du alter Knasterbart!De contrapands dey sing for shoyTo see de rebs go down,Und hear der Breitmann grimly gry:Hoorah! - ve've dook de down.Gling, glang, gloria!Victoria, victoria!De Dootch have dook de down.
Mid shout and crash and sabre flash,And vild husaren shoutDe Dootchmen boorst de keller in,Und rolled de lager out;Und in de coorlin' powder shmoke,Vhile shtill de pullets sung,Dere shtood der Breitmann, axe in hand,A knockin' out de boong.Gling, glang, gloria!Victoria! Encoria!De shpicket beats de boong.
Gotts! vot a shpree der Breitmann hadVhile yet his hand was red,A trinkin' lager from his pootsAmong de repel tead.[14]"Tvas dus dey vent at mitternightAlong der moundain side;'Tvas dus dey help make history!Dis vas der Breitmann's ride.Gling, glang, gloria!Victoria! Victoria!Cer'visia, encoria!De treadful mitnight rideOf Breitmann's vild Freischarlinger,All famous, broad, und vide.
DER SHENERAL SHERMAN holts oop on his coorse,He shtops at de gross-road und reins in his horse."Dere's a ford on de rifer dis day we moost dake,Or elshe de grand army in bieces shall preak!"Vhen shoost ash dis vord from his lips had gone bast,There coomed a young orterly gallopin' fast,Who gry mit amazement: "Herr Shen'ral! Goot Lord!Dat Bummer der Breitmann ish holdin' der ford!"
Der Shen'ral he ootered no hymn und no psalm,But opened his lips und he priefly say "D—n!Dere moost hafe been viskey on dat side der rifer;To get it dose shaps vould set hell in a shiver;But now dat dey hold it, ride quick to deir aid:Ho, Sickles! move promp'ly, send down a prigade!Dat Dootchman moost vork mighty hard mit his swordIf againsd a whole army he holds to de ford."
Dey spoored on, dey hoory'd on, gallopin' shtraight,But for Breitmann help coomed shoost a liddle too late,For as de Lauwine goes smash mit her pound,So on to de Bummers de repels coom down:Heinrich von Schinkenstein's tead in de road,Dieterich Hinkelbein's flat as a toad;Und Sepperl - Tyroler - shpoke nefer a vord,But shoost "Mutter Gottes!" und died in de ford.
Itsch'l of Innspruck ish drilled droo de hair,Einer aus Boblingen[15] - he too vash dere-Karli of Karlisruh's shot near de fence(His horse vash o'erloadet mit toorkies und hens),Und dough he like a ravin' mad cannibal foughtYet der Breitmann - der capt'n - der hero vash caught;Und de last dings ve saw, he vas tied mit a cord,For de repels had goppled him oop at de ford.
Dey shtripped off his goat und skyugled his pootsDey dressed him mit rags of a repel recruits;But von gray-haared oldt veller shmiled crimly und betDat Breitmann vouldt be a pad egg for dem yet."He has more on his pipe[16] as dem vellers allows,He has cardts yet in hand und das Spiel ist nicht aus,Dey'll find dat dey took in der Teufel to board,De day dey pooled Breitmann vell ofer de ford."
In de Bowery each beer-haus mit crape vas oopdone,Vhen dey read in de papers dat Breitmann vas gone;Und de Dootch all cot troonk oopon lager und wein,At the great Trauer-fest of de Turner Verein.Dere vas wein - en mit weinen ven beoplesh did dinkDat Sherman's great Sharman cood nefer more trink.Und in Villiam Shtreet veepin' und vailen' vas hoor'd,Pecause der Hans Breitmann vas lost at de ford.
In dulce jubilo now ve all sings,A-vaifin' de panners like efery dings.De preeze droo de bine-trees ish cooler und salt,Und der Shen'ral is merry venefer ve halt;Loosty und merry he schmells at de preeze,Lustig und heiter he looks droo de drees,Lustig und heiter ash vell he may pe,For Sherman, at last has marched down to the sea.
Dere's a gry from de guart - dere's a clotter und dramp,Vhen dat fery same orterly rides droo de campWho report on de ford. Dere ish droples and aweIn de face of de youf' apout somedings he saw;Und he shpeak me in Fraentsch, like he always do: "Look!Sagre pleu! Fentre Tieu! - dere ish Breitmann - his spook!He ish goming dis vay! Nom de Garce![17] can it peDat de spooks of de tead men coom down to de sea!"
Und he looks, und ve sees, und ve tremples mit tread,For risin' all swart on de efenin' redVas Johannes - der Breitmann - der war es, bei Gott!Coom riding' to oos-vard, right shtraight to de shpot!All mouse-still ve shtood, yet mit oop-shoompin' hearts,For he look shoost so pig as de shiant of de Hartz;Und I heard de Sout Deutschers say "Ave Morie!Braise Gott all goot shpirids py land und by sea!"
Boot Itzig of Frankfort he lift oop his nose,Und be-mark dat de shpook hat peen changin' his clothes,For he seemed like an Generalissimus drestIn a vlamin' new coat und magnificent vest.Six bistols beschlagen mit silber he vore,Und a cold mounded swordt like a Kaisar he bore,Und ve dinks dat de ghosdt - or votever he pe-Moost hafe proken some panks on his vay to de sea.
"Id is he!""Und er lebt noch!" he lifes ve all say:"Der Breitmann - Oldt Breitmann! - Hans Breitmann! Herr Je!"Und ve roosh to emprace him, und shtill more ve findDat vherefer he'd peen, he'd left noding pehine.In bofe of his poots dere vas porte-moneys crammed,Mit creen-packs stoof full all his haversack jammed,In his bockets cold dollars vere shinglin' deir doonsMit dwo doozen votches und four dozen shpoons,Und dwo silber tea-pods for makin' his dea,Der ghosdt hafe pring mit him, en route to de sea.
Mit goot sweed-botatoes, und doorkies, und rice,Ve makes him a sooper of efery dings nice.Und de bummers hoont roundt apout, alle wie ein,Dill dey findt a plantaschion mit parrels of wein.Den t'vas "Here's to you, Breitmann! Alt Schwed"[18] - bist zuruck?Vot teufels you makes since dis fourteen nights veek?"Und ve holds von shtupendous and derriple shpreeFor shoy dat der Breitmann has got to de sea.
But in fain tid we ashk vhere der Breitmann hat peen,Vot he tid; vot he pass droo - or vot he might seen?Vhere he kits his vine horse, or who gafe him dem woons,Und how Brovidence plessed him mit tea-pods und shpoons?For to all of dem queeries he only reblies,"If you dells me no quesdions, I ashks you no lies!"So 'twas glear dat some derriple mysh'dry moost peVhere he kits all dat ploonder he prings to de sea.
Dere ish bapers in Richmond dells derriple liesHow Sherman's grand armee hafe raise deir sooplies:For ve readt in brindt dat der Sheneral GrantSay de bummers hafe only shoost take vat dey vant.But 'tis vhispered dat vhile a refolfer'll go roundDer BREITMANN vill nefer a peggin' be found;Or shtarvin' ash brisner - by doonder! - not he,Vhile der Teufel could help him to ged to de sea.
"Vides igitur, Collega carissime, visitationem canonicam esse remhaud ita periculosam, sed valde amoenam, si modo vinum, groggio etcibi praesto sunt."- Novissimae Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum, Berolini F.Berggold, 1869. Epistola xxiii., p. 63.
D'VAS near de state of Nashfille,In de town of Tennessee,Der Breitmann vonce vas quarderdMit all his cavallrie.Der Sheneral kept him glose in gamp,He vouldn't let dem go;Dey couldn't shdeal de first plack hen,Or make de red cock crow.
Und virst der Breitmann vildly shmiled,Und denn he madly shvore;"Crate h—l, mit shpoons und shinsherbread,Can dis pe makin war?Verdammt pe all der discipline!Verdammt der Sheneral!Vere I vonce on de road, his will,Vere wurst mir und egal. [19]
"Oh vhere ish all de plazin roofsDat claddened vonce mine eyes?Und vhere de crand plantaschionsVhere ve gaddered many a brize?Und vhere de plasted shpies ve hungA howlin loud mit fear?Und vhere de rascal push-whackersVe shashed like vritened deer?
"De roofs are shtandin fast and firmMit repels blottin oonder;De crand blantaschions lie round looseFor Morgan's men to ploonder!De shpies go valkin out und in,Ash sassy ash can pe;Und in de voods de push-whackersAre makin foon of me!
"Oh vere I on my schimmel greyMein sabre in mein hand,Dey should drack me py de ruinsOf de houses troo de land.Dey should drack me py de puzzardsHigh sailen ofer head,A vollowin der Breitmann's trailTo claw de repel dead."
Outspoke der bold Von Stossenheim,Who had theories of Gott:"O Breitmann, dis ish shoodgement onDe vays dat you hafe trot.You only lifes to joy yourself,Yet you, yourself moost say,Dat self-defelopment requiresDe religios Idee."
Dey sat dem down and argued id,Like Deutschers vree from fear,Dill dey schmoke ten pounds of knaster,Und drinked drei fass of bier.Der Breitmann go py Schopenhauer,Boot Veit he had him denn;For he dook him on de anglesOf de moral oxygen.
Der Breitmann 'low, dat 'pentence,Ish known in efery glime,Und dat to grin und bear itVas healty und soopline."For mine Sout German Catolicks,Id vas pe goot, I know;Likevise dem Nordland Luterans,If vonce to shoorsh dey go.
"Boot how vas id mit odersWho dinks philosophie?I don't begreif de matter,"Said Stossenheim: "Denn see.De more dat shoorsh disgoostet you,Und make despise und bain,De crater merid ish to go,Und de crater ish your gain.
"I know a liddle shoorsh mineself,Oopon de Bole Jack road:(De rebs vonce shot dree Federals dere,Ash into shoorsh dey goed.)Dere you might make a bilcrimage,Und do id in a tay:Gott only knows vot dings you mighdtBick oop, oopon de vay."
Denn oop dere shpoke a contrapand,Vas at de tent id's toor-"Dere's twenty bar'ls of whiskey, hid,In dat tabernacle, shore.A rebel he done gone and putIt in de cellar, true,No libin man dat secret knows,'Cept only me an' you."
Der Stossenheim, he grossed himself,Und knelt peside de fence,Und gried: "O Coptain Breitmannn, see,Die finger Providence."Der Breitmann droed his hat afay,Says he, "Pe't hit or miss,I'fe heard of miragles pefore,Boot none so hunk ash dis."
"Wohlauf mine pully cafaliers,Ve'll ride to shoorsh to-day,Each man ash hasn't cot a horseMoost shteal von, rite afay.Dere's a raw, green corps from Michigan,Mit horses on de loose,You men ash vants some hoof-irons,Look out and crip deir shoes."
All brooshed und fixed, de cavallrie,Rode out py moonen shine,De cotton fields in shimmerin light,Lay white as elfenbein.Dey heard a shot close py Lavergne,Und men who rode afay,In de road a-velterin his his ploot,A Federal picket lay.
Und all dat he hafe dimes to say,"Vhile shtandin at my post,De guerillas got first shot at me,"Und so gafe oop de ghost.Denn a contrapand, who helt his head,Said: "Sah - dose grillers allIs only half a mile from hy'ar,A dancin at a ball."
Der Breitmann shpoke and brummed it outAsh if his heart tid schvell:"I'll gife dem music at dat pallVill tantz dem into hell."Hei! - arrow-fast - a teufel's ride!De plack man led de vay,Dey reach de house - dey see de lights-Dey heard de fiddle blay.
Dey nefer vaited for a wordBoot galloped from de gloom,Und, bang! - a hoonderd carpine shotsDey fired indo de room.Oop vent de groans of vounded men,De fittlin died away:Boot some of dem vere tead peforeDe music ceased to blay.
Denn crack und smack coom scotterin shotsTroo vindow und troo door,Boot bang and clang de Germans gifeAnoder volley more."Dere - let 'em shlide. Right file to shoorsh!"Aloudt de orders ran."I kess I paid dem for dat shot,"Shpeak grim der Breitemann.
All rosen red de mornin fairShone gaily o'er de hill,A violet plue de shky crew teepIn rifer, pond, und rill;All cloudy grey de limeshtone rocksCoom oop troo dimmerin wood;All shnowy vite in mornin lightDe shoorsh pefore dem shtood.
"Now loudet vell de organ, oop,To drill mit solemn fear;Und ring also dat LumpenglockTo pring de beoples here.Und if it prings guerillas down,Ve'll gife dem, py de Lord,De low-mass of de sabre, andDe high-mass of de cord.[20]
"Du, Eberle aus Freiburg,Du bist ein Musikant,Top-sawyer on de counterpointUnd buster in discant,To dee de soul of musikAll innerly ish known,Du canst mit might fullendenDe art of orgel-ton.
"Derefore, a MiserereVill dou, be-ghostet, spiel,Und vake be-raised, yearnin,Also a holy feel:-Pe referent, men - rememperDis ish a Gotteshaus-Du Conrad - go along de aislesUnd schenk de whiskey aus!:
Dey blay crate dings from Mozart,Beethoven, und MehulMit chorals of Sebastian BachSoopline und peaudiful.Der Breitmann feel like holy saints,De tears roon down his fuss;Und he sopped out, "got verdammich - disIst wahres Kunstgenuss!"[21]
Der Eberle blayed oop so high,He maket de rafters ring;Der Eberle blayed lower, undVe heardt der Breitmann singLike a dronin wind in piney woodsLike a nightly moanin sea:Ash de dinked on Sonntags long agoneVhen a poy in Germany.
Und louder und mit louder toneHigh oop de orgel blowed,Und plentifuller efer yetAround de whiskey goed.Dey singed ash if mit singin, deyMight indo Himmel win:-I dink in all dis land soosh shpreesAsh yet hafe nefer peen.
Vhen in de Abendsonnenschein,Mit doost-clouds troo de door,All plack ash night in golden lighdtDer shtood ein schwartzer Mohr,Dat contrapand so wild und weh,Mit eye-palls glaring roun,Who cried "For Gott's sake, hoory oop!De reps ish gomin down!"
Und while he yet was shpeakin,A far-off soundt pegan,Down rollin from de moundainOf many a ridersmann.Und vhile de waves of musikVere rollin o'er deir heads,Dey heard a foice a schkreemin,"Pile out of thar, you Feds!
"For we uns ar' a cominFor to guv to you uns fits,And knock you into brimstunAnd blast you all to bits"-Boot ere it done ids shpeakin,Der vas order in de band,Ash Breitmann, mit an awfool stimOut-dondered his gommand.
Und ash fisch-hawk at a mackarelDoth make a splurgin flung,Und ash eagles dab de fish-hawksAsh if de gods vere young,So from all de doors and vindows,Like shpiders down deir websDe Dootch went at deir horses,Und de horses at de rebs.
Crate shplendors of de treadfulVere in dat pattle rush,Crate vights mit swords und carpine,Py efery fence and bush.Ash panters vight mit crisliesIn famished morder fits-For de rebs vere mad ash boison,Und de Dootch vere droonk ash blitz.
Yet vild ash vas de pattle,So quickly vas it o'er,O, vhy moost I foreferPestain mine page mit gore?Py liddle und py liddleDey drawed demselfs afay,Oft toornin' round to vightenLike boofaloes at bay.
De scatterin shots grew fewer,De scatterin gries more shlow,Und furder troo de forestVe heard dem vainter grow.Ve gife von shout - "Victoria!"Und denn der Breitmann said,Ash he wiped his ploody sabre:"Now, poys, count oop your dead!"
Oh small had been our shoutinFor shoy, if ve had knownDat der Stossenheim im oaken wald,Lay dyin all alone.Vhile his oldt vhite horse mit droopin hetLook dumbly on him doun,Ash if he dinked, "Vy lyest dou hereVhile fightin's goin on?"
Und dreams coom o'er de soldierSlow dyin on de eart;Of a schloss afar in Baden,Of his mutter, und nople birt!Of poverty and sorrow,Vhich drofe him like de wind,Und he sighed, "Ach weh for de lofed ones,Who wait so far pehind!"
"Wohl auf, my soul o'er de moundains!Wohl auf - well ofer de sea!Dere's a frau dat sits in de OdenwaldUnd shpins, und dinks of me.Dere's a shild ash blays in de greenin grass,Und sings a liddle hymn,Und learns to shpeak a fader's nameDat she nefer will shpeak to him.
"But mordal life ends shortlyUnd Heafen's life is long:-Wo bist du Breitmann? - glaub'es-[22]Gott suffers noding wrong.Now I die like a Christian soldier,My head oopon my sword:-In nomine Domini!"-Vas Stossenheim his word.
O, dere vas bitter wailenVhen Stossenheim vas found.Efen from dose dere lyinFast dyin on de ground.Boot time vas short for vaiten,De shades vere gadderin dim:Und I nefer shall forget it,De hour ve puried him.
De tramp of horse und soldiersVas all de funeral knell;De ring of sporn und carpineVas all de sacrin bell.Mit hoontin knife und sabreDey digged de grave a span,From German eyes blue gleaminDe holy water ran.
Mit moss-grown shticks und bark-thongDe plessed cross ve made,Und put it vhere de soldier's headTowards Germany vas laid.Dat grave is lost mit dead leafs,De cross is goned afay:Boot Gott will find der reiterOopon de Youngest Day.
Und dinkin of de fightin,Und dinkin of de dead,Und dinkin of de organ,To Nashville, Breitmann ledBoot long dat rough oldt HanserlVas earnsthaft, grim und kalt,Shtill dinkin o'er de heart's friend,He'd left im gruenen wald.[23]
De verses of dis boemIn Heidelberg I write;De night is dark around me,De shtars apove are bright.Studenten in den Gassen[24]Make singen many a song;Ach Faderland! - wie bist du weit!Ach Zeit! - wie bist du lang![25]
VONCE oopon a dimes, goot vhile afder der var vas ofer, der Herr Breitmann vent oud Vest, drafellin' apout like efery dings - "circuivit terram et perambulavit eam," ash der Teufel said ven dey ask him: "How vash you und how you has peen?"
Von efenings he vas drafel mit some ladies und shendlemans, und he shtaid incognitus. Und dey singed songs, dill py und py one of de ladies say: "Ish any podies here ash know de crate pallad of Hans Breitmann's Barty?" Den Hans say: "Ecce Gallus! I am dat rooster!" Den der Hans dook a trink und a let-bencil und a biece of baper, und goes indo himself a little dimes und den coomes out again mit dis boem:
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas:He drafel fast und far;He rided shoost drei dousand milesAll in von rail-roat car.He knowed foost rate how far he goed-He gounted all de vile,Dere vash shoost one bottle of champagne,Dat bopped at efery mile.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;I dell you vot, my poy,You bet dey hat a pully dimesIn crossin' Illinoy.Dey speaked deir speaks to all de folkA shtandin' in de car;Den ask dem in to dake a trink,Und corned em gans und gar.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;By shings! dey did it prown.When he got into Leafenvort,He found himself in town.Dey dined him at de Blanter's House,More goot as man could dink;Mit efery dings on eart' to eat,Und dwice as mooch to trink.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;He vent it on de loud.At Ellsvort, in de prairie land,He foundt a pully crowd.He looked for bleedin' Kansas,But dat's "blayed out," dey say;De vhiskey keg's de only dingDat's bleedin' dere to-day.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas,To see vot he could hear.He foundt soom Deutschers dat exisdtPy makin' lager beer.Says he: "Wie gehts du Alt Gesell?"But nodings could be heard;Dey'd growed so fat in KansasDat dey couldn't speak a vord.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;Py shings! I dell you vot,Von day he met a crisly bearDat rooshed him down, bei Gott!Boot der Breitmann took und bind der bearUnd bleased him fery much-For efery vordt der crisly growledVas goot Bavarian Dutch!
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas!By donder dat is so!He ridet oout upon de blainsTo shase de boofalo.He fired his rifle at de bools,Und gallop droo de shmoke,Und shoomp de canyons shoost as ifDer teufel vas a choke!
It's hey de trail to Santa Fe;It's ho! agross de plain;It's lope along de Denver road,Until ve toorn again.Und de railroad drafel after usApout as quick as ve;Dis Kansas ish de fastest landAsh efer I did see.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;He have a pully dime;But 'twas in old MissouriDat dey rooshed him up subline.Dey took him to der Bilot Nob,Und all der nobs around;Dey shpreed him und dey tea'd himDill dey roon him to de ground.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas,Und made his carpine pop!Ven he shooted at a drifer manTo make de wagon shdop.A noble Tribune shendlemanShoost dodged dat pullet's bore,Und de driver shwore dat soosh a crowdHe nefer druv pefore.
Hans Breitmann vent to Kansas;Droo all dis earthly land,A vorkin' out life's mission hereSoobyectifly und grand.Some beoplesh runs de beautiful,Some vorks philosophie;Der Breitmann solfe de infinideAsh von eternal shpree!
"Haec est illa bona diesEt vocata laeta quiesVina sitientibus.
"Nullus metus, nec labores,Nulla cura, nec dolores,Sint in hoc symposio."[De Generibus Ebriosorum, Francofortiad Moenum, A.D. 1585.
ID vas on Weihnachtsabend - Vot Ghristmas Efe dey call-Der Breitmann mit his Breitmen tid rent de Musik Hall;Ash de Breitmen und die vomen who vere in de LiederkranzVouldt blend deir souls in harmonie to have a bleasin tantz.
Dey reefed de Hall 'mid pushes so nople to pe seen,Aroundt Beethoven's buster dey dey on-did a garlandt creen:De laties vork like teufels dwo tays to scroob de vloorUnd hanged a crate serenity mit WILLKOMM! oop de toor!
Und vhile dere vas a Schwein-blatt whose redakteur tid say,Die Breitmann he vas liederlich: ve ant-worded dis-a way,Ve maked anoder serenity mid ledders plue und red:"Our Leader lick de repels! N.G." (enof gesaid.)
Und anoder serene dransbarency ve make de veller baint,Boot de vay he potch und vertyfeled id, vas enof to shvear a saint,For ve vanted LA GERMANIA; - boot der ardist mit a bloonder,Vent und vlorished LAGER agross id - und denn poot MANIA oonder!
"Now ve moost pe guest-friendlich," said Breitmann, said he;"Und shoot te toor vide oben, for beople all to see.Four elemends indernally unided make a punsch;Boot id dakes a tausend fellers vhen you gifes dem freie lunsch."
Und as Ghristmas Efe vas gekommen, de beoplesh weren im Hall;I shvears you id vas Gott-full - dat shplendit, peglory'd ball;Ve hat foon wie der Teufel in Frankreich - ve coot ooplike der teufel in France,Und valk pair-wise in, vhile de musik blayed loudt de Fackel-Tanz.
Boot vhen de valtz shtrike oopwart ve most went out of fits,Ash der Breitmann led off on a dwister mit de lofelyHelmine Schmitz.He valtz yoost like he vas shtandin' shtill mit apeaudiful solemn shmile,Und Helmine say he nefer shtop poussiren alla weil.
"Es toent, es rauschet Saitenklang - I hear de musik callDen herzenhellen Saal entlang - all droo de gleamin' Hall.O moecht ich schweben stolz und froh - O mighdt I efer peMit dir durchs ganze Leben so! - mine Lebanlang py dee!"
Und vaster blay de musik de Wellen und Wogen von Strauss;Und soom drop indo de tantzen, und soom of dem drop aus;Und soon like a shtorm in de Meere I veel de reelin' vloor,So de shpinners shtop mit de shpinsters, for dey couldn'tshpin no more.
Now weren ve all frolic, und lauter guter ding,Und dirsty ash a broosh-pinder - vhen ve hear some glasses ring;Foors mild und sonft in de distants - like de song ofa nightingall,Denn a ringin' und rottlin und clotterin' - ash de Gluckof Edenhall?
Hei! how ve roosh on de liquor! - hei: how de kellners coom:Hei! how ve busted de bier-kegs und poonished de Punsch a la Rhum.Like lonely wafes at mitternight oopon some shiant shore-Like an awful shtorm in de Waelder - vas de dirsty Deutschers' roar!
I pyed some carts for a dime abiece - I pyed shoost fifdy-dwo,Dey vere goot for bier, or schnapps, or wein - bydoonder how dey flew!I ring de deck on de vaiters for liquor hot und cool,Und efery dime I blays a cart, py shings, I rake de pool![27]
Und ash ve trinked so comforble, like boogs in any roog,De trompets blowed tan da ra dei, und dere come in a Maskenzug,A peaudiful brocession, soul-raisin' and sooplime,De marmorbilds of de heroes of de early Sharman dime.
Dere vent der gros Arminius, mit his frau Thusnelda, doo,De vellers ash lam de Romans dill dey roon mit noses plue;Denn vollowed Quinctilius Varus who carry a Roman yoke,Und arm in arm mit Gambrinus coom der Allemane Chroc.
Der Alte Friedrich Rothbart, und Kaiser Karl der crate,Mit Roland und Uliverus vent shveepin' on in shtate;Und Conradin, whose sad-full deat' shtill makes our heartsen pleed,Und all ov dem oldt vellers aus dem Nibelungen Lied.
Und as dey mofed on, der Breitmann maked a tyfeled shplendid witzIn anti-word to dis quesdion from de lofely Mina Schmitz:"Vhy ish id dey always makes in shtone dem vellers so andiquadet?""Vhy - dey set in de laps of Ages dill dey got lapi-dated!"
Und shoost as de last of dis hisdory hat fanished droo de door,Ve heardt a ge-screech, and Pelz Nickel coom howlin' on de vloor;Denn de laties yell like der teufel, und vly like gulls mit wings,Und der Pelz Nickel lick em mit svitches, und velaugh like eferydings.
I nefer hafe sooch laughen before dat I vas geborn;Und Pelz Nickel, vhen 'tvas ober, he plow on a yaeger horn,Und denounce do all de beople gesembled in de hall:"Dat a Ghristmas dree vas vaiten', mit bresents for oos all!"
So ve vollowed him into de zimmer so quick ash dese vords he said,To kit dem peaudiful bresents, all gratis und on de dead;Und in facdt a shplendid Weihnachtsbaum mit lighds ve druly vound,Und liddel kifts dat ge-kostet a benny abiece all round!
Dere vas Rike Strange die Dessauerinn - a maedchen shtraigdt und tall, She cot a bicture of Cubid - boot she tidn't see it ad all, Dill der Breitmann say, mit his shplendid shtyle dat all de laties dake: "Dat pend of de bow ish de Crecian pend dat you so ofden make!"
Anoder scharmante laity, Maria Top, did cot,A schwingin' mit a ribbon, a liddle benny pot;Boot Breitmann hafe id de roughest of any oder mans,For he kit a yellow gratle mit a liddle vooden Hans.
Denn next Beethoven's Sinfonie, die orkester tid blay;Adagio - allegro - andante cantabile.Ve sat in shtill commotion so dat a bin mighdt drops,Und de deers roon town der Breitmann's sheeks,mitwhiles he was trinkin' schnapps.
Next dings ve had de Weinnachtstraum ge-sung by de Liederkranz, Denn I trinked dwelf schoppens of glee-wine to sed me oop for a tantz; Dis dimes I tanz wie der Teufel - we shriek de volk on de vloor; Und boost right indo de sooper room - vor ve tanzt a hole droo de door!
Denn 'twas rowdy tow und hop-sassa, ve hollered,Mann und Weib;"Rip Sam und sed her oop acain! - ve're all of de Shackdaw tribe!"Vhen Pelz Nickel plow his tromp vonce more, undpeg oos to shtop our din,Und droo de oben door dere coomed nine den-pins marchin' in.
Nine vellers tressed like den-pins - dey goed to de end' der hall. Und dwo Hans Wurst, shack-puddin' glowns - dey rolled at em mit a ball. De balls vas paintet peaudiful; dey was vifdeen feet aroundt; Und de rule ov de came: "whoefer cot hidt, moost doomple on de croundt."
Sometimes dey hit de den-pins - sometimes de oder volk-Und pooty soon de gompany vas all laid out in shoke;Boot I dells you vot, it maked oos laugh dill we by-nearly shplits,Vhen der Breitmann he roll ofer, und drip oop de Mina Schmitz.
Dis lets itself in Sharman pe foost-rade word-blayed on,Und 'mongst oos be-gifted vellers you pet dat id vas tone!How der Breitmann mighdt drafel ash bride-man onde roadt dat ish breit und krumm:[28]Here de drumpets soundt, and pair-wise ve goed for de sooper-room.
Ve goed for ge-roasted Welsh-hens, ve goed for ge-spickter hare,Ve goed for kartoffel salade mit butter brod,-kaviar:Ve roosh at de lordtly sauer-kraut und de wurst which lofely shine,Und oh, mein Gott im Kimmel! how we goed for de Mosel-wein!
Und troonker more, und troonker yet, und troonker shtill cot ve,In rosy lighdt shtill drivin on agross a fairy sea;Denn madder, vilder, frantic-er, I proked a salat dish!Und shoost like roarin' elefants ve tantzed aroundt de tish.
I'fe shvimmed in heafenly droonks pefore - boot nefer von like dis;De morgen-het-ache only seemt a bortion of de pliss.De vhile in trilling peauty roundt like heafenly vind-harps rangA goosh of goldnen melodie - de Rheinweinbechers' Klang.
De meltin' minnesingers' song - a droonk of honey'd rhyme-De b'wildrin-dipsy Bardic shants of Teutoburgic dime;Back to de runic dim Valhall und Balder's foamin' mead:-Here ents in heller glorie schein des Breitmann's Weihnachtslied!
DER SCHWACKENHAMMER coom to down,Pefore de Fall vas past,Und by der Breitmann drawed he inAsh dreimals honored gast."Led's see de sighdts! In self und worldt,-Dere's 'sighdts' for him, to see,Who Selbstanschauungsvermogen hat,"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented to de Opera Haus,Und dere dey vound em blayin',Of Offenbach (der open brook),His show spiel Belle Helene."Dere's Offenbach, - Sebastian Bach,-Mit Kaulbach, - dat makes dree:I alvays like sooch brooks ash dese;"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented to de Bibliothek,Vhich Mishder Astor bilt:Some pooks vere only en broschure,Und some vere pound und gilt."Dat makes de gold - dat makes de sinn,Mit pooks, ash men, ve see,De pest tressed vellers guilt de most:"-Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vent to see an edidor,Who'd shanged his flag und doon,Und crowed oopon der oder side,Dat very afdernoon."De anciends vorshipped wettercocks,To wetter fanes pent de knee;Pow down, mein Schwackenhammer, pow!"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented by a panker's hause,Und Schwackenhammer shvore,He only vant a pig red shieldHoong oop pefore de toor;One side of red, one side of gold,Like de knighds in hisdorie-"De schildern of dat schild is rich,"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vent oonto a bicture sale.Of frames wort' many a cent,De broperty of a shendleman,Who oonto Europe vent."Don't gry - he'll soon pe pack againMit anoder gallerie:He sells dem oud dwelf dimes a year,"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented to dis berson's house,To see his furnidure,Sold oud at aucdion rite afay,Beremdory und sure."He geeps six houses all at vonce,Each veek a sale dere pe,Gotts! vot a dime his vife moost hafe!"-Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vent to vind a goot cigar,Long dimes dey roamed apout,Von veller had a pran new sort,De fery latest out"Mein freund - I dinks you errs yourselfDe shmell ish oldt to me;Dat Infamias Stinkadores brand,"-Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented to de virst hotel,De prandy make dem creep,A trop of id's enough to makeA brazen monkey veep."Dey say a viner house ash dis,Vill soon ge-bildet pe,Crate Gott! - vot can dey mean to trink?"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented droo de Irish shtreeds,Dey saw vrom haus to haus,Und gountet oop, 'pout more or less,Vive hoondred awful rows."If all dese liddle vights dey waste,Could von crate pattle pe,Gotts! how de Fenian funds vouldt rise!"Said Breitmann, said he.
Dey vent to see de Ridualisds,Who vorship Gott mit vlowers,In hobes he'll lofe dem pack again,In winter among de showers."Vhen de Pacific railroat's done,Dis dings imbrofed vill pe,De joss-sticks vill pe santal vood,"-Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vent to hear a breecher ofDe last sensadion shtyle,'Twas 'nough to make der teufel weepTo see his "awful shmile.""Vot bities dat der Fechter ne'erVas in Theologie,Dey'd make him pishop in his shoorsh,"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vent indo a shpordin' crib,De rowdies cloostered dick,Dey ashk him dell dem vot o'glock,Und dat infernal quick.Der Breitmann draw'd his 'volver oud,Ash gool ash gool couldt pe,"Id's shoost a goin' to shdrike six,"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vent polid'gal meedins nextDey hear dem rant and rail,Der bresident vas a forger,Shoost bardoned oud of jail.He does it oud of cratitood,To dem who set him vree:"Id's Harmonie of Inderesds,"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vent to a clairfoyand witch,A plack-eyed handsome maid,She wahrsagt all deir vortunes - denn"Fife dollars, gents!" she said."Dese vitches are nod of dis eart',Und yed are on id, I see,Der Shakesbeare knew de preed right vell,"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented to a restaurand,Der vaiter coot a dash;He garfed a shicken in a vink,Und serfed id at a vlash."Dat shap knows vell shoost how to cootUnd roon mit poulderie,He vas copitain oonder Turchin vonce,"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented to de Voman's Righds,Vhere laties all agrees,De gals should all pe voters,Und deir beaux all de votees."For efery man dat nefer vorks,Von frau should vranchised pe:Dat ish de vay I solfe dis ding,"Said Breitemann, said he.
Dey vented oop, dey vented down,'Tvas like a roarin' rifer,De sighds vere here - de sighds vere dere-Und de vorldt vent on forefer."De more ve trinks, de more ve sees,Dis vorldt a derwisch pe;Das Werden's all von whirling droonk,"Said Breitemann, said he.
VHEN ash de var vas ober, und Beace her shnow-wice vingsVas vafin' o'er de coondry (in shpodts) like efery dingsUnd heroes vere revardtet, de beople all peganTo say 'tvas shame dat nodings vas done for Breitemann.
No man wised how id vas shtartet, or vhere de fore shlog came,Boot dey shveared it vas a cinder, dereto a purnin' shame:"Dere is Schnitzerl in de Gustom-House — potzblitz!can dis dings be!Und Breitemann he hafe nodings: vot sighds is dis to see!
"Nod de virst ret cendt for Breitmann! ish dis do pe de gryOn de man dat sacked de repels und trinked dem high und dry?By meine Seel' I shvears id, und vhat's more I deglares id's drue,He vonce gleaned oudt a down in half an our, undshtripped id strumpf und shoe.
"Vhen dey ploondered de down of Huntsville, I dells you vot, py tam! He burned oop four biano-fords and a harp to roast a ham; Vhen he found de rouge und email de Paris, which de laties hafe hid in a shpot, He whited his horse all ofer - und denn pinked his ears, bei Gott!
"Vhen he found dat a blace was ploonder-fool, he alvays tell dem, sure: 'Men, sack und pack! I shoots mine eyes for only shoost an uhr.' Boot if de blace vas fery rich, he vouldt say mit a solemn mien: 'Men - I only shleep for von half uhr more - ve moost hafe tiscipline.'
"He vas shoost like Koenig Etzel, of whom de shdory dell,Der Hun who go for de Romans und gife dem shinin hell:Only dis dat dey say no grass vouldt crow vhereEtzel's horse had trot.Und I really peliefe vhere Breitmann go, de hopsshpring oop, bei Gott!"
If once you tie a dog loose, dere ish more soon geds aroundt,Und vhen dis vas shtartedt on Breitmann id wasrings aroom be-foundt;Dough vhy he moost hafe somedings vas nod by no means glear,Nor tid id, like Paulus' confersion, on de snap to all abbear!
Und, in facdt, Balthazar Bumchen saidt he couldtentnicht blainly seeVhy a feller for gaddrin' riches shood dus revartedt pe:Der Breitmann own drei Houser, mit a weinhandle in a stohr,Dazu ein Lager-Wirthschaft, und sonst was - somedings more.
Dis plasted plackguard none-sense ve couldn't no means shtandFrom a narrow-mineted shvine's kopf, of our nople captain grand:Soosh low, goarse, betty bornirtheit a shentleman deplores;So ve called him verfluchter Hundsfott, und shmysedhim out of toors.