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Charles Godfrey Leland.

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Die ultimo fecit omne quod posset imaginire.
Appointet ambasciatores et post-magistros,
Consules et alios, per dextros et sinistros.

"Quum Rex Bomba ista Neapolit-anus,
Compulsus fuit to shin it - ut dixit Africanus-
Fecit ultimo die ducos et countos, vanus.
(Inter alios M'Closkey, tuus Hibernicus chanberlanus.)[73]

"Et quia tu es; ut credo; ultimus Poporum,
Facis bene devenire, quod dicitur High Cockalorum-
Sei magnissimus toad in the puddle, ite caput, magnamente;
Et ERITIS SICUT DEUS, nemine contradicente!

"Unus error solus, Sancte Pater commisisti.
Quia primus infallible non te proclamavisti,
Nam nemo audet dicere: Papa fecit quod non est bonus.
Decet semper jactare super alios probandi onus.

'Conceptio Immaculata, hoc modo fixisti,
Et nemo audet dicere unum verbum, de isti:
Non vides si infallibilis es, et vultis es exdare,[74]
Non alius sed tu solus hanc debet proclamare."

"Figlio mio," dixit Papa; "Tu es homo mirabilis,
Tua verba sunt mi dulcior quam ostriche cum Chablis
In tutta Roma, de Alemania gente,
Non ho visto uno con si grande mente.

"Vero benedetto es - eris benedictus,
Tibi mitterem photographiam in quo sum depictus.
Tu comprendes situatio - il punto et gravamen.
Sunt pauci clerici ut te. Nunc dico tibi. - Amen!"


THE FIRST EDITION OF BREITMANN.
SHOWING HOW AND WHY IT WAS THAT IT NEVER APPEARED.

"Uns ist in alten Maeren
wunders viel geseit
Von Helden lobebaeren,
von grosser Arebeit.
Von Festen und Hochzeiten,
von Weinen und Klagen,
Von kuehnen Recken Streiten,
möht Ihr nun Wunder hören sagen."
- Der Nibelungen Lied.

DO oos, in anciend shdory,
Crate voonders ish peen told
Of lapors fool of glory,
Of heroes bluff und bold;
Of high oldt times a-kitin,
Of howlin und of tears,
Of kissin and of vightin,
All dis we likes to hears.

Dere growed once dimes in Schwaben,
Since fifty years pegan,
An shild of decend elders,
His name Hans Breitemann.
De gross adfentures dat he had,
If you will only look,
Ish all bescribed so truly
In dis fore-lyin book.

Und allaweil dese lieder
Vere goin troo his het,
De writer lay von Sonntay
a-shleepin in his bett;
Vhen, lo! a yellow bigeon
Coom to him in a dream,
De same dat Mr. Barnum
Vonce had in his Muséum.

Und dus out-shprach de bigeon:
"If you should brint de songs
Or oder dings of Breitmann
Vhich to dem on-belongs,
Dey will tread de road of Sturm and Drang,
Die wile es möhte leben,[75]
Und be mis-geborn in pattle-
To dis fate ish it ergeben."

Und dus rebly de dreamer:
"If on de ice it shlip,
Denn led id dake ids shanses,
Rip Sam, und let 'er rip!
Dou say'st id vill pe sturmy:
Vot sturmy ish, ish crand,
Crates heroes ish de beoples
In Uncle Samuel's land.

"Du bist ein rechter Gelbschnabel,[76]
O golden bigeon mine,
Und I'll fighdt id on dis summer,
If id dakes me all dis line.
Full liddle ish de discount,
Oopon de Yankee peeps."
"Go to hell!" exglaim de bigeon;
Foreby vas all mine shleeps.

Dere vent to Sout Carolina
A shentleman who dinked,[77]
Dat te pallads of der Breitmann
Should papered pe und inked.
Und dat he vouldt fixed de brintin
Before de writer know:
Dis make to many a brinter,
Fool many a bitter woe.

All in de down of Charleston,
A druckerei he found,
Where dey cut de copy into takes
Und sorted it around.
Und all vas goot peginnen,
For no man heeded mooch.
Dat half de jours vas Mericans
Und half of dem vas Dutch.

Und vorser shtill, anoder half
Had vorn de Federal plue,
Vhile de anti-half in Davis grey
Had peen Confeterates true.
Great Himmel! vot a shindy
Vas shdarted in de crowd,
Vhen some von read Hans Breitmann,
His Barty all aloud!

Und von goot-nadured Yankee,
He schwear id vos a shame,
To dell soosh lies on Dutchmen,
Und make of dem a game.
Boot dis make mad Fritz Luder,
Und he schwear dis treat of Hans,
Vos shoost so goot a barty
Ash any oder man's.

Und dat nodings vas so looscious
In all dis eartly shpeer,
Ash a quart mug fool of sauer-kraut,
Mit a plate of lager-bier.
Dat de Yankee might pe tam mit himself,
For he, der Fritz, hafe peen,
In many soosh a barty
Und all dose dings hafe seen.

All mad oopsproong de Yankee,
Mit all his passion ripe;
Und vired at Fritz mit de shootin-shtick,
Vheremit he vas fixin type.
It hit him on de occupit,
Und laid him on de floor;
For many a long day afder
I ween his het was sore.

Dis roused Piet Weiser der Pfaelzer,
Who vas quick to act und dink;
He helt in hand a roller
Vheremit he vas rollin ink.
Und he dake his broof py shtrikin
Der Merican top of his het,
Und make soosh a vine impression,
Dat he left de veller for deat.

Allaweil dese dings oonfolded,
Dere vas rows of anoder kind,
Und drople in de wigwam
Enough to trife dem plind.
Und a crate six-vooted Soudern man
Vot hafe vorked on a Refiew,
Shvear he hope to Gott he mighd pie de forms
If de Breitmann's book warn't true.

For de Sout' vas ploundered derriple,
Und in dat darksome hour
He hafe lossed a yallow-pine maiden,
Of all de land de vlower.
Bright gold doublones a hoondered
For her he'd gladly bay
Ash soon ash a thrip for a ginger-cake,
Und deem it cheap dat day.

To him antworded a Yorker
Who shoomp den dimes de boun-ti-ee:
(De only dings he lossed in de war
Was a sense of broperty.)
Says he, "Votefer you hafe dropped
Some oder shap hafe get,
Und de yallow-pine liked him petter ash you,
On dat it is safe to bet!"

Dead pale pecame dat Soudern brave,
He tidn't so moosh as yell,
Boot he drop right on to de Yorker,
Und mit von lick bust his shell.
Denn out he flashed his pig-sticker,
Und mit looks of drementous gloom,
Rooshed vildly in de pattle
Dat vas ragin round de room.

Boot in angulo, in de corner-
Anoder quarrel vas grow
'Twix a Boston shap mit a Londoner;
Und de row ish gekommen so:
De Yankee say dat de H-u-mor
Of soosh writin vas less dan small,
Dough it maket de beoples laughen,
Boot dat vas only all.

Denn a Deutscher say, by Donner!
Dat soosh a baradox
Vould leafe no hope for writers
In all Pandora's bænder box.
'Twas like de sayin dat Heine
Hafe no witz in him goot or bad,
Boot he only kept sayin witty dings
To make beoples pelieve he had.

Denn de oder veller be-headed
Dat dere vas not a shbark of foon
In de pad spelt lieds when you lead dem
Into Englisch correctly done:-
Den a Proof Sheet veller respondered,
For he dink de dings vas hard,
"Dat ish shoost like de goot oldt lady
Ash vent to hear Artemus Ward.

"Und say it vas shames de beoples
Vas laugh demselfs most tead
At de boor young veller lecturin,
Vhen he tidn't know vot he said."
Hereauf de Yankee answered,
"Gaul dern it:- Shtop your fuss!"
And all de crowd togeder
Go slap in a grand plug-muss.

De Yankee shlog de Proof Sheet
Soosh an awfool smock on de face,
Dat he shvell right oop like a poonkin
Mit a sense of his tisgrace;
Boot der Deutscher boosted an ink-keg
On dop of de oder's hair:
It vly troo de air like a boomshell - denn-
Mine Gotts! - Vot a sighdt vas dere!

Denn ofer all de shapel
Vierce war vas ragin loose;
Fool many a vighten brinter
Got well ge-gooked his goose.
Fool many a nose mit fisten,
I ween was padly scrouged;
Fool many an eye pright gleamin
Vas ploody out-gegouged.

Dô wart ûfgehouwen,[78]
Dere vas hewin off of pones;
Dô hôrte man darinne
Man heardt soosh treadful croans.
Jach waren dâ die Geste,
De row vas rough and tough,
Genuoge sluogen wunden-
Dere vas plooty wounds enough.

De souls of anciend brinters
From Himmel look down oopon,
Und allowed dat in a chapel
Dere was nefer soosh carryins on.
Dere was Lorenz Coster mit Gutemberg,
Und Scheffer mit der Fust,
Und Sweynheim mit Pannartz trop deers,
Oopon dis teufel's dust.

Dere vas Yankee jours extincted
Who lay upon de vloor,
Dere vas Soudern rebs destructed,
Who vouldt nefer Jeff no more.
Ash deir souls rise oop to Heafen,
Dey heardt de oldt brinters' calls,
Und Gutemberg gifed dem all a kick
Ash he histed dem ofer de walls.

Dat ish de vay dese Ballads
Foorst vere crooshed in ploot and shdorm,
Fool many a day moost bass afay
Pefore dey dook dis form.
De copy flootered o'er de preasts
Of heroes lyin todt,
Dis vas de dire peginnin-
Das war des Breitmann's Noth.

Dis song in Philadelphia
Long dimes ago pegun,
In Paris vas gondinued, und
In Dresden ist full-done.
If any toubt apout de facts,
In nople minds ish grew,
Let dem ashk Carl Benson Bristed,
He knows id all ish drue.

Und now, dese Breitmann shdories
In gebrindt in many a lant,
Sogar in far Australia
Dey're gestohlen und bekannt:-
"Geh hin mein Puch in alle VVelt
Steh auss was dir kompt zu!
Man beysse Dich, man reysse Dich
Nur dass man mir nichts thu!"[79]


BREITMANN'S LAST BALLADS.

BREITMANN IN TURKEY.

DERR BREITMANN hear im Turkenreich
Vas fighten high und low,
"Steh auf, oh Schwackenhammer mein!
It's dime for us to go.
Zieh dein Kanonenstiefel an,
Und schleife Dir das Schwert,
Schon lang her han mer nichts gethan,
Der Weg ist reitenswerth."[80]

"Oopon vitch side? I hartly know
Boot von side in dis war:
Dere ist de holy Russ-land
All mit a holy Tsar;
But I pe not a holy-er,
Nor you von Saint, I fear;
Out line is holy ploonder,
Mit sacred Lager-bier.

"Dere's von Constantinoble-man
Vot write to me, und say
He kits me an commission
To make me Breitmann Bey,
Und if I mounts de turpan
Und keeps de Muslin law,
Und bribes ein wenig, den I rise
To Breitemann Pasha.

"Dis much is drue, dat Toorkey is
A real Powder land,
Und if dey're goin' to touch it off,
Vy, ve moost pe on hand.
Und if ve shpring into de airs
Vhile meddlin' in de fuss,
I rader dink some Russian bears
Vill shpring along mit us."

Und ven he kit to Turkreich
Der Breitmann work like mad,
Und kit ein corps togeder,-
Mein Gott! vat men he had!
Mit Polers und mit Shipsies,
Ungaren, Turks, und such,
Und allerlei Gesindel. "Hei!"
Says Hans: "dis beats de Dutch!"

Den onwards to his Schicksal[81]
Und forvarts troo de night,
Und oopwarts to his mission,
Und downvarts in de vight.
Until in de Bulgáren
Von night his horse he strode,
Und meet a tausand Kossacks
Pefore him on de road.

Slap forward rode der Breitmann
Right on de Kossack spears,
But forvarts coom deir leader
And halted his careers,
Und gry, "O Turkisch Ritter,
I am de Capitán,
And if you want a shindy,
Step up, and I'm your man."

Dey fightet like der teufel,
Dey fightet mit deir swords,
Und Breitmann vould hafe kilt him,
But 'twas not on de cards,
For de Kossack fire a bistol
As his retreadt pegan,-
Down from his horse all senseless
Flop! went der Breitemann.

Vhen he hafe kit his senses,
Der Breitmann find he lay
Insite a nople castell,
Upon a canapé;
Und py his side a lady
So wunderschön to see,
Vas shlisin oop a lemon
Indo a cop of thée.

Den to himself say Breitmann,
Aldough he hold his jaw,
"Dis is de vinest womans,
Py Gott! I efer saw.
Vot lofeliness! vot muscle!
Mit efery himmlisch charm!
She measures twenty inches,
Bei Donner! roundt de arm."

De lady see his glances
So noble und so game,
Und yust as he reflected
She dink of him de same,
Und she say, "Wie gehts?" in English,
"Du galiant cavalier,
Who art pecome de captive
All of my bow und spear.

"I am a gal dis mornin',
Yestreen I vas a knight,
Old hoss - you nearly smashedme,
I guess, in that small fight;
And if I hadn't shot you
I think I should have ran."
"Gottshimmel mit Potzbomben!
Egsclaim der Breitemann.

"But say, O nople lady,
Vot got you in dot set
Of plackgards - vilt dou dell me?"
De dame rebly: "You bet!
My father came from Boston,
And when this war began
He got a splendid contract,
All with the Russi-án,

"To sell the army shoe-strings;
But I have read of fights,
And I dream of war and glory,
For I go for women's rights;
Then I read a book of poems
Which fairly turned my head,
The ballads of Hans Breitmann" -
"Oh - - ho!" Hans Breitmann said.

"And as I think the Breitmann
Must be the greatest man
Who ever went a-fighting
Since History began,
I dressed me like a soldier,
For I am stark of limb;
With Breitmann for a model,
And try to act like him.

"Oh, tell me, noble captive,
While rolling in this storm
Which men call life, hast ever
Beheld Hans Breitmann's form?
Oh, could I once embrace him,
And gaze into his eye,
And feel his arms around me,
Then I would gladly die.

"He is the man of mortals,
The Odin of them all,
A higher Incarnation,
The 'Menschheitsidéal,'[82]
A being made to worship,
To me an earthly Gott" -
"Py shings!" exglaim Hans Breitmann,
"Dis ding is gettin hot!

"O laity! - nople gountess!
Dis man of whom you dink
Ish lyin' here pefore you,
Half tead for want of trink,
Likewise for lofe of you, too,
Done up mit lofe and durst,
Und mit de two togeder,
I don't know vitch is vorst.

"And dou canst safe dy hero
From bitter Todespein,
If dou hast in de Keller
Only one Fass of wein.
Nay, doubt not - in my pocket
Is dot vitch brofes de man,
My bassport, und drei tavern bills
Against der Breitemann."

De laity she emprace him
Oontil he nearly bust.
"Potz-blitz!" gasp out der Breitmann,
"She is a squeezer - yust!"
De damé she vas vealty,
Likewise an orphan too,
Mit a castel und a titel,
So Breitmann put it troo.

So soon the paar vere marrit,-
Hei! vot a dimes dey had!
Hei! how dey life togeder
So clorious und clad!
Now he has cot a titel
Dot was a Capitán;
Hier hat de tale ein Ende
Of Herr Count Breitemann.


COBUS HAGELSTEIN.

ICH bin ein Deutscher, und mein name is Cobus Hagelstein,[83]
I coom from Cincinnàti, and I life peyond der Rhein;
Und I dells you all a shdory dot makes me mad ash blitz,
Pout how a Yankee gompany vas shvindle me to fits.

I heardt apout dis gompany, und vished to see dot same,
Das Lebensfeuerversicherunggesellschaft vos ids name;
Dot is de name in Sherman - in English it will say
Dot it insures your life mit fire, ven you de money pay.

Now, I hod a liddle house-line vhere I life so shtill ash mice,
Und yoost drei tausand dollar vos dot little pilding's brice;
I vos always yoost so happy ash ein Kaisar in de land
Dill at last I kit in drople, for mein haus vas abgebrannt.

Den I goes undo dot gompany und dells em right afay
(Das Lebensfeuerversicherunggesellschaft), und I say,
"At last de youngest day ist coom for you to plank de cash,
And you moost bay me monies, for mine haus is purned to ash."

Den de segredary answered, "All dis is fery drue,
Boot you know ve have de option to pild your house anew;
Dere ist a lot of beoples vot burns deir hauser doun,
Den coom to kit de money pack all over in de toun."

I look indo de bapers und I find it ash he say,
Das Lebensfeuerversicherunggesellschaft need not bay;
So I dells em all to go ahet und pild anoder shdore,
Und dey make me von in Yankee shdyle more petter ash pefore.

Den I met der segredary dereafter on a day,
Of Das Lebensfeuerversicherunggesellschaft, und he say,
"You've found oos vellers honoraple und honest in our line,
Vy tont you go insure de life of Madame Hagelstein?"

I poots mine dum oopon mine nose, and vinks him mit mine eye,
Und says I cooms to do it ven de océan runs dry,
Ven gooses turn to ganders, und de bigs kits shanged to shvine;
Oh, den I makes insure de life of Madame Hagelstein.

"I haf dried you on insurance, ash you know, yust vonce pefore,
Und ven mein haus vas abgebrannt you pild anoder shdore;
Id's drue you pild it goot enough, boot I dell you allaweil,
I vas liket id moosh petter if it vas in Sharman shdyle.

"Now, if I goes insure my wife anoder dime mit you
Das Lebensfeuerversicherunggesellschaft, I knows vot it would
do,-
If from dis vorldt Frau Hagelstein should rise to Himmel life,
Inshtead of paying gelt you'd kit for me a Yankee vife!"

I poots mine dum pelow mine eye, und vinks him merrily,
Und say, "Go find soom Deutscherman dot is more creen ash me.
Dere's blendy of dem creen enough, I know, peyond der Rhein,
But none among dem wears de name of Cobus Hagelstein."


FRITZERL SCHNALL.

A BALLAD.

ASH on de Alapama biz,
Deep sinnin long I sat,
I dinks von ding for dinkin
Py afery Diplomat;
Und dat ist: dat voll many a ding
Vot ist de facto done,
May pe de jure unbossible,
Und officiél unknown,

Von dimes in San Franciscus,
Im Californian land,
Among de Californaments
Dere woned a Deutscher band;
Und shief among dese heroes
Dere shone Herr Fritzerl Schnall,
Who nefer vouldt pelief in nichts
Dat vas not lōgicál.

Vell den: von tay as Fritzerl
Vas valk Dolores Shtreet,
Mein Gott! how he vas over-rush
Ein gut oldt friendt to meet;
Hans Liederschnitz aus Augsburg,
Vot professed in Bayrisch bier-
"Gottskreuz! du alter Schlingel!"
Cried Fritz: "Was mochst du hier?"

Now in des dimes I scribe of,
Dree ways der vere bakannt,
Und only dree, to get to
Das Californigen Landt.
De virst de Plains coom ofer;
De next, de Istmoos troo;
De dird aroundt Cape Horné,
All ofer de ocean plue.

But de first lot of surveyors
For de railroad overland,
Vas seek a new vay northwarts,
All for de Eisenbahn,
Und mit dem, der professor
Of Lager vent along;
So he kommed to San Franciscus,
Und den into dis song.

But ash unto Herr Fritzerl
Dis news vas unerheard,
He couldt not know de tidings
Wherevon he had no vord;
Und derefore dis here quesdion
He makes to Hans: "Old hoss,
I kess de vay you kit hier,
You kommed de Blains agross?"

"Nein, nein," sayt Liederschnitzerl;
"I komm not ash you say."
"Vell, den," antworded Fritzerl,
"It pe's anoder vay.
If you komm de Blains not über,
I see vot you hafe do:
You make an longer um-way
Und gross de Istmoos troo."

"Nein, nein," acain saidt Schnitzerl,
"Dat road I nefer know,
Und vas not ride de Istmoose!"
Cried Fritz, erstaunisched, "SO
You komm de Blains not über,
Nor gross de Istmoose troo?
Vell, den - to make de Horn aroundt
Vas all dat you could do!"

"I shvears py Gott!" says Schnitzerl,
"So sure as you vas porn,
Exshept oopon some ochsen
I nefer saw a horn.
Dat ish - mitwiles, too - while-en -
I hafe von in mine hand,
Und trink to dy Gesundheit,
Im lieben Vaterland."

Erstaunished stoot der Fritzerl:
No wort herout brought he:
Und sinned, und sinned - den sighftserd.
"Potz blitz! how vash dis pe?"
Ontill a light from Himmel
Vlash down into him shtraight,
Ash Heafen in Yacob Böhme
Vlash from a bewter blate.

Den laut he cry, eye-shbarklin,
Ash droonk mit Truth tifine,
Like der Wahrheitseher Novalis:
"Herr Gott! es leuch't mir ein!
If you komm de Blains not over,
Nor py Horn, nor py canál,
Den I shwears you dis, Hans Schnitzerl,
Du bist not here at all!"

MORAL.

Go in for Wahrheit,
Und for Pure Reason seek;
If it land you in a pog-hole,
Den die dere - like a brick!
Gott brosber all logikers,
Und pless deir nople breed;
Und so ist komm zu ende
Dis Breitmanns letzte Lied.


THE GYPSY LOVER.

DOT vos a schwartz Zigeuner[84]
Dot on a viddle played,
Und oonderneat' a fenster
He mak't a serenade.

Dot vos a lofely gountess
Who heardt de gypsy blay'n.
Said she, "Who make dot musik
Vot sound so wunderscheen?"

Dot vos de schwartz Zigainer
Who vos fery quick to twig;
Und he song a mournvoll pallad
How his hearts vos proken - big!

Dot vos de lofely gountess
Said, "Dell me who you are?"
He saidt, "Mein name is Janosch,
De Lord of Temesvar."

Dot vos de lofely gountess
Said, "Come more near to me,
I vants to dalk on piz'ness:
I'll trow you down de key."

Dot vos de moon kept lightin'
De gountess in her room,
Boot somedings moost have vrighten
De minstrel tid not coom.

Dot vos a treadfool oudgry
Ven early in de morn
Dey foundt de hens vos missin,
Und all de wash vos gone!

Dot vos a schwartz Zigeuner
Vot sot oopon de dirt
A-eatin roasted schickens
All in a new glean shirt.


DORNENLIEDER.

I.

FOR efery Rose dot ploome in spring,
Dey say an maid is porn;
For efery pain dot Rose vill make
Dey say dere comes a dorn.
Boot let dem say yoost vot dey will,
Dis ding I will soopose,
I'll immer prick mein finger still,
If I may pfluck die Ros'.
Ach, Rosalein, du schöne mein,[85]
Dot man vas nefer born
Vot did deserfe to win de Rose,
Vot couldt not stand de Dorn.

Blutfärbig ist die schöne Ros',[86]
Und dot ist yoost a sign
Dot I moost lose a liddle Blut
To make de Rosé mein.
Wer Rosen bricht die Finger sticht;
Das ist mir ganz égal,
Der bricht sie auch in Winter nicht,
Und kits no Rose at all.
Was wir hier treiben und kosen, love,
De joy or misery,
Soll bleiben unter der Rosen, love!
Und our own secret pe![87]

II.

Von Dorn ride out in hoonting gear,
Mit his horse und his Hundé too,
Und his mutter she say,
"Bring home a deer,
Mein Sohn, votefer you do!"
"You know, gewiss, dot I nefer miss,
Und ven you hear mine horn,
Pe sure dot a deer is comin' here,"
Said der Ritter Veit von Dorn,
Mit his deer so fein, tra la la la!
Mit his deer so fine, tra lé!
Tra la la - tra la la la!
Tra la la - la la lé!

Von Dorn he ridet im greenen wood
Till dere, peneat a dree,
He sah a maid wie Milch und Blut.
As fair ash a maid could pe.
Und der Ritter he spies her great plack eyes,
"Id's petter, I'll pe shwore,
To hafe a dear oopon two feet
Dan von dot roons on four.
Mit a deer so fein, tra la la la!
Mit a deer so fine, tra lé!
Tra la la - tra la la la!
Tra la la - la de lé!

Der Ritter ridet pack to home:
"Ach, mutter - all ist goot;
I prings you here de finest dear
In all de greené woot."
De mutter she looks, mit joy surprise,
"Hast Recht, mein lieber Sohn;[88]
Dere vas nefer a deer vot hafe soosh eyes
Ash de dear vot you hafe won!"
Mit her eyes so plack, tra la, la la!
Mit her eyes so plack, tra lé!
Tra, la, la - tra la, la, la!
Tra la la - la de lé!

Nota bene. - Dis song moost pe sung mit exbression.
- FRITZ SCHWACKENHAMMER
[Redaktör].


BREITMANN'S SLEIGH-RIDE.

VEN de winter make oos shifer
Und de bonds is froze mit ice,
To shlide und shkate on de rifer,
Mit de poys und gals is nice.
Ven de horses hafe deir bits on,
Und de roats pe vite mit shnow,
To vly in a sleigh like blitzen
Is de yolliest dings I know.

"Und its high, hooray!" saidt Breitmann
"For de gals on de Dutchtown-side;
Und it's lebe hoch! for de yunglins,
Vot'll go mit de gals to ride;
Und it's hip, herjé! for de drifers
Vot nefer dake no odds!
Und it's vivat! for de vellers,
Vot'll shtand de apple-tods!"

Der Breitmann pooled his mits on,
Der Breitmann crocked his vip,
"Now its fly like dunner blitzen,
Mein shildren, let 'er rip!
Like de eagles on de shtorm-cloudt
A-vlyin' to deir nest;
Dere is opple-yack a-vaitin
For de von dot times de rest.

"Oh mein Rapp, du bist de pestest
Of horses in de land!
Dou canst trafel on de grafel,
Und canst shell it on de sand!
Oh Rapp! - dere's money on id,


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Online LibraryCharles Godfrey LelandThe Breitmann Ballads → online text (page 10 of 13)