The Trumpeter of Sakkingen Part 24

SONGS OF THE CAT HIDDIGEIGEI.

I.

Honest folks are turning lately Their attention to the Muses, And with ease compose their own songs For their daily household uses.

Therefore I shall also try it, On light pinions freely winging; For, who dares deny our talent, Takes from cats the right of singing?

If I always run to book-stores I shall find it too expensive; And their gaudy books contain oft Naught but trash, weak and offensive.

II.

When through vales and on the mountains Roars the storm at midnight drear, Clambering over ridge and chimney Hiddigeigei doth appear.

Like a spirit he stands up there, Never looked he half so fair; Fire from his eyes is streaming, Fire from his bristling hair.

And he howls in fierce wild measure, An old war-cry caterwauling, Which is borne off by the storm-wind, Like the distant thunder rolling.

Not a soul then ever sees him, Each is sleeping in his house; But far down, deep in the cellar, Listens the poor trembling mouse.

For his voice she recognises, And she knows that, when in rage, Most ferocious is the aspect Of this valiant feline sage.

III.

From the tower's highest summit Gaze I at the world below; From my lofty seat I'm able To observe life's ceaseless flow.

And the cat's green eyes are staring, And he laughs within his sleeve, That those pygmies there are trying Such great follies to achieve.

What's the use? Up to my level Never can I raise mankind.

Let them follow their devices, Small their loss is, to my mind.

For perverted are men's actions, And their work is woe and crash.

Conscious of his own great value, Grins the cat down on this tras.h.!.+

IV.

O the world does us injustice, And for thanks I look quite vainly; For the finest chords of feline Nature, it mistakes so plainly.

Thus, if some one falls down drunken, And a throbbing like a hammer Racks his heavy head on waking, Germans call it _Katzenjammer_.

Katzenjammer, oh great insult!

Gentle is our caterwauling; Only men I hear too often Through the streets at night-time bawling.

Yes! they do us great injustice, Never can be comprehending All the deep and morbid sorrow Which a poor cat's heart is rending.

V.

Hiddigeigei often has raved with delight, The true, good, and beautiful seeking; Hiddigeigei often felt grief's deadly blight, And with tender sad yearnings was weeping.

Hiddigeigei once has felt his heart glow, When the fairest of cats he was wooing; And just as a troubadour's love-songs flow, Rang nightly his spirited mewing.

Hiddigeigei many a valiant fight, Like the Paladin Roland, was waging; But men have often belaboured his hide, And with dropping hot pitch made him raging.

Hiddigeigei to his sorrow found out, That his fair one was false and deceiving That from a poor insignificant lout She was secretly visits receiving.

Hiddigeigei then did open his eyes, Left off his pining and yearning; The world henceforth he learned to despise, To his inner self earnestly turning.

VI.

Lovely month of May, how hateful To a cat you are, and dreary Ne'er I thought such din of music Could a cat's heart make so weary.

From the branches, from the bushes Birds their warbling notes are ringing; Far and wide, as if for money, Men I hear forever singing.

There the cook sings in the kitchen-- Is love also her head turning?

In falsetto she now screameth, That with rage my soul is burning.

Farther upward will I clamber, To the terrace slowly wending.

Woe to me, for from the garden Are my neighbour's songs ascending.

Even next the roof I cannot Find the rest for which I'm pining; Near me dwells a crazy poet, His own verses ever whining.

When despairing to the cellar Down I rush the noise escaping; Ah, above me they are dancing, To the pipes, and fiddles' sc.r.a.ping.

Harmless tribe! Your lyric madness You'll continue, while there yonder, In the East, the clouds are gathering, Soon to burst in tragic thunder.