The Breitmann Ballads Part 2

THE PICNIC

DE picknock oud at Spraker's Wood:- It melt de soul und fire de plood.

Id sofly slid from cakes und cream; Boot busted oop on brandy shdeam.

Mit stims of tender graceful ring, De gals begoon a song to sing; A bland mildt lied of olden dime- Deutsch vas die doon, und Deutsch de rhyme.

Wi's uff der Stross' wenn's finschter ischt, Und niemond in der Goss' mehr ischt, Nur Schone Madel wolle mer fonga, Wie es gebil'te Leut' verlonga.

At de picknock oud in Spraker's Wood, De Bier was soft-de gals were good: Oondil von feller, vild and rasch, Called out for a Yankee brandy-smas.h.!.+

A crow vot vas valkin on de vall, Fell dead ven he hear dis Dootchmann call; For he knew dat droples coom, py s.h.i.+nks!

Ven de Dootch go in for Yankee drinks.

De Dootch got ravin droonk ash sin, Dey smash de windows out und in; Dey bust und bang de bar-room ein, Und call for a bucket of branntewein.

Avay, avay, demselfs dey floong, Und a wild infernal lied dey sung: 'Tvas, "Tam de wein, and cuss de bier!

Ve tont care nix for de demprance here!

"O keep a pringin juleps in, Und baldface corn dat burn like sin; Mit apple tods und oldt shtone fence, Ve'll all get corned ere ve go hence!"

Dey dash deir gla.s.ses on de cround, Und tanz dill'tvas all to brick-duss ground, Ven dey hear von man had a ten-dollar note, De crowd go dead for dat rich man's troat.

A demperance chap vot coomed dere in, Vent squanderin out mit his sh.e.l.l burst in; "It's walk your chalks, you loost your chance, Dis vot de call der Dootchmans' dance."

Boot ven de law, mit his myrmidon, Vas hear of dese Dootchmen's carryins-on, Dey sent bolicemen shtern und good, To pull dose Dootch in Spraker's Wood.

De Dootch vas all gone roarin mad, Und trinked mit Spraker all dey had; Dey shpend 'nuf money to last deir life, And each vas tantzin mit anoder man's wife.

Dey all cot poonish difers vays, Some vent to jug for dirty tays; Und de von dat kilt de demperance man Vas kit from de Alderman repriman.

Und dus it ran:-"A warnin dake, For you mighdt hafe mate soom pig mishdake; Now how vouldt you hafe feeled, py s.h.i.+ng!

If dat man hat peen in de whiskey ring?

"Since you votes mine d.i.c.ket, of course you know, I'm pound to led you shlide und go.

Boot nefer on whiskey trink your fill, For you Dootchmen don't know who to kill."

Now Deutschers all-on dis warning d.i.n.k, Und don't get troonk on Yankee trink, For neider you, or anoder man, Can pe hocks like de New York rowdies can.

So trink goot bier, mit musik plest, For if you tried your level best, You can't be plackguarts-taint in de plood: Dus endet de shdory of Spraker's Wood.

I GILI ROMANESKRO.

A GIPSY BALLAD.

Vhen der Herr Breitmann vas a yungling, he vas go b.u.mmin aroundt goot deal in de worldt, vestigatin human natur, roulant de vergne en vergne, ash de Fraentsch boet says: "goin from town to town;"

seein beobles in gemixed sociedy, und learnin dose languages vitch ornamendt a drue moskopolite, or von whose kopf ish bemosst mit experience. Mong oder tongues, ash it would appeared, he shpoke fluendly, Red Welsh, Black Dootch, Kauder-Waelsch, Gaunersprache, und s.h.i.+psy; und dis latter languashe he pring so wide dat he write a pook of pallads in it,-von of vitch pallads I hafe intuce him mit moosh droples to telifer ofer to de worldt. De inclined reader vill, mit crate heavy-hood blace pefore himself de fexation und lapor I hafe hat in der Breitmann his absents, to ged dese s.h.i.+psy verses broperly gorrected; as de only shentleman in town who vas culpable of so doin, ish peen gonfined in de town-brison, pout some droples he hat for shdealin some hens; und pefore I couldt consoolt mit him, he vas rooned afay. Denn I fond an oldt vomans s.h.i.+psy, who vas do nodings boot peg, und so wider mit pout five or four oders more. Derfore, de errordoms moost pe excused py de enlightened p.o.o.plic, who are fomiliar mit dis peautiful languashe, vitch is now so shenerally fas.h.i.+onabel in laterary und shpordin circles.

F. SCHWACKENHAMMER.

I GILI ROMANESKRO.

Schunava, ke baschno del a G.o.dla, Schunava Paschomaskro.

Te del miro Dewel tumen Dschavena Bachtallo.[3]

Schunava opre to ruka Chiriklo ke gillela: Kamovela but dives, Eh'me pale kamaveva.

Apo je wa'wer divesseste Schunava pro gilaviben, M'akana me avava, Pro marzos, pro kuriben.

So korava kuribente, So korava apre drom; Me kanav miri romni, So kamela la lakero rom.

DRANSLATION.

I hear de gock a growin!

I hear de musikant!

Gott gife dee a happy shourney Vhen you go to a distand landt.

I hears oopon de pranches A pird mit merry shdrain, Goot many tays moost fanish Ere I coom to dis blace again.

Oopon some oder tay-times I'll hear dat song from dee; Boot now I goes ash soldier To war, o'er de rollin sea.

Und vot I shdeals in pattle, Und vot on de road I shdeal, I'll pring all to my true lofe Who lofes her lofer so well.

STEINLI VON SLANG.

I.

DER watchman look out from his tower Ash de Abendgold glimmer grew dim, Und saw on de road troo de Gauer Ten shpearmen coom ridin to him: Und he schvear: "May I lose my next bitter, Und denn mit der Teufel go hang!

If id isn't dat pully young Ritter, De h.e.l.l-drivin Steinli von Slang.

"De vorldt nefer had any such man, He vights like a sturm in its wrath: You may call me a recular Dutchman, If he arn't like Goliath of Gath.

He ish big ash de s.h.i.+ant O'Brady, More ash sefen feet high on a string, Boot he can't vin de hearts of my lady, De lofely Plectruda von Sling."

De lady make welcome her gast in, Ash he shtep to de dop of de shtair, She look like an angel got lost in A forest of audumn-prown hair.

Und a bower-maiden said ash she tarried: "I wish I may bust mit a bang!

If id isn't a shame she ain't married To der her-re-liche Steinli von Slang!"

He pows to de cround fore de lady, Vhile his vace ish ash pale ash de tead; Und she vhispers oonto him a rede Ash mit arrow point accents, she said: "You hafe long dimes peen dryin to win me, You hafe vight, and mine braises you sing, Boot I'm 'fraid dat de notion aint in me, De Lady Plectruda von Sling.

"Boot brafehood teserves a reward, sir; Dough you've hardly a chost of a shanse.

Sankt Werolf! med.i.n.ks id ish hard, sir, I should allaweil lead you dis dance."

Like a bees vhen it it booz troo de clofer, Dese murmurin accents she flang, Vhile singin, a stingin her lofer, Der woe-moody Ritter von Slang.

"Boot if von ding you do, I'll knock under, Our droples moost endin damit Und if you pull troo it,- by donder!

I'll own myself euchred, und bit.