The Breitmann Ballads - LightNovelsOnl.com
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"Denn linger not to back dy drunk, Boot led our lofe hafe vings; Dere's milliners in fair Cologne, Vill make you avery dings."
She toorn her eyes im mondenschein, She schmile so heafenly; "Dear lofe, so shendle und so goot!
I'll cut away mit dee.
"Und do not killl de Kloster-volk, 'Tvouldt only bring tiscrace!
Dough if I had de abbess here, Lort! how I'd slap her vace!"
De moonlighdt blayed oopon de drees, It s.h.i.+ned oopon de blain, Two forms rode in de mitnight woods, Und nefer coomed again.
MUNICH.
GAMBRINUS.
"Vot ish Art? Id ish somedings to drink, objectively foregebrought in de Beaudiful. Doubtest dou? - denn read, ash I hafe read, de Dyonisiacs of Nonnus, and learn dat de oopboorstin of infinite worlds into edernal Light und mad goldnen Lofeliness - yea of dein own soul - is typifide only py de CUP.
Vot! - shdill skebdigal? Tell me denn, O dou of liddle fait, vere on eart ish de kunst obtain ids highest form if not in a BIERSTADT?[65]
Ha! ha! I poke you dere!"
- Caupo Recauponatus, MS. by Fritz Swackenhammer, olim candidatus theologiae at Tubingen, shoost now lagerbierwirth in St.
Louis. (Dec. 1869.)
"Cerevisia bibunt homines Animalia ceterae fontes."
In a field of goldnen parley Goot King Gambrinus shlept, Und treamin' pout de dursty volk, Dey say he gried und vept.
"In all mine land of Nederland, Dere crows no mead or wein, Und wa.s.ser I couldt nefer get Indo dis troat of mein.
"Now hear me on, ye headen gotts!
Und all de Christian too; Der Bacchus und der Shoopider, Und Marie tressed in plue!
Und mighdy Thor, der donner gott, Und any else dat be!
Der von as helps me in dis Noth, His serfant I will pe."
Und ash dis sinfull headen All in de parley lay, Dere coom in tream an angel Who soft dese worts tid say: "Stay oop, dou boor Gambrinus!
For efen all aroundt Im parley vhere dou shleepest, Some dings goot to trink ish found.
"Im parley vhere dou shleepest Dere hides a trink so clear, Dat men will know zukunftig- Ash porter- ale- or bier."
Und denn in Nederlandisch He put de konig troo, Und gafe him - allwhile treaming- De recipe to prew.
Oop rose der goot Gambrinus, Und shook him in de sun: "Go vay, ye sinfool headen gotts!
Mit you its out und done!
Ye'fe left me mit mine beoples In error und in durst, Till in our treadful tryness, Ve tont know vitch is wurst."
Dat vas der goot Gambrinus Oonto his palac't vent, Und loafers troo de Nederland To all his lordts he sent.
"Leave Odin - or you lose your hets!"
De order vas sefere, Yet tinged mit mildness, for he sent De recipe for bier.
O den a merry sound vas heardt Of bildin troo de land, Und de kirchen und de braweries Vent oop on efery hand; For de masons dey vere hart at vork, Und trinkin hart at dat, Und some hat bricks mitin de hods, Und some mitin deir hat.
Dey prew it in de Nederland, Dey prew it on de Rhine; Boot in de oldt Bavarian land, Dey make it shdrong und fein.
Und he dat trinks in Munich, Ash all goot vellers know, Has got somedings to d.i.n.k apout, Vherefer he may go.
II.
Hafe you heardt of Kong Gambrinus?
If you hafen't id vas gueer, For he vas de first erfinder Und de holy saint of bier.
Und his bortrait, mit a sceptre, Fery peaudifool to see, Hangs on afery lager-bier house, In de land of Germanie.
Efery vhere de whole world ofer, Deutschers paint him on de sign, As a broof dat dey are dealin In de Bok und Lager line.
Crown und bier-mug, robe und ermine; German signs of empire, dese, Mit a long white beard a fallin'
Fery nearly to his knees.
Vonce dis bier-saint, pright und early, Rose from bett und vent his vay, To a dark mysderious gastle, Vhere his lager-donjon lay.
Vhile de lark's first song vas ringin', Und die roses shone in dew, Den his soul vas shoost in order To enshoy de early brew.
Deeply, awfooly he schwilled it, Till de vaults seem toornin round; Und vhile tipsy - over tips he- In he falls - und dere is trowned.
Yet vhile goorglin in de bier-fa.s.s, Biously he gafe his soul: "Gott verdammich! Donnerwetter!
Himmels sacrament-a-mol!"
Dere dey found der kong "departed,"
Not mitout his stir-up cup: Moosh dey woonderd dat he berishet Vhen he might hafe troonk it oop; Or dat his long peard vitch floatet Fool a yard on efery side, Hadn't buoyed him from destrugdion:- Dus der beer-dead monarch died.
FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN.
"Sankt Martin war ein frommer Mann Trank gerne Cerevisiam, Und hatt er kein Pecuniam So liess er seinen Tunicam."
(Comment by Herr Schwackenhammer.)
VONCE oopon a dimes in Frankfort der Herr Breitemann exsberiencet an interfal pedween de periot ven he hat gespent de last remiddance he hat become from home, und de arrifal of de succedin wechsel, or bill of exghange - und, in blain derms, was hard up. Derefore he vent to dat goot relation who may pe foundt at den or fifdeen per cent all de worlt ofer, - "mine Onkel," - und poot his tress-goat oop de shpout for den florins. No sooner vas dis done, dan dere coomed an infitation from de English laity in whom he vas so moosh mit lofe in betaken, to geh mit her to a ball-barty. Awful bad vas he veel, und sot apout tree hours mitout sayin nodings, und denn wafin his hand, boorst out mit de vollowin version of dat peaudiful lied by Wilhelm Caspary:-
"Mein Frack ist im Pfand-haus."
Mine tress-goat is shpouted, mine tress-goat aint hier, Vhile you in your ball-ropes go splurgin, mein tear!
To barties mit you I'm infitet you know, Boot my pest coat ish shpouted - mine poots are no go.
To h.e.l.l mit mine Onkel - dat rasgally knafe!
Dis pledgin und p.a.w.nin has mate me his slafe!
Ven I d.i.n.k of his sign-bost, den dree dimes I bawl, Vhile mine plack pants hang lonely und dark on de wall.
Goot night to dee fine lofe - so lofely und rich, Mein tress-goat ish shpouted - gon-fount efery st.i.tch!
I d.i.n.ks dat olt Satan troo all mine affairs, Lofe, business, und fun, has peen sewin his tares.
My tress-goat ish shpouted - mine tress-goat aint here, While you in your glorie go s.h.i.+nin, mein tear, Und de luck of der teufel ish loose ofer all, Vhile my black pants hang lonely und dark on de wall.
Dis four-goin song vas over-set by der Hans Breitmann from de German of Wilhelm Caspary, whose lyric vas a barody on a dranslation made indo Deutsch by Freiligrath from anoder boem py Sir Waldherr Scott, vitch Sir Waldherr vas kit de idee of from an oldt Scottish ballad vitch pegin mit de vorts-
"My hearts in de Hielands, mein hearts ish nae hier, Mein hearts in de Hielands, in wilden revier; It hoonts for de shtag, und id hunts for de reh, Mein hearts ist im Hochland wo immer ich geh."
Dis is de original Scotch, as goot as I can mineself rememper it.
Ven I vas dell der Herr Karl Blind pout dis intercommixture of perplexified dransitions from Scotch to English, and dence into German, and dereafter into a barody, vitch vas be done ofer again indo Herr Breitmann's own slanguage, he sait it vas a Rattenkonig - a phrase too familiar to mine readers to require any wider complication.[66]
ITALY.
