I.
Wer reit't mit zwanzig Knappen ein
Zu Heidelberg im Hirschen?
Das ist der Herr von Rodenstein,
Auf Rheinwein will er pirschen.
Who is it rides with twenty spears,
Straight to the Stag Inn going?
Von Rodenstein and cavaliers,
To set the Rhine wine flowing.
Hurrah! the tap! Give wine to me,
The best of all your tillage!
A whole year long we'll merry, merry be,
Although it cost a village.
I've Pfaffenbeerfurt, o' my soul!
And Reichelsheim so loyal.
The trumps and psaltery played to wine,
Although no drums were beating;
For six months sat the Rodenstein,
To Rhine wine measures treating.
And when six months in frolic fled
He for the reckoning halloed,
And 'Now the fun is o'er,' he said,
'For Reichelsheim is swallowed!
Reichelsheim's gone!
Gone with a race!
Reichelsheim loyal, the schnaps-making place,
Old Reichelsheim is swallowed!
'Hollaheh! it's gone, at worst;
We've all our way of thinking;
They never say a word for thirst,
But always talk of drinking.
Reichelsheim's gone!
Gone with a race!
Reichelsheim loyal, the schnaps-stilling place,
Old Reichelsheim is swallowed.'
Hol-li-roh!