MORAL.
In love or in turning a penny
Always study the field of your luck;
In petroleum and naphtha full many
Ere now have been terribly 'stuck.'
[THE PILE BUILDER.]
A Lacustrine Lyric.
Dichtqualmende Nebel umfeuchten
Ein Pfahlbaugerüstwerk im See
Und fern ob der Waldwildniss leuchten
Die Alpen in ewigem Schnee.
Damp smoky-like vapour is streaming
O'er piles in the waters below.
And far o'er the forest are gleaming
The Alps in perpetual snow.
A man on a wood block is sitting
In furs, for the wind-draught is strong:
With a flint chip a deer-horn splitting,
While he mournfully murmurs a song:
'See my face swollen up like the devil!
Remark how in wind, as it spins,
The history of Europe primæval
With rheumatics and toothache begins!
'It is true that with stone-axe employment,
Or with celts I can hammer my way,
But no rational means of enjoyment
Is known to the world in this day.
'Wild animals, wolfish or beary,
Howl fierce round my forest-tree brown;
And when I build huts on the prairie
The buffaloes batter them down.
'And so, to the beaver a debtor,
I build for myself in the flood;
The further from firm land the better,
A pile-dam in shingle and mud.
'But much I am forced to dispense with
What ages to come will behold;
I'd be glad of a good sword to fence with,
But as yet there's no iron or gold.
'In stocks I would gladly grow wealthy,
But exchange is not yet understood:
A good glass of beer would be healthy;
But never a drop has been brewed.
'And then how my horror increases
To think of our cookery rude!
How we crack a pig's bones into pieces,
And suck out the marrow for food.
'And how can the soul be expected
To form an ideal of taste,
When nothing but poles are erected
Around in a watery waste?'
He sang With a voice hoarse and failing,
With rheumatics his temper was grim;
Two wild bears slipped over the poling,
And, climbing, came snapping at him.
Down he threw, as with anger he flushes,
Axe, deer-horn, and drink-cup of clay,
Sprang, splash! like a frog to the rushes,
And paddled with curses away.
Where once the Lacustrians plying,
Drove many a pillar or stake,
A strata of relics is lying
'Neath the mud and the turf of the lake.
And he who this song made for singing,
Himself through those layers has mined,
And the relics to daylight upbringing,
Felt pride as a mortal refined.
[HESIOD.]
Licht glühte des Helicon Klippe
In Mittagspurpur und Blau.
Light gleamed upon Helicon's mountain
In the purple of mid-day and blue,
As by Aganippe's clear fountain
A shepherd boy slept in the dew.
In seeking the lambs of his master,
From Askra, he'd roamed through the wood,
But now all the strength of the pastor
By the heat of the sun was subdued.
Then from sun-lighted fields of old story,
Came Nine who were heavenly fair;
Their limbs were of beauty a glory,
And a glory of gold was their hair.
They moved as in musical numbers,
To the grove, Aganippe across,
And laid by the youth in his slumbers,
Their gifts in the emerald moss.
The first a bronze style like a feather,
The second an inkstand of brass,
The third a neat album in leather,
The fourth a Bohemian glass,
The fifth gave red wax and a taper,
The sixth a gold eye-glass and sheath,
The seventh cigars wrapped in paper,
The eighth a sweet asphodel wreath.
The ninth bent her knee in the heather,
And kissed him full tender and true,
Then vanished on high in the æther
As angels invariably do.
Up sprung the young dreamer and panted
And sang in a measure sublime,
And swung, like a creature enchanted,
A twig of wild laurel in time.
Then up came his friends 'mong the peasants
And praised his good fortune that day,
And led him with all his fine presents
To Askra in festive array:
And there all the wisest or rudest,
Considered the matter in doubt,
Until the Nomarchos as shrewdest
To Böotia this sentence gave out.
'To him heaven opens a portal,
No more at the flocks let him look.
He is destined to be an immortal,
Write poems--and publish a book.'
They found him a rod neat and slender,
In long garments they gave him to God;
Then he wrote them the Farmer's Calénder,
And Theogony too--Hesiod.
[MODERN GREEK.]
BY ATHANASIOS CHRISTOPOULOS.
πλουτον δεν θελω
Δοξαν δεν θελω
Ουτ'εξουσιαν
Ποτε καμμιαν.
Δεν θελω γνωσιν
ουτε καν τοσην
̔Οσ'ειν του φυλλου
Κι ̔οσ'ειν του ξυλου.
Τουτες ̔η κρυες
Η φαντασιες
̔Οσω ευφαινουν
Τοσω πικραινουν
[TRANSLATION].
Reichthum und Ehre
Nimmer ich 'gehre;
Herrschaft und Würde;
Wär mir nur Bürde.
I never desire
Wealth or fame to acquire
Honour and station
Were but vexation.
And to be learned
I'm no more concerned,
Than in the thicket
Are field-mouse and cricket.
All those cold cheating
Phantom forms fleeting,
'Stead of reviving,
Are vexing and driving.
[MODERN GREEK.]
θελω ειρηνην
Ψυχης γαληνην
Χορους ερωτων
Τρελαις και κροτον.
Θελο τραγουδια,
Κηπους, λουλουδια
Και χωραταδαις
Σταις πρασιναδαις.
Τουτα λατρευω
Τουτα γηλευω
Κ' ̔εις τουτ απανω
Θελ να ποθανω.]
[TRANSLATION.]
To me be given
The sweet peace of heaven,
A heart quiet resting,
Frolic and jesting!
Dramas sweet ringing,
Ball play and singing,
Music entrancing,
Wild whirling dancing!
Such I require,
Such I desire,
Rose-crowned, so
To the bier I would go!
[PUMPUS OF PERUSIA.]
Feucht hing die Sonne. Des Novembers Schauer ging
Mit leisem Frösteln durch das Land Hetruria.
Anpumpen, to pump, is a German slang term for borrowing. Pumpus was the name of an Etruscan prince.
Dim was the sunlight, and November shivering
Ran with a light frost o'er the land Etruria,
A gentle head-ache of the last night's origin,
Went threading through the air with weary pinion-beat;
A weak and bankrupt feeling lay on hill and dale,
The sacred olive tree, whose last thin yellow leaf
Thrilled in the wind, stretched mournfully its branches forth
Barren and bare, as wanting what was needfullest;
E'en the street pavement was suspicious. To the eye
The old primæval basalt's firm material
Seemed changed that day to very porous carbonate,
And all things--all things--all things had a seedy look.
Such was the day when, in the early morning hour,
A weary wight from Populonia's portal went;
In vain the guard on the Cyclopean city wall
Cast on the lord a hopeful glance for drink-money,--
He drew him back--and glared at him--and gave nothing.
There where the road goes winding towards Suessulæ,
And some old priest's strange ten-pin-towered monument
Mournfully casts a shadow o'er the bleaching field,
He paused awhile--in the reed grass stuck his javelin,
And in his chlamys foldings sadly sought awhile,
Then sought again--then made one more experiment--
Yet found not what he sought for.
Oh, who knows the pain
Which rears up horse-like in a brave Etruscan heart
When all things--all things--all things tend to poverty,
And the horror of the Empty in the pocket dwells
Where once the sesterce gaily by the denar rang!
The helm removing from his heavy-laden head,
He raised his right hand to his forehead thoughtfully,
His tearful glance went back to Populonia,
And lurid lightning flickered from his hero-eye.
'Oh thou Chimæra Tavern!' said he mournfully,
'Was that the end of 't? Meant that the flock of birds
Which three days past went croaking to the left hand side?
Said that the oxen's, entrails enigmatical?
Oh thou Chimæra Tavern, what is pleasanter
Than entering as a guest into thy guest-chamber?
There neatly waits the experienced tavern-keeper;
And heroes round the cool wine are convivial;
Around the noble hill-descended Dimeros.
From drinking mouths comes wisdom flowing thoughtfully,
While at the upper linen-covered long table,
Where Tegulinum's augur to the latest hour,
Sternly defying, stands it like a bronze column,
And sings in glees; that wonderful astrologer;--
Oh thou Chimæra Tavern, tell--if possible--
Whither goes hurrying?--ha! what was't I nearly spoke?--
What word--thrice god-curst word--on which--oh horrible!
Hangs the Etruscan fate--ay, that's it--Ready Money!
Oh Fufluns! Fufluns! Bacchus--dark and terrible!
Now all is gone--away and gone away--ha--hummm!
And yet a deed, I swear 't shall now by me be done,
Such as the stupid world in dream has never dreamed,
Shuddering and cold--my name shall to posterity
By this one deed be carried, awful, horrible,
As true as I by this priest's grave am standing now,
I--Pumpus of Perusia, the Etruscan prince.'
He said--and went. A sunbeam fell uncannily
On spear and helm. Cold light was o'er the cypresses,
Deep the gale sighed--grave-deep--like moaning far-away.
The world was innocent then. As yet no one had known
The law of contracts with its windings intricate,
And e'en the sage in silver beard was ignorant
Of loans or such a deed as money borrowing;
Yet on that day i' the forest by Suessulæ
One hero by another bold was borrowed from!
This is the song of Pumpus of Perusia.
[THE TEUTOBURGER BATTLE.]
Als die Römer frech geworden,
Zogen sie nach Deutschlands Norden,
Vorne beim Trompetenschall
Ritt der Generalfeldmarschall
Herr Quinctilius Varus.
When the Romans, rashly roving,
Into Germany were moving,
First of all--to flourish, partial--
Rode 'mid trumps the great field-martial,
Sir Quinctilius Varus.
But in the Teutoburgian forest
How the north wind blew and chor-rused;
Ravens flying through the air,
And there was a perfume there
As of blood and corpses.
All at once, in sock and buskins
Out came rushing the Cheruskins
Howling, 'Gott und Vaterland!'
They went in with sword in hand,
Against the Roman legions.
Ah, it was an awful slaughter,
And the cohorts ran like water;
But of all the foe that day,
The horsemen only got away,
Because they were on horseback.
O Quinctilius! wretched general,
Knowest thou not that such our men are all?
In a swamp he fell--how shocking!
Lost two boots, a left-hand stocking.
And, besides, was smothered.
Then, with his temper growing wusser.
Said to Centurion Titiusser,
'Pull your sword out--never mind,
And bore me through with it behind,
Since the game is busted.'
Scaevola, of law a student,
Fine young fellow--but imprudent
As a youth of tender years,
Served among the volunteers,--
He was also captured.
E'en his hoped-for death was baffled,
For ere they got him to the scaffold
He was stabbed quite unaware,
And nailed fast en derrière
To his Corpus Juris.
When this forest fight was over
Hermann rubbed his hands in clover;
And to do the thing up right,
The Cheruscans did invite
To a first-rate breakfast.
But in Rome the wretched varmints
Went to purchase morning garments;
Just as they had tapped a puncheon,
And Augustus sat at luncheon,
Came the mournful story.
And the tidings so provoked him,
That a peacock leg half choked him,
And he cried--beyond control--
'Varus--Varus--d--n your soul!
Redde legiones!'
His German slave, Hans Schmidt be-christened,
Who in the corner stood and listened,
Remarked, 'Der teufel take me wenn
He efer kits dose droops acain,
For tead men ish not lifin.'
Now, in honour of the story,
A monument they'll raise for glory.
As for pedestal--they've done it;
But who'll pay for a statue on it
Heaven alone can tell us.
[OLD ASSYRIAN--JONAH.]
Im schwarzen Wallfisch zu Ascalon
Da trank ein Mann drei Tag',
Bis dass er steif wie ein Besenstiel
Am Marmortische lag.
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
A man drank day by day,
Till, stiff as any broom-handle,
Upon the floor he lay.
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The landlord said: 'I say,
He's drinking of my date-juice wine
Much more than he can pay!'
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The waiters brought the bill,
In arrow-heads on six broad tiles
To him who thus did swill.
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The guest cried out: 'O woe!
I spent in the Lamb at Nineveh
My money long ago!'
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
The clock struck half-past four
When the Nubian porter he did pitch
The stranger from the door.
In the Black Whale at Ascalon
No prophet hath renown;
And he who there would drink in peace
Must pay the money down.
[BY THE BORDER.]
Ein Römer stand in finstrer Nacht
Am deutschen Grenzwall Posten,
Fern vom Castell war seine Wacht,
Das Antlitz gegen Osten.
Barritum civere vel maximum. Qui clamor ipso fervore certaminum a tenui susurro exoriens paullatimque adolescens situ extollitur fluctuum cantibus illisorum.--Ammian. Marcellin. xvi. 12.
A Roman stood in midnight lost,
For the German line selected;
Far from the castle was his post,
His glances east directed.
He heard a murmur and a fuss,
And distant voices ringing--
No pæan of Horatius;
Right savage was the singing:
'Ha--haw--haw! we got ye safe at last,
Got ye by the skirt, too--got ye firm and fast,
You scamp, you!'
With a maiden of the Chatten race
He oft in love had meddled,
And sought her in a lonely place,
Disguised as one who peddled.
Now came the vengeance--one, two, three!
Now o'er the wall they're climbing,
Screeching like cats in agony,
With hatchet rattle chiming.
'Ha--haw--haw! we got you safe at last,
Got you by the skirt, too--got you firm and fast,
You scamp, you!'
He drew his sword, he blew his horn,
And like a warrior shook him;
But vain were pluck and Roman scorn--
The savage Deutschers took him.
They tied him fast, and in a word
Away with him went bounding,
And when the cohort came, it heard
Far through the pine-trees sounding:
'Ha--haw--haw I we've got him safe at last,
Got him by the skirt, too--got him firm and fast,
You scamp, you!'
In the holy grove, toward the east,
Were all the Chatten foemen,
To celebrate the Odin feast
Of Jul, with blood of Roman.
He felt himself like roasted meat
'Twixt savage grinders going;
Out sprang his blonde-haired darling sweet,
And cried with tears hot flowing:
Ha--haw--haw! I've got you safe at last,
Got you by the skirt, too--got you firm and fast,
You scamp, you!'
Then all the Chats were deeply moved
To see her thus accost him,
And said, 'Since they so well have loved,
'Twould be a shame to roast him,
Here let them wed.' This ends the tale.
'Yes, wed at once before us;
And all day long throughout the vale
We'll sing as bridal chorus,
"Ha--haw--haw! were got you safe at last,
Got you by the skirt, too--got you firm and fast,
You scamp, you!"'
[HILDEBRAND AND HADUBRAND.]
DAS HILDEBRANDLIED.
.... Hiltibraht enti Hathubrant.
Hildebrand und sein Sohn Hadubrand,
Hadubrand,
Ritten selbander in Wuth entbrannt,
Wuth entbrannt,
Gegen die Seestadt Venedig.
Hildebrand und sein Sohn Hadubrand,
Hadubrand,
Keiner die Seestadt Venedig fand,
--nedig fand,
Da schimpften die beiden unfläthig.
Hildebrand and his son Hadubrand,
Hadubrand,
Rode off together with sword in hand,
Sword in hand,
All to make war upon Venice.
Hildebrand and his son Hadubrand,
Hadubrand,
Neither could find the Venetian land,
'Netian land,
Dire were their curses and menace.
Hildebrand and his son Hadubrand,
Hadubrand,
Got drunk as lords in a jolly band,
--jolly band--
All the while swearing and bawling;
Hildebrand and his son Hadubrand,
Hadubrand,
Drunk till they neither could walk or stand,
Walk or stand,
Home on all fours they went crawling.
[SONG OF THE TRAVELLING STUDENTS.]
O liberales clerics
Nû merchet rehte wi dem si
Date: vobis dabitur
Ir sült lan offen iwer tür
Vagis et egentibus
So gewinnet ihr das himelhûs,
Et in perenni gaudio
Alsus alsô, alsus alsô!
Pfarrherr, du kühler, öffne dein' Thor,
Fahrende Schüler stehen davor.
Fahrende Schüler, unstete Kind,
Singer und Spieler, wirbliger Wind.
Parson Sir Prudence, open your gate!
Travelling students your welcome await!
Travelling scholar, whimsical child!
Singer and stroller, the wind-whirling wild.
Iron throats for drinking--bellies like fires,
Gold souls unshrinking--which no one desires,
Thin garments sporting--weather so raw,
Ah--and our courting--on hay and in straw!
Parson, Sir Prudence, open your gate!
Travelling students your welcome await!
Suabia, Franconia have given us food,
Sans ceremonié--an all eating brood;
Fed us, rapacious, God keep them from harm!
Like the voracious and wild locust swarm,
What we've o'erpowered--once fertile and fair,
All is devoured--shorn barren and bare.
Parson Sir Prudence, open your gate!
Travelling students your welcome await!
Makest not thy oven free, miserly owl,
We'll haul thee to Coventry straight by the cowl.
Pull off your breeches, the shoes from your feet,
Hang them like fitches out here in the street;
He who would own it and do us a hurt,
He must atone it in stockings and shirt.
Parson Sir Prudence, open your tower!
Travelling students your bars will o'erpower!
Ho, ho, heiadihoh!
Avoy, avoy, alez avanz!
Alsus also, alsus alsus also!
Ho ho heiadihoh, hoh, ho, ho!
[THE CLOISTER CELLAR MASTER'S
SUMMER MORNING SONG.]
Hu weh! mir ist des Tages bang!
Tret ich hinaus in den schweigenden Bergwald
Den kaum das erste Frühlicht erhellet,
Wehe! noch lagert die Hitze von Gestern
Ueber versengtetn Moos und Gesträuch.
Ah me! what a dull day it is!
If I go out in the wood on the mountain
When the tops shine in the earliest sunlight,
Ah! there still lingers the dry heat of yestern
On the singed mosses and withering shrubs,
And all around me come m/idges by thousands,
Stinging and bold,
As if the hot sun were sprinkling in sparkles.
Wide gaping crevices split the earth round us;
Grass dries to hay before they can mow it,
And in the air sweeps
Dust ....
Ah me! what a dull day it is!
If I seek by the trunk of the giant-grown beech-tree
A cool place to sit on the rough-hewn stone bench,
Where by the eight-cornered slab of the table
The brethren merrily rest in the forest,
Ah! there the stone rays a heat that is horrible,
Cannot endure me!
All because I, when just seated, so nimbly
Jumped in a hurry.
Grasshoppers sit, sound asleep, by the road-side
Quiet as can be.
Dull ....
Ah me! what a dull day it is!
These are the times, hey, when people and cattle
Are scorching red-hot like the irons in a smithy!
Pour on them drops or long floods of cold water,
All would be swallowed and nothing be quenched.
Ah!--hey!--the matin bell still is a-ringing,
And I'm seized with a powerful yearning already
To go to the cloister, and down to the cellar!
Whether I'll tarry there steadily drinking
Until the night comes,
Or a loud clattering thunder in heaven
Breaks up this wearisome terrible heat,
I don't know,
Only my thirst is
Dreadful ....
Ah me! what a dull day it is.
[THE MAULBRONN FUGUE.]
--'Wem das Kloster Maulbrunn bekandt, der hats können mit seinen Augen sehen, wie in dem Vorhoff selbiger schönen erbauten Kirchen oben im Schwibbogen unter anderen Gemälden auch eine Gans abgemalt steht, an welcher eine Fläsch, Bratwürst, Bratspiss und dergleichen hangen, neben einer zur nassen Andacht gar wohl componirten Fuga folgenden Tenors mit ihrem unterlegten Text, gleichwohl nur den initialibus literis A. V. K. L. W. H. welches villeicht dieser durstigen Münch und Religiosen Commentarius gewest, über das Hohelied Salomonis: Comedite amici et bibite et inebriamini charissimi, &c., &c.'--Tob. Wagner, Evangel. Censur der Besoldischen Motiven, &c. Tübingen, 1640.
All Voll Keiner Leer Wein Her
[English.] He who knows the Abbey Maulbrunn may have seen with his own eyes how in the fore court of this beautifully built church, above in the double arch, there is painted, among other pictures, that of a goose by which hang a bottle, sausages, a roasting spit, and like things, near a well-composed fugue adapted to wet devotion, on the following theme, with the subjoined text, although with only the initial letters
A. V. K. L. W. H.
Or Alle Voll, Keiner Leer, Wein Her! meaning "All full, No one empty, Bring Wine here!"--which was perhaps the commentary of these thirsty monks and pious men on the Canticle of Solomon: Comedite amici et bibite et inebriamini charissimi, &c, &c.--Tobias Wagner, Evangel. Censur der Besoldischen Motiven, &c. Tübingen, 1640.
Im Winterrefectorium
Zu Maulbronn in dem Kloster
Da geht was um den Tisch herum
Klingt nicht wie Paternoster;
Die Martinsgans hat woklgethan,
Eilfinger blinkt im Kruge,
Nun hebt die nasse Andacht an
Und alles singt die Fuge:
A. V. K. L. W. H.
Complete Pocula!
In the winter refectorium
Of Maulbronn, in the cloister,
One hears a merry sound and hum,
Not like a paternoster.
The Martin's goose has tasted well,
Eilfinger wine they're bringing;
Now let the wet devotion swell,
While all the fugue are singing:
A. V. K. L. W. H.
Complete Pocula!
The Abbot Duckfoot--Holy John,
Came waddling in and grumbling:
'What is't so late, when the feast is done,
To fiddles ye are mumbling?
Cease! ye disturb the Doctor Faust,
In the garden tower behind there;
If from his studies he be roused,
No gold will he e'er find there.
A. V. K. L. W. H.
Cavete scandala!'
Herr Faust sat backwards by the wall,
Alone with pleasure-drinking,
But now the sorcerer, pale and tall,
Held forth the wine red blinking.
Said he: 'I've studied making gold,
By magic sought to win it;
But now I see that I am sold,
And that there's nothing in it.
A. V. K. L. W. H.
This is the gold--aha!
'I find from Hermes Trismegist
Gold yields itself unwilling;
The sun is the true alchemist,
All fluidly distilling.
When through our veins 't has glowed and relled;
With Eilfinger we try it;
Then you have gold, have real gold,
And honourably come by it.
A. V. K. L. W. H.
Hæc vera practica!'
Then laughed the Abbot. 'That sounds fair;
It sets me too to drinking,
For All Voll, Keiner Leer, Wein Her!
Is a wet fugue, I'm thinking.
As Faust's gold-proverb it shall be
Painted by the officials
In the transept. All the melody
Is found in the initials.
A. V. K. L. W. H.
Sit vino gloria!'
[DER ENDERLE VON KETSCH.]
This ballad is founded on an incident narrated in the description of the Palatinate by Merian (1645), where, speaking of the village Ketsch, he tells us that--'The Counte Palatine Otto Heinrich, afterwards Kurfürst, sailed in the yeere 1530 to the Holie Lande and to Jerusalem. Returning thence, hee came over the greate open sea where a shipp from Norwaie mett him, and from it there came this crye: "Flye, flye, for ye fatt Enderle von Ketsch cometh!" Now, the Counte Palatine and his Chancellor Mückenhäuser knew a godless wretche of this name who dwelte at Ketsch, and therefore whenn they returned home they inquired of ye fatt Enderle and of the tyme of his deathe, and observed that itt agreed withe the tyme whenn they did heare the crye upon ye sea, as Weyland, a Professor of Heidelberg; hath narrated in divers wrytings which hee left behinde.'
The translator has endeavoured to give this version of the extract from Merian in English corresponding to the style of the original old German.
Jetzt weicht, jetzt flieht! Jetzt weicht, jetzt flieht
Mit Zittern und Zähnegefletsch:
Jetzt weicht, jetzt flieht! Wir singen das Lied
Vom Enderle von Ketsch!
CHORUS.
'Away--along! Away--along!
With, trembling, your jaws on the stretch.
Away--along! We sing the song
Of Enderle von Ketsch!
SOLO.
Ott Heinrich the Pfalzgrave of Rhine--oh!
Spoke out of a morning; 'Rem blem!
I'm tired of the sour Hock wine--oh!
I'm off for Jerusalem.
'Far lovelier, neater, and nicer
Are the maids there who give you the cup;
Oh, Chancellor! oh, Mückenhäuser,
Five thousand gold ducats pack up.'
And as before Joppa they anchored
The Chancellor held up his hand:
'Now drain to the dregs your last tankard,
For the ducats are come to an end.'
Ott Heinrich said, 'Well, and no wonder,--
Rem blem! what remains to be seen!
We'll paddle for Cyprus out yonder,
And make a small raise on the Queen.'
But just as the galley was dancing
By Cyprus, in beautiful night,
A storm o'er the billows came prancing,
With thunder and flashes of light.
In a ghastly wild glare, by the landing,
A black ship came rushing along;
There a ghost in his shirt-sleeves was standing,
And howling a horrible song.
CHORUS.
'Away--along! Away--along!
With trembling, your jaws on the stretch.
Away--along! I sing the song
Of Enderle von Ketsch!'
SOLO.
The thunder grew calmer and wiser,
Like oil lay the water below;
But oh, the old brave Mückenhäuser
The Chancellor felt sorrow and woe.
The Pfalzgrave stood up by the rudder,
And gazed on the billowy foam;
'Rem blem! all my soul's in a shudder,
Oh, Cyprus--I travel for home!
'God spare me such terrible menace--
I'm wiser through trial and pain;
Back, back on our course to old Venice--
I'll ne'er borrow money again.
'And he who 'mid heathens at table
His cash to the devil has slammed,
Let him hook it in peace while he's able,--
It sounds like all hell and be damned!'[[6]]