THE REPENTANT BARON.
A Lay of Berlin.
(After Professor Shortfellow.)
In his chamber, mine adjoining,
Was the German Baron dining.
Loud his voice with passion thundered,
And with fear the kellner shook.
As I listened it was plainer
That he bullied this retainer,
Forasmuch as he had blundered;
Or it might have been the cook.
Just outside, upon the Linden,
On an instrument (a wind 'un)
Played a minstrel most demurely,
Dismal as the parish waits.
And so loud he kept on getting,
While his frau stood by him, knitting,
That I thought, "The Baron, surely,
Will demolish all the plates."
"Spare a groschen, princely stranger!
May you never be in danger
Of the want of means to spare 'un,
Or a couple, if so be."
Then the minstrel went on playing,
Not a single word more saying;
And exclaimed the shuddering Baron,
"Miserere Domine!"
Tears upon his eyelids glistened
While in agony he listened
To the instrument (a wind 'un)
Which the minstrel he did play.
Then unto the kellner ready,
"Take this double thaler," said he,
To the minstrel of the Linden,
Begging him to go away."
In that hour of deep contrition
He beheld with double vision
All the sins he had committed,
And he said in accents thick
To the kellner, "Loo' here, kellner,
You're a 'spec'ble kind o' felner;
I'm a felner to be pitied;
I'm a mis'ble felner! Hic.
"Can you feel for one in sorrow?
I shall make my will to-morrow;
I shall leave you all my money,
Every single thing that's mine.
Watch—repeater; ring—carbuncle;
Kellner you're my long-lost uncle.
Just discovered this—how funny!
Fesh another bolowine."
Many hours the clock has numbered
Since the German Baron slumbered;
And his boots are at the portal
Of his chamber, free from dust;
And an instrument (a wind 'un)
Sounds again upon the Linden,
Waking that unhappy mortal
From the snorings of the just.
GODFREY TURNER.
Tom Hood's Comic Annual, 1871.
Longfellow's ballad, The Skeleton in Armour commences thus:—
"SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armour drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?"
its metre was admirably imitated by the late C. S. Calverley, in his