THE LAST PAIR OF BREECHES.
Air—“’Tis the last Rose of Summer.”
’Tis my la-a-st pair of bre-e-eches
Le-e-ft sa-a-dly a-lone;
Ah—and she too with her riches,
With another hence has gone.
Oh, they seemed in one piece knitted,
Such a pair is seldom matched;
Winter buckskin, how they fitted!
Large plaid pattern, never patched!
Strutting proudly as a turkey,
With those breeks I first sailed in;
In my pocket to the door-key
Rang such lots of lovely tin.
Ah, we fall as we have risen—
Soon no specie showed its face;
And the Heidelberg town-prison
Is a dark and silent place.
Soon I pawned all things worth pawning,—
Dress-coat, frock, and mantle light.
You too, now, ere morrow’s dawning,
My last trousers, good—good-night!
Day of trial, with what sorrow
Do I feel thy pain at last;
Nothing earthly bides the morrow,
And the pledge-laws travel fast.
All must go, though strictly hoarded,
Oh, last trousers, last of mine!
Elkan Levi, gloomy, sordid,
Old clo’,—take them, they are thine!
Boots!—of all my friends the truest,
Come and prop my suffering head;
But one pint, and that of newest,
May’st thou bring—enough is said!
Then abed, from this sad hour,
I’ll not rise, though all should ring,
Till a heavy golden shower
Through the roof comes pattering.
Then begone, for we must sever;
Greet thy fellows in their cell.
Ah! my legs already shiver;
My last breeches,—fare ye well!
J. V. Scheffel.