THE SULTAN AT THE KAISER'S KOURT
Enter
SECOND SONS
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Mohammed Dammed, gift of God!
The Sultan's second son,
Enjoys a pilgrimage abroad
With Eitel Fritz the Hun.
These second sons, of sons of guns,
Are sure some friendly foes;
But to what length their friendship runs
Jehovah only knows.
Just now the Sultan, also, dines
At Williams' kultured kourt,
And downs the Kaiser's doctored wines
While Kaiser downs his porte.
One day young Dammed said to Fritz:
"Who started this fool row?
Whoever did was void of wits,
As you must know by now."
Said Eitel, "Though I'm from Missour,
Some say it was my Dad;
But as they're going to Bag-dad sure,
He'll wish he never had."
Said Dammed, "If they bag your Dad
They'll bag my Daddy sure,
And make him wish he never had
Come here to seek a cure.
"Your father promised mine to win
From Cork to Timbuctoo;
If we would throw our Turkey in
Your bloody Pots-dam brew!
"Besides, he promised on demand
Star-eyed Parisian pearls!
Great hunks of Greece, Manhattan and
A thousand chorus girls!
"He also swore by every beard
The prophets ever tore,
That great Mahomet had appeared
Before his chamber door.
"And hurled his mantle—so revered—
The blooming transom o'er;
And hence my foolish father feared
The awful robe he wore!"
Fritz gazed upon the rolling Rhine
With bleary, beery eyes,
And as he sips his foaming stein,
To Dammed thus replies:
"Thy father was a howling mutt
Thus to believe my sire;
For 'scraps of paper' never cut
Much ice with any liar.
"That he has promised you too much
Cannot be well denied;
For many things will 'beat the Dutch,'
I find since Hannah died.
"My dad and 'first born' started out,
To eat the world in gobs,
But now they're down to spuds and krout,
And what the army robs.
"I have no patience with the bunch
That failed to win from France,
The crown prince plainly lacks the punch—
Why not give me a chance!
"A million soldiers good and true
Went down to death for him,
And chances still of 'breaking thru,'
Are daily growing slim.
"I love him not, nor yet his clique,
Who deem themselves so smart:
I'd like to serve them all a kick
Where their Prince Alberts part.
"To whip the French, they'll have to sail
Thru blood to gay Paree—
Here's hoping Poilus will not fail
To make crown prince of me!
"For O, I'd love to have a peep
Into that promised land!"
Thus saying Eitel fell asleep—
And snored to beat the band!
And while Eitel was dreaming,
Of something or other,
The son of the Sultan
Wrote home to his mother.
"On Linden when the sun was low,"
The Sultan's second wrote.
These mild impressions of the foe,
That has his father's goat:
"Dear ma, according to my pledge,
I write these lines to thee,
While sitting on the ragged edge
In dear old Germany.
"I'm at the court of last resort,
Our royal Ali Bill's:
And found my father at the port
Forgetting all his ills.
"Compared with livers over here
Dad's health is fairly good,
And sure, that boy was full of cheer,
On 'burning deck' that stood.
"Great doctor Kaiser, best of men!
To cure dad's mal-a-dy;
Injects his Kultur now and then
In dad's anatomy.
"This Kultur is a German germ
That germinates a juice,
Which in its turn creates a worm
That generates the duce!
"I'm not well up on wormy laws,
Nor how this Kultur's spread,
I only know its use will cause
A swelling of the head!
"I think we'll not prolong our stay,
There are no harems here;
The women have no time for play,
The men no time for cheer.
"They's raising crops, but none to sell,
As few would want their goods:
The men are busy raising hell—
The women raising spuds!
"The spuds are raising women's sons—
The sons all fight for Bill,
And thus it runs that all the Huns
Are simply raising hell!
"I heard a 'concert of the Powers'
One stormy night of late,
And there, of course, the joy was ours
To hear the 'Hymn of Hate.'
"It seems to be the only song
That all the boches know,
And slips with ease from every tongue
Where 'Uber alles' grow.
"They sang the 'Hymn' with awful vim,
And turning round our way,
They looked at me and smiled at 'him,'
As much as if to say,
"'There's not a Turk can beat that work,
'Twas made in Germany!'—
'That may be so, but by my dirk,
I think the Turk will try!'
"Yea classed with watchdogs of the Rhine,
And dastard deeds they've done,
Our dad, I swear, doth really shine
A saintly paragon!
"He felt ashamed that any race,
Of earth or Hell below,
Could so outshine him to his face—
In hatred of a foe!
* * * * *
"I pity the Armenian
When dad gets back to work again;
For he has tortures now in store
Eclipsing all he knew before!"
Enter the Clown Prince.
"The next upon the program was
The Kaiser's eldest son,
Who sang to thunders of apeplause
'Der land vare ve ver-dun'!
"And as his tears on Brussels flow,
His voice pathetic grew,
While singing solemnly and low
'I see my Waterloo!
"'I'm sick and sore and sorry and
I'm licked and lonely, too:
Vile odders see der Vaterland
I see mine "Vaterloo"! Boo-hoo!'
"Dear mother it was sad I claim
To hear him blubber so;
The blooming boob is not to blame
For what he doesn't know.
"From infancy they taught the kid
To bank on 'right's divine';
And that no matter what he did
The Lord was with his 'Line.'
"And so, when shot and shell and trench,
And 'Me und Gott' und Co.
Had failed to crush the hated French,
It queered his status quo!
"But Kaiser Bill was on the job,
And said 'it's getting late;'
We'll dry the tear and swab the sob
And sing the 'Hymn of Hate.'
And so they sang the 'hymn' again
To stimulate the prince:
And encored with that sad refrain
'The days of auld lang since.'
"Then Kaiser rising with a spring
Said, Gentlemen a-hem—
Our friend, the Sultan, now will sing
The 'New Jerusalem'"!
"'And after that, excuse the joke,
He'll sing that song of caste,
The "Turkey in the Straw, that broke
The Camel's back at last."'
"The Kaiser's kounsel knocked the spots
Off father's self command,
For he had such unholy thots,
Anent the Holy Land.
"But he was game as old McBeth,
Resolved to do or die;
The odor of his very breath
Was 'comin' thru the rye':
"'My breath is hot enough to stew,
My blood is hot within
From being chased like Moses thru
The "Wilderness of Sin."
"'They're chasing me across the sand—
Don't mention Waterloo!—
From Dan unto Beersheba and
A little further, too.
"'The sand is hot along the trail,
Jerusalem how hot—!
And as I hear those bagpipes wail,
I murmur, Oh great Scot!
"'Behind each chanter blows a Gael,
Loud, strong and piping hot;
And those en-chanters never fail
To make me, Turkey, trot!
"And woe betide deluded ones
Who meet this kilted race,
And deem the grim denuded ones
But females out of place!
"Engage them in a bayonet charge
And dupes will quickly find,
Those skirts are worn to camouflage
The dynamite behind!
"O demons of the fighting line,
Whose limits are the earth;
The empire great in which you shine
Doth bless thy place of birth.
"Ubiquitous, pugnacious Scot,
You've nobly done your share;
For, ever where the fighting's hot,
The Tartan flutters there!
"Yea Turkey Trot and Tanko tune!
Those dances are the style,
We hop to their compelling rune
From Baltic to the Nile.'
"The Kaiser didn't quite approve
The course the Sultan chose,
And deemed it time that he should move
The Turkish mouth to close.
"'He's taken too much Scotch in tow
Their praises thus to sing:
The next we know he'll queer the show
And dance the Highland Fling!'
"And as they led the Turk to bed,
He said the deal was raw—
Yes raw and red, 'pipe up,' he said
With 'Turkey in the Straw!'
"Here Sheik-Ul-Islam bang arose
And cried it wasn't fair,
To stem the golden flood that flows
From Allah's chosen heir.
"'Mine is the will,' said Kaiser Bill,
'That rules the world today;
No kings or khans or Gods or clans
Can these my words gainsay.'
"And then to prove that he was king
And Ruler over all,
He ordered Hindenburg to sing!
Or rather lead the bawl.
"Then Hindenburg mid many raus
Essayed a clever line;
The song he sang with fervor was,
'Fair Byng-in on the Rhine.'
"The song a sad one in its day,
Brought some to verge of tears:
But when they heard Von Hinden bray
The place was near all jeers!
"'You're off your line,' the singers laugh,
Von Hindenburg said 'Nay,
I'm only wobbling on the staff,
My bass is weak today.'
"'Your vocal chords are out of joint,
Your lines are running wrong,
Therefore I think I will appoint
Myself to sing a song.'
"So saying, Kaiser Bill arose
And clearing out his throat,
Assumed that well known lordly pose!
And sang without a note.
"The music with me still abides,
My ears with discord ring:
Dear mother you would split your sides,
To hear the Kaiser sing.
"O, why the agony prolong?
This was the burden of his song:
"'On der shore of Italy
Mine Spag-etta vaits for me,
I am longing so for thee
Mine dear Venus by der sea.
"'Und anodder maiden fair,
She vos vaiting 'over there,'
"Und I'll take mine supmarine,
Und mine super-air-machine,
Und 'Columbia der Chem of der Ocean'
Vill soon be mine own Kaiserine!'"
Here Eitel woke and poked my ribs,
And whispered in my ear,
"The words to suit his royal nibs
Would thusly run, I fear."
"Fair Saint Helena is the maid,
That calls thee to her side—
She is lonely, I'm afraid,
Since her former war-lord died!"
'Twas at this point a warning dire
Came Hertling thru the hall,
And danced in words of lurid fire
Upon the gilded wall.
And "Mene, Mene," once again
A tyrant's eyes behold,
The writing on the wall was plain
As in the days of old.
And gazing on that fiery scroll
The guilty Kaiser quakes—
May God have mercy on his soul
When Germany awakes!
JOHN LABONNE'S DREAM
Or
A SAD AWAKENING
A Song of the Trenches
All las' night I was me dreamin',
Dreamin' where de cannon's roar,
An' my spirit, so it's seemin',
Wend its flight to home once more.
Dare I heard de church bells ringin'
An' de robin red breas' singin',
Back to me de tam was bringin'
W'en I part wit' Rosemarie.
Rosemarie! De bells are ringin', oh how sweet de melodie!
Rosemarie! De robin's singin', an' it's always callin' me!
It was springtam an' all nature
Seem to join de robin's song,
All de sheep an' cattle feel it,
For de winter was so long.
O, it was one joyful meetin',
Ev'ry creature give me greetin',
An' ma heart tattoo was beatin'
W'en I t'ink of Rosemarie.
Rosemarie, ma heart is beatin', O how sweet dat pain can be!
Rosemarie, it kips repeatin', an' each beat is true to thee.
Springtam creep along de meadow,
Springtam whisper on de hill;
W'ere de sunshine chase de shadow
Ro'nd ma home at St. Camille.
Dare it stood, ma well known dwellin',
Dat I love beyond de tellin',
And ma heart in me was swellin'
W'en I see ma Rosemarie.
Rosemarie, my heart is swellin', and it's all for love of thee!
Rosemarie, it kips on tellin' dat you're all de worl' to me!
Joyfully she come to meet me,
Wit' de love light in her eye;
Smilin' tru' de tears she greet me—
Nevaire more to say good bye.
W'en I see dem tear drop fallin',
Jus' lak dew of early mornin',
Hangel voices seem lak callin',
Callin' Joe to Rosemarie!
Rosemarie, de angels' callin', O how sweet dat soun' to me!
Rosemarie, you' tear drops fallin' coax ma heart across de sea!
Paradise den open to me,
As she whisper, "Welcome home."
To my arms her form I drew me—
Den, Sapre! I wake, an' boom!
Roar of gun for church-bell ringin',
Howl of Hun for robins' singin'—
Loving arms no more are clingin':
War is hell, sweet Rosemarie!