"Beer I bear to thee,
Battle's great apple-tree!
Mingled with might
And with bright glory,
All full of song."
-The Edda.
——-
I.
THE VISION.
"Dere vas vonce oopon a dimes a Frantchman who asket if a Sharman could hafe esprit. Allowin for his pad shbellin, de reater will find dat der Herr Breitmann was hafe a spree goot many dimes. You gant ged rount de Dootch." - FRITZ SWACKENHAMMER.
GOTTS blitz! blau Feuer, potz bomben Tod!
Vot shimmers in de mitnacht roth?
Like hell-shtrom boorst o'er heafen's plain,
Trowin dead light on eart acain:-
Ja! - wide im nord om Odin shtone
Lies a shiant form im glare alone.
Troonk py de eis-kalt roarin shdream
Der Hans ish hafe ein wunder tream.
Troonk om haunted Odinstein
Im Hexenlicht und Elfenschein
Vhere blooty Druids omens trew
From grin und screech of shaps dey slew;
Or vhere der Norseman long of yore
Vas carven eagles on de shore,
As o'er him yell de Valkyr broot
Und crows valk round knee teep im ploot,
Vhile rabens schkreem o'er ruddy bay;
Dere - ten pottles troonk - Hans Breitmann lay.
Fast und rof der war-man shnore
Like de hammer-shlog of Thor,
Schnell ash Mjollner's bang und beat
Heaved de form from het to veet
Vhile apofe him in de shkies
Dere he saw a glorie rise,
Und im mittle von it all
De iron lords of crate Valhall.
Long he gaze mit wolfen glare
At de Aesir in de air,
Long mit schneerin baren grin
He toorn his nase auf und hin
(For ne'er a Sherman - tam de otts-
Vas efer yet gife in to Gotts),
Dill avery Aes owned oop dat he
A gott-like man of brass moost pe.
Shtern der Breitmann raise his het,
To his fader Gotts he set:
"Let your worts of wisehood shlip;
Rush your runes, und let 'em rip!
For you de gotts hafe efer pe
Of dose who vere ash gotts to me:-
Alt Thor der Thoren here pelow-
Vot hell you vants,[36] I'd like to know?"