"Nein, nein," sayt Liederschnitzerl;
"I komm not ash you say."
"Vell, den," antworded Fritzerl,
"It pe's anoder vay.
If you komm de Blains not uber,
I see vot you hafe do:
You make an longer um-way
Und gross de Istmoos troo."
"Nein, nein," acain saidt Schnitzerl,
"Dat road I nefer know,
Und vas not ride de Istmoose!"
Cried Fritz, erstaunisched, "SO
You komm de Blains not uber,
Nor gross de Istmoose troo?
Vell, den - to make de Horn aroundt
Vas all dat you could do!"
"I shvears py Gott!" says Schnitzerl,
"So sure as you vas porn,
Exshept oopon some ochsen
I nefer saw a horn.
Dat ish - mitwiles, too - while-en—
I hafe von in mine hand,
Und trink to dy Gesundheit,
Im lieben Vaterland."
Erstaunished stoot der Fritzerl:
No wort herout brought he:
Und sinned, und sinned - den sighftserd.
"Potz blitz! how vash dis pe?"
Ontill a light from Himmel
Vlash down into him shtraight,
Ash Heafen in Yacob Bohme
Vlash from a bewter blate.
Den laut he cry, eye-shbarklin,
Ash droonk mit Truth tifine,
Like der Wahrheitseher Novalis:
"Herr Gott! es leuch't mir ein!
If you komm de Blains not over,
Nor py Horn, nor py canal,
Den I shwears you dis, Hans Schnitzerl,
Du bist not here at all!"
MORAL.
Go in for Wahrheit,
Und for Pure Reason seek;
If it land you in a pog-hole,
Den die dere - like a brick!
Gott brosber all logikers,
Und pless deir nople breed;
Und so ist komm zu ende
Dis Breitmanns letzte Lied.
THE GYPSY LOVER.
DOT vos a schwartz Zigeuner[84]
Dot on a viddle played,
Und oonderneat' a fenster
He mak't a serenade.
Dot vos a lofely gountess
Who heardt de gypsy blay'n.
Said she, "Who make dot musik
Vot sound so wunderscheen?"