“And when on the Mount St. Gothard I stood,
“Below me snored Germany loudly;
“Beneath the mild sway of thirty-six kings
“It slumber’d calmly and proudly.
“In Swabia I saw the poetical school
“Of dear little simpleton creatures;
“They sat together all ranged in a row,
“With very diminutive features.
“In Dresden I saw a certain dog,
“A sprig of the aristocracy;
“His teeth he had lost, and bark’d and yell’d
“Like one of the vulgar democracy.
“At Weimar, the Muses’ widow’d seat,
“I heard them their sentiments giving;
“They wept and lamented that Goethe was dead,
“And Eckermann still ’mongst the living!
“At Potsdam I heard a very loud cry,—
“I said in amaze: ‘What’s the matter?’—
“’Tis Gans[11] at Berlin, who last century’s tale
“Is reading and making this clatter.’
“At Göttingen knowledge was blossoming still,
“But bringing no fruit to perfection;
“’Twas dark as pitch when I got there at night,
“No light was in any direction.
“In the bridewell at Zell Hanoverians alone
“Were confined; at our next Reformation
“A national bridewell and one common lash
“We must have for the whole German nation.
“At Hamburg, in that excellent town,
“Many terrible rascals dwell still;
“And when I wander’d about the Exchange,
“I fancied myself in Zell still!
“At Hamburg I Altona saw; ’tis a spot
“In a charming situation;
“And all my adventures that there I met
“I’ll tell on another occasion.”[12]