“It gives us internal unity,
“In thought as well as in feelings;
“A united Germany need we to rule
“Our outward and inward dealings.”
CAPUT III.
In the old cathedral at Aix-la-Chapelle
Lie buried great Charlemagne’s ashes;
(Not the living Charles Mayer in Swabia born,
Who the writer of so much trash is!)
As the smallest of poets I’d sooner live
At Stukkert, by Neckar’s fair river,
Than be buried as Emp’ror at Aix-la-Chapelle,
And so be extinguish’d for ever.
In the streets of Aix-la-Chapelle the dogs
Are ennui’d, and humbly implore us:
“O stranger, prythee give us a kick,
And to life for a time thus restore us.”
I saunter’d along in this tedious place
For an hour, with great perseverance,
And saw that the Prussian soldiery
Are not the least changed in appearance.
The high red collar still they wear,
With the same grey mantle below it—
(The Red betokens the blood of the French,
Sang Körner the youthful poet).
They are still the wooden pedantic race,
In every motion displaying
The same right angle, and every face
A frigid conceit still betraying.
They walk about stiffly, as though upon stilts,
Stuck up as straight as a needle,
Appearing as if they had swallow’d the stick
Once used as the best means to wheedle.
Yes, ne’er has entirely vanish’d the rod,
They carry it now inside them;
Familiar Du will recall the old Er
Wherein they were wont to pride them.