The long mustachio nothing more
Than the pigtail of old discloses
The tail that formerly hung behind
Is hanging right under their noses.
I was not displeased with the new costume
Of the cavalry, I must confess it;
And chiefly the headpiece, the helmet in fact
With the steel point above it, to dress it.
It seems so knightly, and takes one back
To the sweet romance of past ages,
To the Countess Johanna of Mountfaucon,
Tieck, Uhland, Fouqué, and such sages.
The middle ages it calls to mind,
With their squires and noble inferiors,
Who in their bosoms fidelity bore,
And escutcheons upon their posteriors.
Crusades and tourneys it brings back too,
And love, and respect at a distance,
And times of faith, ere printing was known,
When newspapers had no existence.
Yes, yes, I admire the helmet, it shows
An intellect truly enchanting!
Right royal indeed the invention was,
The point is really not wanting!
If a storm should arise, a peak like this
(The thought is terribly fright’ning)
On your romantic head might attract
The heavens’ most modern lightning!
At Aix-la-Chapelle, on the posthouse arms,
I saw the bird detested
Yet once again. With poisonous glare
His eyes upon me rested.
Detestable bird! If e’er thou should’st fall
In my hands, thou creature perfidious,
I would tear thy feathers from off thy back,
And hack off thy talons so hideous!
And then I would stick thee high up on a pole
In the air, thou wicked freebooter,
And then to the joyful shooting match
Invite each Rhenish sharpshooter.