So he quickly approach’d, and with the axe
Remorselessly he shatter’d
Those skeletons poor of bigotry,
And into atoms scatter’d.
The echoing blows from the vaulted roof
Rang wildly, in countless numbers;
While streams of blood pour’d out from my breast,
And I awoke from my slumbers.
CAPUT VIII.
From Cologne to Hagen it costs to post
Five Prussian dollars, six groschen;
The diligence chanced to be full, so I came
In a chaise, though rough was the motion.
’Twas a late autumn morning, both damp and grey
The coach in the mud groan’d sadly;
Yet despite the bad weather, despite the bad road,
Sweet thoughts pervaded me gladly.
’Tis my own native air, and the glow on my cheek
Could bear no other construction;
The very dirt in the highway itself
Is my fatherland’s production!
The horses wagg’d their tails like old friends,
As they went along in a canter;
Their very dung appear’d to me fair
As the apples of Atalanta!
We pass’d through Mühlheim. The people are dull
And busy, the town far from dirty;
I last was there in the merry month
Of May, in the year one and thirty.
All things then stood in blooming attire,
And the sunlight sweetly was blinking;
The birds were singing their yearning song,
While the men were hoping and thinking.
Thus thought they: “The lanky order of knights
“Will depart from amongst us shortly;
“Their farewell draught they shall drink from long flasks
“Of iron, in fashion not courtly!