“I fain would hear again from his mouth
“The words ‘young stupid!’ repeated,
“Which always in my younger days
“My heart like music greeted.
“I yearn’d for the blue smoke that high in the air
“From German chimneys reaches,
“For the Lower-Saxony nightingales,
“For the silent groves of beeches.
“I yearn’d for all the sorrowful spots,
“The places where once I resorted,
“Where once I trail’d my youthful cross,
“And my crown of thorns supported.
“I fain would weep where I formerly wept
“Those tears so bitter and burning;
“The love of fatherland methinks
“They call this foolish yearning.
“I love not to talk of it; ’tis nought else
“But a whim of the’ imagination;
“Shamefaced by nature, I hide my wounds
“From public observation.
“O how I detest the trumpery set
“Who, to stir men’s passion heated,
“Of patriotism make a show
“With all its ulcers fetid.
“They’re shameless and shabby beggars all,
“Who live upon people’s charity;
“For Menzel[63] and all his Swabians, here’s
“A penn’orth of popularity!
“My goddess! thou hast found me to-day
“Of a tender disposition!
“I’m rather ill, but a little care
“Will soon recruit my condition.
“Yes, I am ill, and thou canst refresh
“My spirits in a minute
“By means of a cup of excellent tea,
“With a little rum mix’d in it.”