Some tea the goddess quickly made,
And then the rum pour’d she in;
But she herself preferr’d the rum
Without a drop of tea in.
Against my shoulder she lean’d her head,
And rather tumbled her bonnet
Or mural crown, and gently she spake,
While I reflected upon it:
“I often have thought with much alarm
“That in Paris, that wicked city,
“With the frivolous French thou’rt living still,—
“’Tis really a very great pity.
“Without an object thou’rt passing thy time,
“And hast not even beside thee
“Some faithful German publisher who
“As a Mentor might warn and guide thee.
“And then the temptations there are so great,
“So many a sylph amuses,
“Whose health is bad, and one’s peace of mind
“One far too easily loses.
“Return not again, but stop with us,
“Here modesty reigns still, and morals;
“And here thou may’st gather, e’en in our midst,
“In silence many fair laurels.
“In Germany stay, and thou’lt relish things more
“Than thou wert formerly able;
“We’re fast advancing, and thou must have seen
“Our progress so rapid and stable.
“The censorship even less rigorous is,
“Friend Hoffmann is milder and older;
“His youthful passion for cutting up
“Thy Reisebilder is colder.
“Thou too art older and milder now,
“And many things quietly takest,
“And in a better spirit than once,
“Past times thou now awakest.
“That matters in Germany used to go ill
“Is a great exaggeration;
“One could always escape, like the Romans of old,
“From serfdom, by self-immolation.