They a mighty bowl of punch have
Drain’d already and devour’d;
(Understand me, ’twas unsugar’d,
And unwater’d and unsour’d.)
Sorrow o’er their souls is creeping,
Tears their furrow’d faces streak:
With a voice of deep emotion
Thus doth Crapulinski speak;
“Would that I had here in Paris
“My dear bearskin, my old cotton
“Dressing-gown, my catskin-nightcap,
“In my fatherland forgotten!”
Thus to him replied Waschlapski:
“O thou art a driv’ller true;
“Of thy home thou’rt over thinking,
“Catskin-nightcap, bearskin too.
“Poland has not yet quite perish’d,
“Still our wives to sons give birth,
“And our girls will do so likewise,
“And produce us men of worth,
“Heroes, like great Sobieski,
“Like Schelmufski and Uminski,
“Eskrokewitsch, Schubiakski,
“And the mighty Eselinski.”
OUR MARINE.[73]
(A Nautical tale.)
A dream of a fleet we lately dreamt,
And enjoy’d a sail delicious
Far over the wide and boundless sea,
The wind was quite propitious.
We gave our frigates the proudest names
That we in our calendar reckon’d;
One Hoffmann of Fallersleben we call’d,
And Prutz[74] we christen’d the second.
There floated the cutter Freiligrath,
Whereon was seen the figure
Of the Moorish king, which gazed below
Like a moon (but as black as a nigger).