Oft herself some fair one flatters
She will cheer his sorrowing heart;
But his coat of mail soon shatters
Every love-directed dart.
All in vain his friends endeavour
To enliven him and sing:
“In thy life rejoice thee ever,
“While thy lamp’s still glimmering!”
Is there nought can raise thy spirits
In this fair and charming town,
Which, among its many merits,
Boasts such men of great renown?
It is true, that it has lately
Lost full many a man of worth
Whom we miss and valued greatly,
Chorus-leaders and so forth.
Would that Massmann left us never!
He would surely have some day
By his antics strange but clever
Driven all thy cares away.
Schelling’s[79] loss is very serious,
And can never be replaced,
A philosopher mysterious,
And a mimic highly graced.
That the founder of Walhalla
Went away, and left behind
All his manuscripts,—by Allah!
That was really too unkind!
With Cornelius[80] also perish’d
All his pupils whatsoe’er;
They shaved off their tresses cherish’d,
And their strength was in their hair
For their prudent Master planted
In their hair some magic springs,
And it seem’d, as if enchanted,
To be full of living things.
Apropos! The arch-notorious
Priest, as Dollingerius known,—
That’s, I think, his name inglorious,—
Has he from the Isar flown?