The Breitmann Ballads Part 10

"Wohlauf mine pully cafaliers, Ve'll ride to shoorsh to-day, Each man ash hasn't cot a horse Moost shteal von, rite afay.

Dere's a raw, green corps from Michigan, Mit horses on de loose, You men ash vants some hoof-irons, Look out and crip deir shoes."

All brooshed und fixed, de cavallrie, Rode out py moonen shine, De cotton fields in shimmerin light, Lay white as elfenbein.

Dey heard a shot close py Lavergne, Und men who rode afay, In de road a-velterin his his ploot, A Federal picket lay.

Und all dat he hafe dimes to say, "Vhile shtandin at my post, De guerillas got first shot at me,"

Und so gafe oop de ghost.

Denn a contrapand, who helt his head, Said: "Sah - dose grillers all Is only half a mile from hy'ar, A dancin at a ball."

Der Breitmann shpoke and brummed it out Ash if his heart tid schvell: "I'll gife dem music at dat pall Vill tantz dem into h.e.l.l."

Hei! - arrow-fast - a teufel's ride!

De plack man led de vay, Dey reach de house - dey see de lights- Dey heard de fiddle blay.

Dey nefer vaited for a word Boot galloped from de gloom, Und, bang! - a hoonderd carpine shots Dey fired indo de room.

Oop vent de groans of vounded men, De fittlin died away: Boot some of dem vere tead pefore De music ceased to blay.

Denn crack und smack coom scotterin shots Troo vindow und troo door, Boot bang and clang de Germans gife Anoder volley more.

"Dere - let 'em shlide. Right file to shoorsh!"

Aloudt de orders ran.

"I kess I paid dem for dat shot,"

Shpeak grim der Breitemann.

All rosen red de mornin fair Shone gaily o'er de hill, A violet plue de shky crew teep In rifer, pond, und rill; All cloudy grey de limeshtone rocks Coom oop troo dimmerin wood; All shnowy vite in mornin light De shoorsh pefore dem shtood.

"Now loudet vell de organ, oop, To drill mit solemn fear; Und ring also dat Lumpenglock To pring de beoples here.

Und if it prings guerillas down, Ve'll gife dem, py de Lord, De low-ma.s.s of de sabre, and De high-ma.s.s of de cord.[20]

"Du, Eberle aus Freiburg, Du bist ein Musikant, Top-sawyer on de counterpoint Und buster in discant, To dee de soul of musik All innerly ish known, Du canst mit might fullenden De art of orgel-ton.

"Derefore, a Miserere Vill dou, be-ghostet, spiel, Und vake be-raised, yearnin, Also a holy feel:- Pe referent, men - rememper Dis ish a Gotteshaus- Du Conrad - go along de aisles Und schenk de whiskey aus!:

Dey blay crate dings from Mozart, Beethoven, und Mehul Mit chorals of Sebastian Bach Soopline und peaudiful.

Der Breitmann feel like holy saints, De tears roon down his fuss; Und he sopped out, "got verdammich - dis Ist wahres Kunstgenuss!"[21]

Der Eberle blayed oop so high, He maket de rafters ring; Der Eberle blayed lower, und Ve heardt der Breitmann sing Like a dronin wind in piney woods Like a nightly moanin sea: Ash de d.i.n.ked on Sonntags long agone Vhen a poy in Germany.

Und louder und mit louder tone High oop de orgel blowed, Und plentifuller efer yet Around de whiskey goed.

Dey singed ash if mit singin, dey Might indo Himmel win:- I d.i.n.k in all dis land soosh shprees Ash yet hafe nefer peen.

Vhen in de Abendsonnenschein, Mit doost-clouds troo de door, All plack ash night in golden lighdt Der shtood ein schwartzer Mohr, Dat contrapand so wild und weh, Mit eye-palls glaring roun, Who cried "For Gott's sake, hoory oop!

De reps ish gomin down!"

Und while he yet was shpeakin, A far-off soundt pegan, Down rollin from de moundain Of many a ridersmann.

Und vhile de waves of musik Vere rollin o'er deir heads, Dey heard a foice a schkreemin, "Pile out of thar, you Feds!

"For we uns ar' a comin For to guv to you uns fits, And knock you into brimstun And blast you all to bits"- Boot ere it done ids shpeakin, Der vas order in de band, Ash Breitmann, mit an awfool stim Out-dondered his gommand.

Und ash fisch-hawk at a mackarel Doth make a splurgin flung, Und ash eagles dab de fish-hawks Ash if de G.o.ds vere young, So from all de doors and vindows, Like shpiders down deir webs De Dootch went at deir horses, Und de horses at de rebs.

Crate shplendors of de treadful Vere in dat pattle rush, Crate vights mit swords und carpine, Py efery fence and bush.

Ash panters vight mit crislies In famished morder fits- For de rebs vere mad ash boison, Und de Dootch vere droonk ash blitz.

Yet vild ash vas de pattle, So quickly vas it o'er, O, vhy moost I forefer Pestain mine page mit gore?

Py liddle und py liddle Dey drawed demselfs afay, Oft toornin' round to vighten Like boofaloes at bay.

De scatterin shots grew fewer, De scatterin gries more shlow, Und furder troo de forest Ve heard dem vainter grow.

Ve gife von shout - "Victoria!"

Und denn der Breitmann said, Ash he wiped his ploody sabre: "Now, poys, count oop your dead!"

Oh small had been our shoutin For shoy, if ve had known Dat der Stossenheim im oaken wald, Lay dyin all alone.

Vhile his oldt vhite horse mit droopin het Look dumbly on him doun, Ash if he d.i.n.ked, "Vy lyest dou here Vhile fightin's goin on?"

Und dreams coom o'er de soldier Slow dyin on de eart; Of a schloss afar in Baden, Of his mutter, und nople birt!

Of poverty and sorrow, Vhich drofe him like de wind, Und he sighed, "Ach weh for de lofed ones, Who wait so far pehind!"

"Wohl auf, my soul o'er de moundains!

Wohl auf - well ofer de sea!

Dere's a frau dat sits in de Odenwald Und shpins, und d.i.n.ks of me.

Dere's a shild ash blays in de greenin gra.s.s, Und sings a liddle hymn, Und learns to shpeak a fader's name Dat she nefer will shpeak to him.

"But mordal life ends shortly Und Heafen's life is long:- Wo bist du Breitmann? - glaub'es-[22]

Gott suffers noding wrong.

Now I die like a Christian soldier, My head oopon my sword:- In nomine Domini!"- Vas Stossenheim his word.

O, dere vas bitter wailen Vhen Stossenheim vas found.

Efen from dose dere lyin Fast dyin on de ground.

Boot time vas short for vaiten, De shades vere gadderin dim: Und I nefer shall forget it, De hour ve puried him.

De tramp of horse und soldiers Vas all de funeral knell; De ring of sp.o.r.n und carpine Vas all de sacrin bell.

Mit hoontin knife und sabre Dey digged de grave a span, From German eyes blue gleamin De holy water ran.

Mit moss-grown shticks und bark-thong De plessed cross ve made, Und put it vhere de soldier's head Towards Germany vas laid.

Dat grave is lost mit dead leafs, De cross is goned afay: Boot Gott will find der reiter Oopon de Youngest Day.

Und d.i.n.kin of de fightin, Und d.i.n.kin of de dead, Und d.i.n.kin of de organ, To Nashville, Breitmann led Boot long dat rough oldt Hanserl Vas earnsthaft, grim und kalt, Shtill d.i.n.kin o'er de heart's friend, He'd left im gruenen wald.[23]

De verses of dis boem In Heidelberg I write; De night is dark around me, De shtars apove are bright.

Studenten in den Ga.s.sen[24]

Make singen many a song; Ach Faderland! - wie bist du weit!

Ach Zeit! - wie bist du lang![25]

BREITMANN IN KANSAS.[26]

VONCE oopon a dimes, goot vhile afder der var vas ofer, der Herr Breitmann vent oud Vest, drafellin' apout like efery dings - "circuivit terram et perambulavit eam," ash der Teufel said ven dey ask him: "How vash you und how you has peen?"

Von efenings he vas drafel mit some ladies und shendlemans, und he shtaid incognitus. Und dey singed songs, dill py und py one of de ladies say: "Ish any podies here ash know de crate pallad of Hans Breitmann's Barty?" Den Hans say: "Ecce Gallus! I am dat rooster!" Den der Hans dook a trink und a let-bencil und a biece of baper, und goes indo himself a little dimes und den coomes out again mit dis boem: