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The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 07
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For every bit of dirt seems dear
Which o'er my form you used to smear.
Goodby, my worthy friend the pastor,
And you, poor driveling old schoolmaster.
'Tis o'er, what cheered my heart so long.
The sound of organ, bells and song.
So from my, lofty perch I crew,
And would have sung much longer too,
When came a crooked devil's minion,
The slater 'twas in my opinion.
Who after many a knock and shake
Detached me wholly from my stake.
My poor old heart was broke at last
When from the roof he pulled me past
The bells which from their station glared
And on my fate in wonder stared,
But vexed themselves no more about me,
Thinking they'd hang as well without me.
Then to the scrap-heap I was brought,
For twopence by the blacksmith bought,
Which as he paid he said 'twas wonder
How much folk wanted for such plunder.
And there at noon of that same day
In grief before his hut I lay.
The time being May, a little tree
Shed snow-white blossoms over me,
While other chickens by the dozen
Unheeding cackled round their cousin.
'Twas then the pastor happened by,
Spoke to the smith, then smiling, "Hi!
And have you come to this, poor cock
A strange bird, Andrew, for your flock!
He'll hardly do to broil or roast;
For me though, I may fairly boast
Things must go hard if I've no place
For old church servants in hard case.
Bring him along then speedily
And drink a glass of wine with me."
The sooty lout with quick assent
Laughed, picked me up, and off we went.
A little more, and from my throat
Toward heaven I'd sent a joyous note.
Within the manse the strange new guest
Astounded all from most to least;
But soon each face, before afraid,
The glowing light of joy displayed.
Wife, maids and menfolks, girls and boys
Surrounded with a seven-fold noise
The giant rooster in the hall,
Welcoming, looking, handling all.
The man of God with jealous care
Took me himself and climbed the stair
To his own study, while the pack
Came stumbling after at his back.
Within these walls is peace enshrined!
Entering, we left the world behind.
I seemed to breathe a magic air,
Essence of books and learning rare,
Geranium scent and mignonette,
And faint tobacco lingering yet.
(To me of course all this was new.)
An ancient stove I noticed, too,
In the left corner in full view.
Quite like a tower its bulk was raised
Until its peak the ceiling grazed,
With pillared strength and flowery grace,
O most delightful resting-place!
On the top wreath as on a mast
The blacksmith set me firm and fast.
Behold my stove with reverent eyes!
Cathedral-like its noble size;
With store of pictures overwrought,
And rhymes that tell of pious thought.
Of such I learned full many a word,
While the old stove from out its hoard
Would draw them forth for young and old,
When the snow fell and winds blew cold.
Here you may see where on the tile
Stands Bishop Hatto's towered isle,
While rats and mice on every side
Swim through the Rhine's opposing tide.
The armed grooms in vain wage war,
The host of tails grows more and more,
Till thousands ranged in close array
Leap from the walls on those at bay
And seize the bishop in his room:
An awful death is now his doom;
Devoured straightway shall he be
To pay the price of perjury.
—There too Belshazzar's banquet shines,
Voluptuous women, costly wines;
But in the amazèd sight of all
The dread hand writes upon the wall.
—Lastly the pictures represent
Which o'er my form you used to smear.
Goodby, my worthy friend the pastor,
And you, poor driveling old schoolmaster.
'Tis o'er, what cheered my heart so long.
The sound of organ, bells and song.
So from my, lofty perch I crew,
And would have sung much longer too,
When came a crooked devil's minion,
The slater 'twas in my opinion.
Who after many a knock and shake
Detached me wholly from my stake.
My poor old heart was broke at last
When from the roof he pulled me past
The bells which from their station glared
And on my fate in wonder stared,
But vexed themselves no more about me,
Thinking they'd hang as well without me.
Then to the scrap-heap I was brought,
For twopence by the blacksmith bought,
Which as he paid he said 'twas wonder
How much folk wanted for such plunder.
And there at noon of that same day
In grief before his hut I lay.
The time being May, a little tree
Shed snow-white blossoms over me,
While other chickens by the dozen
Unheeding cackled round their cousin.
'Twas then the pastor happened by,
Spoke to the smith, then smiling, "Hi!
And have you come to this, poor cock
A strange bird, Andrew, for your flock!
He'll hardly do to broil or roast;
For me though, I may fairly boast
Things must go hard if I've no place
For old church servants in hard case.
Bring him along then speedily
And drink a glass of wine with me."
The sooty lout with quick assent
Laughed, picked me up, and off we went.
A little more, and from my throat
Toward heaven I'd sent a joyous note.
Within the manse the strange new guest
Astounded all from most to least;
But soon each face, before afraid,
The glowing light of joy displayed.
Wife, maids and menfolks, girls and boys
Surrounded with a seven-fold noise
The giant rooster in the hall,
Welcoming, looking, handling all.
The man of God with jealous care
Took me himself and climbed the stair
To his own study, while the pack
Came stumbling after at his back.
Within these walls is peace enshrined!
Entering, we left the world behind.
I seemed to breathe a magic air,
Essence of books and learning rare,
Geranium scent and mignonette,
And faint tobacco lingering yet.
(To me of course all this was new.)
An ancient stove I noticed, too,
In the left corner in full view.
Quite like a tower its bulk was raised
Until its peak the ceiling grazed,
With pillared strength and flowery grace,
O most delightful resting-place!
On the top wreath as on a mast
The blacksmith set me firm and fast.
Behold my stove with reverent eyes!
Cathedral-like its noble size;
With store of pictures overwrought,
And rhymes that tell of pious thought.
Of such I learned full many a word,
While the old stove from out its hoard
Would draw them forth for young and old,
When the snow fell and winds blew cold.
Here you may see where on the tile
Stands Bishop Hatto's towered isle,
While rats and mice on every side
Swim through the Rhine's opposing tide.
The armed grooms in vain wage war,
The host of tails grows more and more,
Till thousands ranged in close array
Leap from the walls on those at bay
And seize the bishop in his room:
An awful death is now his doom;
Devoured straightway shall he be
To pay the price of perjury.
—There too Belshazzar's banquet shines,
Voluptuous women, costly wines;
But in the amazèd sight of all
The dread hand writes upon the wall.
—Lastly the pictures represent
