Part 21

Fast und rof der war-man shnore Like de hammer-shlog of Thor, Schnell ash Mjollner's bang und beat Heaved de form from het to veet Vhile apofe him in de shkies Dere he saw a glorie rise, Und im mittle von it all De iron lords of crate Valhall.

Long he gaze mit wolfen glare At de Aesir in de air, Long mit schneerin baren grin He toorn his nase auf und hin (For ne'er a Sherman - tam de otts- Vas efer yet gife in to Gotts), Dill avery Aes owned oop dat he A gott-like man of brass moost pe.

Shtern der Breitmann raise his het, To his fader Gotts he set: "Let your worts of wisehood shlip; Rush your runes, und let 'em rip! For you de gotts hafe efer pe Of dose who vere ash gotts to me:- Alt Thor der Thoren here pelow- Vot hell you vants, I'd like to know?"

Antworded ash de donner clangs, Der fader of de iron bangs: "De gotts will let de hell-dogs go, Und raise damnation here pelow; Until de sassy Frenchmen schmell De rifers ten dat roon troo hell To telle dis I comme dence, Dou lord of lion impudence.

"Drafeller! I know dee vell! Breitmann improturbable! Vhen on eart I hat my shy, Breitmann of dat age vas I. I schwear py Thor! so crate und gay, I smashed de Jotuns in my tay, Und dou shall pe ge-writ sooplime Ash de crate Thor of deiner time.

"Now ve lets de eagles vly Skreemin troo de vlamin shky, Our own specials: - dare nod laugh; For in de London Telegraph, A voondrous poy vot make oos shdare, For hop vhat may, he's alvays dere! Vill dell de worlt, troo blut and flame, Hans Breitmann ist der Uhlan's name.

"Und all dou e'er on eart has done, From oop gang oontil settin sun, Vill pe ash nix - I schvear py Thor! To vat dou'lt do in dieser war; Plazin roofs und mordered men, Hell set loose on eart again; Rush und ride in shtorm und floot, Cannon roarin, pools of bloot; Deutschland mad in fool career, Led py dy Uhlanen speer, Hell's harfest - sheafs of fictorie, Reaped mit deat's sword und reapt by dee!

"Ja! On many a dorf und disch, Dou shalt pring a requisish; Dwendy dimes de Frantscher men Hafe sporned dy land in blut acain- All dose dwenty dimes in von, Py Deutschland shall to France pe done, Und dwenty dimes in blut and wein Shalst dou refenge de Palatine.

"Go! - mit shpeer und fiery muth! Go! - mit durst for bier und blut! Go! - mit lofe for Vaterland, Into burning fury fanned: Towns und hen-roosts shall hafe shown Vhere der Uhlan ist peen gone, Und cocks vill roon und men crow tame To hear of der Uhlanen name."

Der fision fadet in de shky, Und hours vent on und time goed py. Vot heardest dou, Napolium? De rumpitty, rumpitty, rumpitty poom! Ven you hear de sound of de droom, Oh denn you know dat de Dootch hafe coom, De treadful roarin Dootch, mit de droom Und de roompitty, pumpitty, poompity pum! De wild ferocious Dootch on a bum, Mit cannon roar und pattle hum, Mit fee und faw on de foe und fum! Led py de awful Breitemum! Bitty boom!! BOOM!!

II.

BREITMANN IN A BALLOON.

WHO vas efer hear soosh voonders, Holy breest or virshin nonn? As pefelled de Coptain Breitmann, Vhen he hoont an air-ballon. Der Bizzy und der Dizzy, Mit lothairingen und Lothair, Vas nodings to dis Deutscher, Who vent kitin troo de air.

Id was in yar Nofember, In eighdeen sefendee, Der Breitmann vent a prowlin, By monden light vent he. In fillages deserted He hear de Uhu moan; For you alvays hear der Uhu Vhere der Uhu-lan ish gone.

Alone allonsed der Uhlan, Boot nodings could he find Safe whitey clouds a drivin In moonshine fore de wind. Boot ash he see dese cloudins He bemark dat von vas round, Und inshtead of goin oopwarts It kep risin towards de ground.

"Oh, vot ish dis a gomin? Some planet, py de Lord! Too boor to life in heafen, Coom down on eart to poard; Und pelow it schwing tree engels- Two he-vons mit a wench. Boot, mein Gott! vot sort of engels Can dose pe, dalkin Fraentsch!

"I hafe read in Eckhartshausen Dat oop in heafen - py tam! De engels dalk in Sherman, Und sing Mardin Luther's psalm. O nein - es sind kein engeln Vot sail so smoofly on, Das sind verfluchte Franzosen In einem luft-ballon!"

Hei! how der Breitman streak it Ven vonce he kess de trut'! He spurred id like de wild fire Of hope in early yout'. Troo de weingarts like der teufel Vhen he shase a lawyer's soul; Down der moundain mit his lanze Und his wafin banderol.

Down de moundain, o'er de valley, Troo de village he ish gone; Dog-barks die out pehind him, Oders bark ash he come on. Liddle heedet he deir bellin, Liddle mind der Hahnen crow; Liddle hear der Bauern yellin, Clotter, clodder, on he go.

"Oh, vot ish hoontin foxen, Und vot ish yager pliss, Und vot ish shasin bison On de blains, to soosh ash dis? I hafe dinked dat roonin rebels Vas de best of eartly fun; Boot id isn't half so sholly Ash to go a luft-ballon."

Und ash id shdill vent onwart, Shdill onwarts mit der wind, Der coom a real madness To catch id, o'er his mind. Und had'st dou seen him vylin, Dat wild onfuriate brick, Dou'st hafe schworn dat Coptain Breitmann Was pecome balloonatic.

In fain dey trow deir sand-bags, In fain all dings let fall, De ballon shdill kep a sinkin, Und id vouldn't rise at all. Yet de wild wind trife id onwarts, Onwarts shdill der Breitmann go, Dill he cotch id py a rope-ent Vot vas hangin town pelow.

Boot vhen it risen oopwarts, Ash he cling to id, of corse, Mit de lefter hand he holtet To de pridle of his horse. Der horse valk on his hind-legs: Too schwer to rise vas he; Mein Gott! vot fix for Breitmann Of de Uhlan cavallrie!

So he go for seferal stunden Petween himmel und eart pelow, Boot der teufel und die engels Couldn't make der Hans let go. Dill all at vonce an idee Coom from his loocky shtar- He led co his horse's pridle Und glimb oop indo de car.

Und vot you dinks he foundet Vhen in dat air-ballon? A nople Englisch vicomte, Milord de Robinson; Und mit him vas a laity, Mit whom he'd rooned afay, Whom he indroduce to Breitmann Ash die Jungfer Salome.

Und der dritte was a barson, Whom Milord, mit prudent view, Hat took als secretaire, Likevise for pallast doo. Dey should hafe bitched him ofer Vhen de gas was out, dey say; Boot de dame vould not 'low it:- She'd an arriere pensee.

Sait Milord: "Afar we've wandered, We are completely brown; And I'll give a thousand shiners If you'll take me to a town Where no one will molest us Till we find our way to Lon--" Here der Breitmann ent de sentence Ash he gry out, shortly, "done."

"And as for this fair lady To whom I would be bound," Sait Milord, "we'll have a wedding Before we reach the ground. To escape her father's anger We fled to live in peace, But she's relatives in London, And they have - the police."