Part 24

"I coom here from Deutschland, De shildren to teach; Dey mock me for Deutsch, Und dey sneer at mein sbeech; Und since de war komm, I vas nearly gone mad, You wouldn't peliefe How dey dreet me so pad."

Mit a tear Breitmann bend To de peaudifool miss; "Crate Gott! can'st dou suffer Soosh horrors ash dis?" His arm round de maiden Der hero has bound, Und it shtaid dere goot vhile, Fore dey got it unwound.

"Ho! fetch me de diamonds! Ho! shell out de rings! Mit all in de castle Of dat sort of dings." Twas brought to de Captain- A donderin load: At de veet of de madchen Dat ploonder he trowed.

"Ho! pring oos champagner! Und light oop de hall! Dis night der Herr Breitmann Will gife you a ball. Dat pile of dead vellers, Vot died for La France, May see, if dey like, How de Shermans can tance."

Dey find laties' garments, Und - troot to confess- Likewise som Frantsch maidens, Who help dem to tress. De rest of de Uhlans Who hadn't soosh loves, Fixed oop in black clothes Mit white chokers und gloves.

Now hei! for de fittles! Und hei! for clavier! For de tantz of de Uhlans- De men of de speer! How de shendlemen ashk If dey'd blease introduce; How de ladies mit beards Were called Espionnes Prusses!

Hei, ho! how dey tanzet! Hei, ho! how dey sang! How mit klingen of glasses De braun arches rang. How dey trill from deir hearts Ash dey pour out der wein, De songs of de Oberland,- Songs of der Rhein.

Und madder und wilder, All whirlin around, Vent Hans mit de maiden In Bacchanal bound. She helt to his peard, Und dey gissed as if mad; I tont dink dat efer Vas dimes like dey had.

Boot calm in de hall, Ever calm on de floor, Was a row of still guests Dat wouldn't tantz nefermore. Mit plood shtreams black winding, Der lord mit his men, When der Youngest Day cooms Hans may meet dem acain.

Hoorah for der Uhlan, So rash und so wild! Hoorah for der Uhlan, Der teufel's own child!- Dis ish "Breitmann's Last Barty," Dey'll sing it for years; De lords of de lanzes, De sons of de speers.

For dey frighten de coontry, Dey ploonder de town; Und when dey are oop De Franzosen go down; For pefore de wild Norsemen Weak Southrons moost flee, Ab ira Normannorum Libera nos Domine!

EUROPE.

-----

BREITMANN IN PARIS. (1869.)

"Recessit in Franciam."

"Et affectu pectoris, Et toto gestu corporis, Et scholares maxime, Qui festa colunt optime." - Carmina Burana, 13th century.

DER teufel's los in Bal Mabille, Dere's hell-fire in de air, De fiddlers can't blay noding else Boot Orphee aux Enfers: Vot makes de beoples howl mit shoy? Da capo - Bravo! - bis!! It's a Deutscher aus Amerika: Hans Breitmann in Paris.

Dere's silber toughts vot might hafe peen, Dere's golden deeds vot must: Der Hans ish come to Frankenland On one eternal bust. Der same old rowdy Argonaut Vot hoont de same oldt vleece, A hafin all de foon dere ish- Der Breitmann in Paris.

Mit a gal on eider shoulder A holdin py his beard, He tantz de Cancan, sacrament! Dill all das Volk vas skeered. Like a roarin hippopatamos, Mit a kangarunic shoomp, Dey feared he'd smash de Catacombs, Each dime der Breitmann bump.

De pretty liddle cocodettes Lofe efery dings ish new, "D'ou vient il donc ce grand M'sieu? O sacre nom de Dieu!" In fain dey kicks deir veet on high, And sky like vlyin geese, Dey can not kick de hat afay From Breitmann in Paris.

O vhere vas id der Breitmann life? Oopon de Rond Point gay, Vot shdreet lie shoost pehind his house? La rue de Rabelais. Aroundt de corner Harper's shtands Vhere Yankee drinks dey mill, Vhile shdraight ahet, agross de shdreet, Der lies de Bal Mabille.

Id's all along de Elysees, Id's oop de Boulevarce, He's sampled all de weinshops, Und he's vinked at efery garce. Dou schveet plack-silken Gabrielle, O let me learn from dee, If 'tis in lofe - or absinthe drunks, Dat dis wild ghost may pe?

Und dou may'st kneel in Notre Dame, Und veep away dy sin, Vhile I go vight at Barriere balls, Oontil mine poots cave in; Boot if ve pray, or if ve sin- Vhile nodings ish refuse, Tis all de same in Paris here, So long ash l'on s'amuse.

O life, mein dear, at pest or vorst, Ish boot a vancy ball, Its cratest shoy a vild gallop, Vhere madness goferns all. Und should dey toorn ids gas-light off, Und nefer leafe a shbark, Sdill I'd find my vay to Heafen - or- Dy lips, lofe, in de dark.

O crown your het mit roses, lofe! O keep a liddel sprung! Oonendless wisdom ish but dis: To go it vhile you're yung! Und Age vas nefer coom to him, To him Spring plooms afresh, Who finds a livin' spirit in Der Teufel und der Flesh.

BREITMANN IN LA SORBONNE.

DER Breitmann sits in la Sorbonne, A note-pook in his hand, 'Tvas dere he vent to lectures, Und in oldt Louis le Grand. Id's more ash two und dwendy years Since here I used mein pen; Oh, where ish all de characders, Dat I hafe known since denn?

Der cratest boet efer vas, Der pest I efer known, Vent lecdures here, too, shoost like me, Le Sieur Francoys Villon. He raise de teufel all arount, He hear de Sorbonne chime; Crate shpirid ender in mein heart, Und mofe mein soul to rhyme.