THE LAST POSTILLION.

Bald ist, so weit die Menschheit haust, Der Schienenweg gespannt; Es keucht und schnaubt und stampft und saust Das Dampfross rings durch's Land.

As soon as men have gathered there, The iron road's at hand; Then comes with scream and stamp and blare The steam-horse through the land.

And if five hundred years should pa.s.s, The learnedst cannot say What once on earth a teamster was, Or waggon-right and way.

And only in the solstice-night, Where mystic figures gleam, Tween earth and sky in lowering light, You'll see a wondrous team.

The grey horse tramps, the whip cracks fair, Loud rings the post-horn's tone; A ghost comes coaching through the air, A grey old postilli-on.

On yellow coat in moonlight cold, Thurn Taxis' b.u.t.tons shine: He smokes tobacco ages old, From Ulm pipe brown and fine.

He smokes and speaks: 'Oh, earthly ball, How changed since days of mine, When I, with song and crack and call, Was postman on the Rhine.

'Oh, time of pa.s.sports, tramps, and knaves, Of fees and sprees o' nights, Of post-stalls and of wanderstaves, Of high ideal flights.

'The world now moves by rent and cent, The best long since are gone; And with the last old porter went The last old postilli-on.

'Now steam runs wild, wind burns in haste, All time has burst its bonds; The sun paints pictures; lightning fast The long wire corresponds.

'Oh, armour new!--Oh, same old fight!

Where is there peace to-day?

Oh, gas, phosphorus, steam, and light!

Away, my horse,--away!'

WINE OF SIXTY-FIVE.

In luftiger Trinkkemenaten --Den Ort gesteht man nicht ein-- Da pruften drei spate Nomaden Den edelsten pfalzischen Wein.

In a tavern, in cool, pleasant weather-- I know not the name or the sign-- Three travellers were drinking together The n.o.blest Palatinate wine.

In grand ruddy Romers was blinking The fine pearling Rieslinger gold, And vines on the trellis were winking In moonlight from grape-eyes untold.

The first, a far-travelled and wary Philologist, spoke out his mind: 'This was made by the fire-sprite and fairy, With ether and sunshine combined.

So it glows and it flows ever finer; Spirit-sparkling, soft-rythmic we mix; Like Ionian drink-songs in minor, When sung by Homerical bricks'

The second, a dried-up old fellow, Who the law of the Romans professed, 'Proficiat,' said he, ''tis mellow.

'What we sip is not far from the best.

Who sees not when Bacchus's donum In this gla.s.s gleams like gold i' the sun, That the Justum, aequum et bonum, In this Roman are blended in one.'

The third one, while tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the tapers, Said modestly, next: 'Do ye see I'm no poet, and none of the papers Get writin's from fellows like me.

But I tell you, my heart rattles quicker, When such wine as I've got here I swills; It's an out-and-out beautiful liquor,-- G.o.d bless them Palatinate hills!'

Meanwhile, with a spear on his shoulder, By the bridge went a fourth man along; And waving his weapon, the holder Sang out to the night-wind his song.

'Ye gentlemen, hear what I'm singing: The public need sleep--do you mind?

Eleven o'clock has done ringing; You must all go to bed, or be fined!'

PERKeO.

Das war der Zwerg Perkeo im Heidelberger Schloss, An Wuchse klein und winzig, an Durste riesengross.

It was the dwarf Perkeo, in Heidelberg of old, A wretched mite in stature, in thirst a giant bold.

When for a fool they jeered him: 'Good people mine,' said he, 'Would you were all wet-jolly, and fond of fun like me.'

But when the Tun of Heidelberg was filled with wine one year, Then all his future standpoint unto the dwarf was clear.

'Farewell,' said he, 'oh, world, thou vale of miser-misery.

All things men turn their hand to is _tout egal_ to me.

'For wooden, stupid notions full many heats are broke, And what it all amounts to is dust and steam and smoke.

''Tis all _in vino veritas_. In drinking, from this day, Will I, the tough old jester, pa.s.s all my life away.'

Perkeo sought the cellar, and forth no more came he, For fifteen years deep drinking at Rhenish Malvasie.

Though all was dark around him, an inner radiance rained; And though his legs went shaking, he drank and ne'er complained.

When first he sought the wine-vat 'twas heavy, full, and high; But in his dying moments it rang empty, dull, and dry.

Then piously he uttered: 'Now praise the Lord at length, Who in me, a weak mannikin, has shown such wondrous strength!

'As once in triumph David against Goliath stood, So I, the little dwarflet, the giant Thirst subdued.

'Now sing a De profundis until the vault groans round.

The Tun is fairly done for. I fall with vict'ry crowned.'

And in the vault they laid him. Around his cellar-grave, And from the empty wine-vat, as yet damp vapours wave.

And who, as pious pilgrim, has early sought that shrine, Woe to him! In the evening he goes howling round in wine.

THE RETURN HOME.

Der Pfarrer von a.s.smanshausen sprach: 'Die Welt steckt tief in Sunden, Doch wo der Meister Josephus steckt Weiss Keiner mir zu kunden.'

The priest of a.s.smanshausen spoke: 'The world lies deep in sin; But where our Master Joseph lies Knows neither kith nor kin.'

And as they decked for Christmas-tide, The Rhine was frozen o'er; There came a man in pilgrims garb, And stood before the door.

'Now shrive me, shrive me, holy priest, Full pardon I would gain; All that my poor, sad-sorrowing heart, May turn to joy again.