In the castle-court another swarm Came with loud musket-banging, While on the castle-master's arm The second boot was hanging.

With their finest wine they filled the boot, And grandly spoke the Ritter-- 'Sir Neighbour--not upon one foot!

And this does not taste bitter.

Ye fellows, let your voices sound!

The welcome goes around, around; Holliro! the boot-cup Goes round, goes round!'

The Rodenstein drank out the cup; 'G.o.d bless your nose for ever, For mine was nearly doubled up In such a flowing river.

Now to your castle-hall, and there We'll rest from this pace so killing; I think in it your lady fair The Charlemagne's horn is filling.

So once more let your voices sound!

The welcome goes around, around; Holliro! the emperor's drink-horn Goes round, goes round!'

Next morning lay a mantle white Of fog o'er hill and valley; They brought the alb.u.m to the knight, And in't he wrote this sally With trembling hand--' Be this in sign I folded here my banners, And praise the House of Frankenstein, As one of taste and manners.

Their welcome cheered my heart and head So much I could not find my bed!

Holliro! not only boot-cup, But everything went around!'

Hol-li-roh!

THE p.a.w.nING.

Und wieder sa.s.s beim Weine Im Waldhorn ob der Bruck Der Herr vom Rodensteine Mit schwerem Schluck und Gluck.

Again there sat hard drinking, All in the Hunting Horn, The Rodenstein ne'er winking, Accurst with thirst forlorn.

The landlord wept the hour He came his wine to try-- 'He sits there like a tower, And drinks me high and dry.

'How will it end? by thunder!

He never pays me--no!

I'll have to p.a.w.n his plunder, Or else he will not go.'

The beadle went to work in The tap-room of the Horn: 'Pull off your velvet jerkin, Your boots, and all you've worn.

'Pull off the mantle round you, Your gloves and sable hat; Unto this host you've bound you With all you have at that.'

Loud laughed the Rodensteiner-- 'Go in!--that will not hurt.

It's airier and finer To sit and drink in shirt!

'And till you p.a.w.n the swallow Wherewith I drink my wine I'll vex full many a fellow In taverns on the Rhine.'

THE PAGE.

Der Herr vom Rodensteine Sprach fiebrig und schabab: 'Ungern duld' ich alleine Wo steckt mein treuer Knapp?

The Herr vom Rodensteine Said, sick, in fever-rage, 'A lone in pain I pine--oh!

Where is my faithful page?

'I feel in head and belly All pains that man annoy; This time 'ts the neck, I tell ye; Where is my jolly boy?'

Four of his men went riding-- Went riding at his beck: They found the truant biding By beer in Bremeneck.

He drank and spoke with sorrow: 'Brave Rodenstein--ah me!

Dark night and darker morrow!

I cannot come to thee.

'If you have had your st.i.tches, I, too, have grief, d'ye know?

They've got my coat and breeches, And will not let me go!

The riders told, heart-breaking, What they had witnessed there; Their lord said, fever-shaking, 'Oh boy--that was not fair!

'And wilt thou leave me sweating In need and pain away?

So shall thou stay there sitting Until the Judgment Day!'

He spoke and died in fever-- His last sad word struck sore; The page none can deliver-- He stays there evermore.

Of nights, like storm-winds howling, You hear the knight in rage; The Rodenstein loud growling, Who asks, 'Where is my page?

THE WILD ARMY.

Das war der Herr von Rodenstein, Der sprach: 'Das Gott mir helf, Giebt's nirgend mehr'n Tropfen Wein Des Nachts um halber Zwolf?

'Raus da! 'Raus aus dam Haus da!

Herr Wirth, das Gott mir helf, Giebt's nirgend 'nen Tropfen Wein Des Nachts um halber Zwolf?'

It was the Herr von Rodenstein Who cried, 'By G.o.d in Heaven, Why can't I find a drop of wine By night at half-past 'leven?

Rouse there! rouse out of the house, there!

Come, landlord! help me, Heaven!

Great G.o.d, is there no wine about By night at half-past 'leven?'

He went road-up, road-down apace-- No landlord made it right; Death-thirsty and with fading face He sighed into the night: 'Rouse out! rouse out of the house there!

Hey, landlord! help me, Heaven!

Can no one get a drop of wine By night at half-past 'leven?'

And as with spear and hunters' frock They bore him to the tomb, The Blackguard Bell i' the old town clock Began untouched to boom.

'Rouse there! rouse out of the house, there!

Hey, landlord! help us, Heaven!

Can no one get a drop of wine By night at half-past 'leven?'

But those 'tis known who die of thirst Ne'er rest in quiet graves, So now he storms with dryness curst As ghost around and raves: 'Rouse there! rouse out of the house, there!

Hey, landlord! help me, Heaven!

Can no one get a drop of wine By night at half-past 'leven?'

And all who in the Odenwald At midnight still are dry Rush after him when he has called, And yell, and roar, and cry: 'Rouse there! rouse out of the house, there!

Hey, landlord! help us, Heaven!

Can no one get a drop of wine By night at half-past 'leven?'

This song we sing when fun must stop, To hosts who'll sell no wine, Who too precisely shuts up shop Will catch the Rodenstein: 'Rouse there! rouse out of the house, there!

Rum diri di--Free fight Hoi diri do!--Free night!