Boot Breitmann nefer cared himself If dis vas falsch or drue, I kess he hat mit lifin gals Pout quite enough to do.

Und Februar vas gomin, Ganz revolutionnaire, Und vhere der Teufel had vork on hand, Der Hans vas alvays dere.

Und darker grew de beople's brows, No Banquet could dey raise, So dey shtood und shvore at gorners, Or dey singed de Ma.r.s.eillaise.

Und here und dere a crashin sound Like forcin shutters ran, Und boorstin gun-schmidts' vindows in Hard vorked der Breitemann.

He helped to howl Les Girondins, To cheer de beople's hearts; He maket dem bild parricades Mit garriages und garts.

Vhen a bretty maiden sendinel Vonce ask de countersign, He gafe das kind a rousin giss, Gott hute dir und dein!

Und wilder vent de pattle, France spread her oriflamme, Und deeper roared de sturm bell, De bell of Notre Dame; Und he who nefer heard it, O'er shots und cries of fear, Loud booming like a dragon's roar, Has someding yet to hear.

Und in de Fauborg Sainte Antoine Dere comed a fusillade, Und dyin groans und fallin dead Vere roundt dat parricade, But der song of Revolution From a tousand voices round, Made a fearful opera gorus To de deat' gries on de ground.

Und all around dose parricades Dey raise der teufel dere; Somedimes dey vork mit pig-axes, Und somedimes mit gewehr.

Dey maket prifate houses Gife all deir arms afay, Und denn oopon de panels Dey writet Armes donnees.

Und ve saw mid roarin vollies, Shtreaked like banded settin suns, Two regiments coome ofer, Und telifer oop deir guns.

Hei! - how de deers vere roonin: Hei! - how dey gryed hurrahs!

For dey saw de vight vas ofer, Und dey know dey gained deir cause.

Dus spoke deir hearts outboorstin, In battle by de blade, From sun to sun mit roarin gun Und donnerin parricade.

In vain pefore de depudies De princes tremblin stood, Vot comes in France too late a day Cooms shoost in dime for blood.

Vhen de Tuileries vas daken, Amid de scotterin shot, Und vlyin stones, und howlin, Und curses vild und hot, 'Tvas dere Hans clobbed his musket, Und dere de man vas first To roosh into de palace, Ven de toors vere in-geburst.

Some vellers burn de guart-haus, Some trink des Konigs wein; Some fill deir hats mit rasbry sham, Und prandy beeches fein.

Hans Breitmann in de gitchen Vas shdare like avery ding, To see vot lots of victual-de-dees Id dakes to feed a king.

Und oder volk, like plackguarts, Vent dook de goaches out; Und burnin dem, dey rolled dem Afay mit yell und shout.

Der Breitmann in der barlor, Help writen rapidly, La liberte pour la Pologne!

Likevise - pour l'Italie!

Den in der Tuileries courtyard Ten tousand volk come on; Dey vas gissin und hurrahin For to d.i.n.k der king vas gone.

Some vas hollerin und tantzin Round de blazin oldt caboose; Vhen Frantschmen kits a goin, Den dey lets der teufel loose.

Boot von veller set me laughin, Who roosh madly roun de field; He hat rop de Cluny Museum, Und gestohlen speer und schild.

Mit a sblendit royal charger, Vitch he hat somevhere found, Like a trunken Don Quixote, He vent tearin oop und round.

Doun vent de line of Bourbons, Doun vent de vork of years, Ash de pillars of deir temple Ge-crashed like splintered speers; Und o'er dem rosed a phantom, Wild, beautiful, und weak, Vhile millions gry arount her- Vive! vive la Republique;

Tree days mid shdiflin powder shmoke, Tree days mid cheers und groans, Ve fought to guard de parricades, Or pile dem oop mit shtones.

De hand vitch held de bistol denn, Or made de crowbar bite, Das war de same Hans Breitmann's hand Vitch now dese verses write.

BREITMANN IN BELGIUM.

"Vlaenderen, dag en nacht Denk ik aen u.

Waer ik ook ben en vaer, Gy zyt my altyd naer.

Vlaenderen, dag en nacht Denk ik aen u.

Overal vrolykheid, Overal l.u.s.t.

Maegden van fier gelaet, Knapen zoo vroom en draet.

Overal vrolykheid, Overal l.u.s.t."

- Hoffmann von Fallersleben.

SPA.

VHEN sommer drees shake fort deir leafs, Ash maids shake out deir locks, Und singen mit de rifulets, Vitch ripplen round de rocks, Und beople swarm land-outwards, Und cities weary men, Hans Breitmann rode de Belgier mark For Spa in Les Ardennes.

Und vhen he came to Spadenland, He found it fein und fair, For dey pour him out de peke schnapps, Dazu elixer rare; Und mit a soldier's inshd.i.n.k To find a shanse to shoot, Mitout delay he fire afay Right in de Grande Redoute.[57]

De virst shot dat der Breitmann fired He pring de peaches down, For he hit de double zero mit A gold Napoleon.

Und ash he raked de shiners in, He hummed a liddle doon: "I kess I tont try dat again,"

Said he, dis afdernoon.

Boot vhen he coom to rouge et noir, A tear fell tripplin denn, Id look so moosh like goot old dimes, To come dose games again.

Yet vhen he lossed a hundred francs, He sadly toorned afay, "I'd rader keep de tiger here, Dan vight him, any day."

Und shtanding py de daple, He saw a French lorette Vat porrowed shpecie all around, Und lossed at efery bet.

"Id's all de same mit dis or dat, Or any kind of sin, De lorette or de rolette - bot'

Will make de money shpin."

He trinket of Le Pouhon well, Und from La Sauveniere; He tried it ad de Barisart, Und auch de Geronstere.

"Dey say dat Troot' lie in a well, So trink from all we can, Und here we'll prove dat Troot is Health,"

Dat's so, sayd Breitemann.

So long in ruined Franchimont He sat on hollowed ground, Und d.i.n.ked of Wilhelm de la Marck, Who'd raked dat c.o.o.ntry round.

"Mein Gott! how id vas mofe mine heart To read in hishdory, Und find de scattered shinin lights Of vellers shoost like me!

"Dis nople boar-pig of Ardennes, Dis shtately Wallowin lord, Vas make him vamous py de pen, Und glorious py de swordt.

Und showed his hero-scholarship, Vhen he wrote to de pishop, 'Satis, Brulabo monasterium Vestrum, si non payatis.'

"Dey say dat in de keller here Dere lifes a coblin briest, Dereto a teufelsjagersmann Vot guard a specie chest.

O if I vonce could find de vay, Und spot dat box of checks, I voonder shoost how long 'twould pe Pefore I'd twis deir necks."

Und in de Walk of Meyerbeer, Vhere plashin brooklets ring, He see vhere in de water wild De wood-birds flip deir wing.

"Ash de prooklet's lost in de rifer, Und de rifer's lost in de sea, Mine soul kits lost on water 'plain,'"

Says Breitemann, says he.

Und ash he walked de Meyerbeer He marcked, peside de way, A rock shoost like a wild boar's head, Vraie tete du sanglier.

Der Breitmann heafe a shiant sigh, Und say mit 'motion grand: Von crate idee ish uber all In dis der Schweinpig's land.

He drafel troo de Val d'Ambleve, He lounge de schweet Sept Heures, He shdare indo de window-shops, Und see de painted ware.[58]

He looket at de fans und dings, Denn said, "To tell de trut', Dere's painted vares more dear ash dis Oop shdairs in La Redoute."

Und sittin in de Champignon, Vitch rose 'neat Lofe's schweet hand, He read in books of Marmontel, Of Jeannette et Lubin.

Id's nice to see Simplicitas Rococoed oop mit vlowers, Und d.i.n.k soosh virtue shdill may life In dis base vorldt of ours.