Part 3

Then all the Chats were deeply moved To see her thus accost him, And said, 'Since they so well have loved, 'Twould be a shame to roast him, Here let them wed.' This ends the tale. 'Yes, wed at once before us; And all day long throughout the vale We'll sing as bridal chorus, "Ha--haw--haw! were got you safe at last, Got you by the skirt, too--got you firm and fast, You scamp, you!"'

HILDEBRAND AND HADUBRAND. DAS HILDEBRANDLIED.

.... Hiltibraht enti Hathubrant.

Hildebrand und sein Sohn Hadubrand, Hadubrand, Ritten selbander in Wuth entbrannt, Wuth entbrannt, Gegen die Seestadt Venedig. Hildebrand und sein Sohn Hadubrand, Hadubrand, Keiner die Seestadt Venedig fand, --nedig fand, Da schimpften die beiden unfläthig.

Hildebrand and his son Hadubrand, Hadubrand, Rode off together with sword in hand, Sword in hand, All to make war upon Venice. Hildebrand and his son Hadubrand, Hadubrand, Neither could find the Venetian land, 'Netian land, Dire were their curses and menace.

Hildebrand and his son Hadubrand, Hadubrand, Got drunk as lords in a jolly band, --jolly band-- All the while swearing and bawling; Hildebrand and his son Hadubrand, Hadubrand, Drunk till they neither could walk or stand, Walk or stand, Home on all fours they went crawling.

SONG OF THE TRAVELLING STUDENTS.

O liberales clerics Nû merchet rehte wi dem si Date: vobis dabitur Ir sült lan offen iwer tür Vagis et egentibus So gewinnet ihr das himelhûs, Et in perenni gaudio Alsus alsô, alsus alsô!

Pfarrherr, du kühler, öffne dein' Thor, Fahrende Schüler stehen davor. Fahrende Schüler, unstete Kind, Singer und Spieler, wirbliger Wind.

Parson Sir Prudence, open your gate! Travelling students your welcome await! Travelling scholar, whimsical child! Singer and stroller, the wind-whirling wild. Iron throats for drinking--bellies like fires, Gold souls unshrinking--which no one desires, Thin garments sporting--weather so raw, Ah--and our courting--on hay and in straw!

Parson, Sir Prudence, open your gate! Travelling students your welcome await! Suabia, Franconia have given us food, Sans ceremonié--an all eating brood; Fed us, rapacious, God keep them from harm! Like the voracious and wild locust swarm, What we've o'erpowered--once fertile and fair, All is devoured--shorn barren and bare.

Parson Sir Prudence, open your gate! Travelling students your welcome await! Makest not thy oven free, miserly owl, We'll haul thee to Coventry straight by the cowl. Pull off your breeches, the shoes from your feet, Hang them like fitches out here in the street; He who would own it and do us a hurt, He must atone it in stockings and shirt.

Parson Sir Prudence, open your tower! Travelling students your bars will o'erpower! Ho, ho, heiadihoh! Avoy, avoy, alez avanz! Alsus also, alsus alsus also! Ho ho heiadihoh, hoh, ho, ho!

THE CLOISTER CELLAR MASTER'S SUMMER MORNING SONG.

Hu weh! mir ist des Tages bang! Tret ich hinaus in den schweigenden Bergwald Den kaum das erste Frühlicht erhellet, Wehe! noch lagert die Hitze von Gestern Ueber versengtetn Moos und Gesträuch.

Ah me! what a dull day it is! If I go out in the wood on the mountain When the tops shine in the earliest sunlight, Ah! there still lingers the dry heat of yestern On the singed mosses and withering shrubs, And all around me come midges by thousands, Stinging and bold, As if the hot sun were sprinkling in sparkles. Wide gaping crevices split the earth round us; Grass dries to hay before they can mow it, And in the air sweeps _Dust_ ....

Ah me! what a dull day it is! If I seek by the trunk of the giant-grown beech-tree A cool place to sit on the rough-hewn stone bench, Where by the eight-cornered slab of the table The brethren merrily rest in the forest, Ah! there the stone rays a heat that is horrible, Cannot endure me! All because I, when just seated, so nimbly Jumped in a hurry. Grasshoppers sit, sound asleep, by the road-side Quiet as can be. _Dull_ ....

Ah me! what a dull day it is! These are the times, hey, when people and cattle Are scorching red-hot like the irons in a smithy! Pour on them drops or long floods of cold water, All would be swallowed and nothing be quenched. Ah!--hey!--the matin bell still is a-ringing, And I'm seized with a powerful yearning already To go to the cloister, and down to the cellar! Whether I'll tarry there steadily drinking Until the night comes, Or a loud clattering thunder in heaven Breaks up this wearisome terrible heat, I don't know, Only my thirst is _Dreadful_ .... Ah me! what a dull day it is.

THE MAULBRONN FUGUE.

--'Wem das Kloster Maulbrunn bekandt, der hats können mit seinen Augen sehen, wie in dem Vorhoff selbiger schönen erbauten Kirchen oben im Schwibbogen unter anderen Gemälden auch eine Gans abgemalt steht, an welcher eine Fläsch, Bratwürst, Bratspiss und dergleichen hangen, neben einer zur nassen Andacht gar wohl componirten Fuga folgenden Tenors mit ihrem unterlegten Text, gleichwohl nur den initialibus literis A. V. K. L. W. H. welches villeicht dieser durstigen Münch und Religiosen Commentarius gewest, über das Hohelied Salomonis: Comedite amici et bibite et inebriamini charissimi, &c., &c.'--Tob. Wagner, Evangel. Censur der Besoldischen Motiven, &c. Tübingen, 1640.

[English.] He who knows the Abbey Maulbrunn may have seen with his own eyes how in the fore court of this beautifully built church, above in the double arch, there is painted, among other pictures, that of a goose by which hang a bottle, sausages, a roasting spit, and like things, near a well-composed fugue adapted to wet devotion, on the following theme, with the subjoined text, although with only the initial letters

A. V. K. L. W. H.

Or Alle Voll, Keiner Leer, Wein Her! meaning "All full, No one empty, Bring Wine here!"--which was perhaps the commentary of these thirsty monks and pious men on the Canticle of Solomon: Comedite amici et bibite et inebriamini charissimi, &c, &c.--Tobias Wagner, Evangel. Censur der Besoldischen Motiven, &c. Tübingen, 1640.

Im Winterrefectorium Zu Maulbronn in dem Kloster Da geht was um den Tisch herum Klingt nicht wie Paternoster; Die Martinsgans hat woklgethan, Eilfinger blinkt im Kruge, Nun hebt die nasse Andacht an Und alles singt die Fuge: A. V. K. L. W. H. Complete Pocula!

In the winter refectorium Of Maulbronn, in the cloister, One hears a merry sound and hum, Not like a paternoster. The Martin's goose has tasted well, Eilfinger wine they're bringing; Now let the wet devotion swell, While all the fugue are singing: A. V. K. L. W. H. Complete Pocula!

The Abbot Duckfoot--Holy John, Came waddling in and grumbling: 'What is't so late, when the feast is done, To fiddles ye are mumbling? Cease! ye disturb the Doctor Faust, In the garden tower behind there; If from his studies he be roused, No gold will he e'er find there. A. V. K. L. W. H. Cavete scandala!'

Herr Faust sat backwards by the wall, Alone with pleasure-drinking, But now the sorcerer, pale and tall, Held forth the wine red blinking. Said he: 'I've studied making gold, By magic sought to win it; But now I see that I am sold, And that there's nothing in it. A. V. K. L. W. H. This is the gold--aha!

'I find from Hermes Trismegist Gold yields itself unwilling; The sun is the true alchemist, All fluidly distilling. When through our veins 't has glowed and relled; With Eilfinger we try it; Then you have gold, have real gold, And honourably come by it. A. V. K. L. W. H. Hæc vera practica!'

Then laughed the Abbot. 'That sounds fair; It sets me too to drinking, For All Voll, Keiner Leer, Wein Her! Is a wet fugue, I'm thinking. As Faust's gold-proverb it shall be Painted by the officials In the transept. All the melody Is found in the initials. A. V. K. L. W. H. Sit vino gloria!'

DER ENDERLE VON KETSCH.

This ballad is founded on an incident narrated in the description of the Palatinate by Merian (1645), where, speaking of the village Ketsch, he tells us that--'The Counte Palatine Otto Heinrich, afterwards Kurfürst, sailed in the yeere 1530 to the Holie Lande and to Jerusalem. Returning thence, hee came over the greate open sea where a shipp from Norwaie mett him, and from it there came this crye: "Flye, flye, for ye fatt Enderle von Ketsch cometh!" Now, the Counte Palatine and his Chancellor Mückenhäuser knew a godless wretche of this name who dwelte at Ketsch, and therefore whenn they returned home they inquired of ye fatt Enderle and of the tyme of his deathe, and observed that itt agreed withe the tyme whenn they did heare the crye upon ye sea, as Weyland, a Professor of Heidelberg; hath narrated in divers wrytings which hee left behinde.'

The translator has endeavoured to give this version of the extract from Merian in English corresponding to the style of the original old German.

Jetzt weicht, jetzt flieht! Jetzt weicht, jetzt flieht Mit Zittern und Zähnegefletsch: Jetzt weicht, jetzt flieht! Wir singen das Lied Vom Enderle von Ketsch!

CHORUS.

'Away--along! Away--along! With, trembling, your jaws on the stretch. Away--along! We sing the song Of Enderle von Ketsch!

SOLO.

Ott Heinrich the Pfalzgrave of Rhine--oh! Spoke out of a morning; 'Rem blem! I'm tired of the sour Hock wine--oh! I'm off for Jerusalem.

'Far lovelier, neater, and nicer Are the maids there who give you the cup; Oh, Chancellor! oh, Mückenhäuser, Five thousand gold ducats pack up.'

And as before Joppa they anchored The Chancellor held up his hand: 'Now drain to the dregs your last tankard, For the ducats are come to an end.'

Ott Heinrich said, 'Well, and no wonder,-- Rem blem! what remains to be seen! We'll paddle for Cyprus out yonder, And make a small raise on the Queen.'

But just as the galley was dancing By Cyprus, in beautiful night, A storm o'er the billows came prancing, With thunder and flashes of light.

In a ghastly wild glare, by the landing, A black ship came rushing along; There a ghost in his shirt-sleeves was standing, And howling a horrible song.

CHORUS.

'Away--along! Away--along! With trembling, your jaws on the stretch. Away--along! I sing the song Of Enderle von Ketsch!'

SOLO.

The thunder grew calmer and wiser, Like oil lay the water below; But oh, the old brave Mückenhäuser The Chancellor felt sorrow and woe.

The Pfalzgrave stood up by the rudder, And gazed on the billowy foam; 'Rem blem! all my soul's in a shudder, Oh, Cyprus--I travel for home!

'God spare me such terrible menace-- I'm wiser through trial and pain; Back, back on our course to old Venice-- I'll ne'er borrow money again.

'And he who 'mid heathens at table His cash to the devil has slammed, Let him hook it in peace while he's able,-- It sounds like all hell and be damned!'[6]

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[Footnote 6: Der verzieh' sich geräuschlos bei Zeiten, Es klingt doch höllenverdammt.]

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RODENSTEIN.

THE RODENSTEIN BALLADS.

THE THREE VILLAGES.

I.

Wer reit't mit zwanzig Knappen ein Zu Heidelberg im Hirschen? Das ist der Herr von Rodenstein, Auf Rheinwein will er pirschen.

Who is it rides with twenty spears, Straight to the Stag Inn going? Von Rodenstein and cavaliers, To set the Rhine wine flowing.

Hurrah! the tap! Give wine to me, The best of all your tillage! A whole year long we'll merry, merry be, Although it cost a village. I've Pfaffenbeerfurt, o' my soul! And Reichelsheim so loyal.

The trumps and psaltery played to wine, Although no drums were beating; For six months sat the Rodenstein, To Rhine wine measures treating.

And when six months in frolic fled He for the reckoning halloed, And 'Now the fun is o'er,' he said, 'For Reichelsheim is swallowed! Reichelsheim's gone! Gone with a race! Reichelsheim loyal, the schnaps-making place, Old Reichelsheim is swallowed!

'Hollaheh! it's gone, at worst; We've all our way of thinking; They never say a word for thirst, But always talk of drinking. Reichelsheim's gone! Gone with a race! Reichelsheim loyal, the schnaps-stilling place, Old Reichelsheim is swallowed.' Hol-li-roh!

III.

Wer wankt zu Fusse ganz allein Gen Heidelberg zum Hirschen? Das ist der Herr von Rodenstein, Vorbei ist's mit dem Pirschen.

Who trots afoot alone to dine, Still to the Stag a rover? That is the Herr von Rodenstein, But all his drinking's over.

'Landlord, your smallest beer for me And one poor herring salted; I've drunk so much of your Malvasie, That all my taste has halted.

'What once the greatest thirst was called At length has vanished hollow; The last place in the Odenwald I find I cannot swallow.

'Now call me in a notary To write my will with prudence: Pfaffenbeerfurt to the University, And my thirst unto the students.

'It moves even me, though old and gray, To see the cups they're swinging, And if they drink like me, some day They'll all in it be singing: "Pfaffenbeerfurt is gone! Pfaffenbeerfurt is done! Pfaffenbeerfurt the dung-sparrow hole, as 'tis called, Pfaffenbeerfurt the gem of the Odenwald, Pfaffenbeerfurt is finished and swallowed.

"Hollaheh! it's gone at worst; We've all our way of thinking; They never say a word for thirst, But always talk of drinking. Pfaffenbeerfurt is gone! Pfaffenbeerfurt is done! Pfaffenbeerfurt the dung-sparrow hole, as 'tis called, Pfaffenbeerfurt is finished and swallowed."' Hol-li-roh!

THE WELCOME.

Und als der Herr von Rodenstein Zum Frankenstein sich wandte, Empfing er seinen Ehrenwein So wie es Brauch im Lande.

And as the Herr von Rodenstein To Frankenstein was going, They served the 'wine of honour' fine, To him great honour showing. In Beerbach by the Town Hall brought The Zentgrave with the people, The owl-jug. The old lord laughed out-- 'Bring up your sour tipple! Ye fellows, let your voices sound! The welcome goes around, around; Hallo! the peasants owl-cup Goes round, goes round!'

And when in the Lime of Frankenstein The merry riders found them, The castle-youth in garments fine Came thickly thronging round them. A jack-boot made of porcelain They brought--he did not falter, But drained it as he drew the rein, While all sang out the psalter; 'Ye fellows, let your voices sound! The welcome goes around, around; Holliro! the boot-cup Goes round, goes round!'

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; 'God 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 album 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 PAWNING.

Und wieder sass 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 pawn 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 pawn 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 stitches, 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 Zwölf? 'Raus da! 'Raus aus dam Haus da! Herr Wirth, das Gott mir helf, Giebt's nirgend 'nen Tropfen Wein Des Nachts um halber Zwölf?'

It was the Herr von Rodenstein Who cried, 'By God 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 God, 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! Boots!--to the fore! Open the door! Rouse-rouse-rouse! With all of his wild crew--halloo! The roaring Rodenstein.'

RODENSTEIN AND THE PRIEST.

Und wieder sprach der Rodenstein: 'Halloh, mein wildes Heer! In Assmanshausen fall ich ein Und trink' den Pfarrer leer. 'Raus da! 'raus aus dem Haus da! Herr Pfarr', dass Gott Euch helf'. Giebt's nirgends mehr ein' Tropfen Wein Des Nachts um halber Zwölf?'