The Breitmann Ballads Part 8

Your dime is oop; you got to die, und I your breest vill pe; Peliev'st dou in Moral Ideas? If so, I lets you free."[12]

"I don't know nix apout ideas - no more dan 'pout Saint Paul, Since I'fe peen down in Tixey I kits no books at all; I'm greener ash de clofer-gra.s.s; I'm shtupid as a shpoon; I'm ignoranter ash de nigs - for dey takes de Tribune.

"Mein fader's name vas Breitmann, I heard mein mutter say, She read de bapers dat he died after she rooned afay; Dey say he leaf some broperty - berhaps 'tvas all a sell- If I could lay mein hands on it I likes it mighty vell."

"Und vas dy fader Breitmann? Bist du his kit and kin?

Denn know dat ich der Breitmann dein lieber Vater bin?"

Der Breitmann poolled his hand-shoe off und shooked him py de hand; "Ve'll hafe some trinks on strengt' of dis - or else may I be tam'd!"

"Oh! fader, how I shlog your kop," der younger Breitmann said; "I'd den dimes sooner had it coom right down on mein own headt!"

"Oh, never mind - dat soon dry oop - I shticks him mit a blaster; If I had shplit you like a fish, dat vere an vorse tisasder."

Dis fight did last all afternoon - wohl to de fesper tide, Und droo de streets of Vinchesder, der Breitmann he did ride.

Vot vears der Breitmann on his hat? De ploom of fictory!

Who's dat a ridin' py his side? "Dis here's mein son," says he.

How stately rode der Breitmann oop! - how lordly he kit down!

How glorious from de great pokal he drink de beer so prown!

But der Younger bick der parrel oop und schwig him all at one.

"Bei Gott! dat settles all his dings - I know dou art mein son!"

Der one has got a fader; de oder found a child.

Bofe ride oopon one war-path now in pattle fierce und vild.

It makes so glad our hearts to hear dat dey did so succeed- Und damit hat sein Ende DES JUNGEN BREITMANN'S LIED.

BREITMANN IN MARYLAND.

DER BREITMANN mit his gompany Rode out in Marylandt.

"Dere's nix to trink in dis countrie; ine droat's as dry as sand.

It's light canteen und haversack, It's hoonger mixed mit doorst; Und if ve had some lager beer I'd trink oontil I boorst.

Gling, glang, gloria!

Ve'd trink oontil ve boorst.[13]

Herr Leut'nant, take a dozen men, Und ride dis land around!

Herr Feldwebel, go foragin'

Dill somedings goot is found.

Gotts-donder! men, go ploonder!

Ve hafn't trinked a bit Dis fourdeen hours! If I had beer I'd sauf oontil I shplit!

Gling, glang, gloria!

Ve'd sauf oontil ve shplit!"

At mitternacht a horse's hoofs Coom rattlin' droo de camp; "Rouse dere! - coom rouse der house dere!

Herr Copitain - ve moost tromp!

De scouds have found a repel town, Mit repel davern near, A repel keller in de cround, Mit repel lager beer!!

Gling, glang, gloria!

All fool of lager beer!"

Gottsdonnerkreuzschockschwerenoth!

How Breitmann broked de bus.h.!.+

"O let me see dat lager beer!

O let me at him rus.h.!.+

Und is mein sabre sharp und true, Und is mein var-horse goot?

To get one quart of lager beer I'd shpill a sea of ploot.

Gling, glang, gloria!

I'd shpill a sea of ploot.

"Fuenf hoonderd repels hold de down, One hoonderd strong are ve; Who gares a tam for all de odds Vhen men so dirsty pe."

And in dey smashed and down dey crashed, Like donder-polts dey fly, Rash fort as der vild yaeger cooms Mit blitzen droo de shky.

Gling, glang, gloria!

Like blitzen droo de shky.

How flewed to rite, how flewed to left De moundains, drees, und hedge; How left und rite de yaeger corps Vent donderin' droo de pridge.

Und splash und splosh dey ford de shtream Vhere not some pridges pe: All dripplin' in de moondlight peam Stracks vent de Cavallrie.

Gling, glang, gloria!

Der Breitmann's cavallrie.

Und hoory, hoory, on dey rote, Oonheedin' vet or try; Und horse und rider shnort and blowed Und shparklin' bepples fly.

Ropp! Ropp! I shmell de parley-prew!

Dere's somedings goot ish near.

Ropp! Ropp! - I scent de kneiperei; Ve've got to lager beer!

Gling, glang, gloria!

Ve've got to lager beer!

Hei! how de carpine pullets klinged Oopon de helmets hart!

Oh, Breitmann - how dy sabre ringed; Du alter Knasterbart!

De contrapands dey sing for shoy To see de rebs go down, Und hear der Breitmann grimly gry: Hoorah! - ve've dook de down.

Gling, glang, gloria!

Victoria, victoria!

De Dootch have dook de down.

Mid shout and crash and sabre flash, And vild husaren shout De Dootchmen boorst de keller in, Und rolled de lager out; Und in de coorlin' powder shmoke, Vhile shtill de pullets sung, Dere shtood der Breitmann, axe in hand, A knockin' out de boong.

Gling, glang, gloria!

Victoria! Encoria!

De shpicket beats de boong.

Gotts! vot a shpree der Breitmann had Vhile yet his hand was red, A trinkin' lager from his poots Among de repel tead.[14]

"Tvas dus dey vent at mitternight Along der moundain side; 'Tvas dus dey help make history!

Dis vas der Breitmann's ride.

Gling, glang, gloria!

Victoria! Victoria!

Cer'visia, encoria!

De treadful mitnight ride Of Breitmann's vild Freischarlinger, All famous, broad, und vide.

BREITMANN AS A b.u.mMER

DER SHENERAL SHERMAN holts oop on his coorse, He shtops at de gross-road und reins in his horse.

"Dere's a ford on de rifer dis day we moost dake, Or elshe de grand army in bieces shall preak!"