Breitmann As An Uhlan. VI. Breitmanns Last Party

For fear of some missed onder standings, I vould shtate, dat dis is only mean de last Barty dat der Coptain Breitmann has ge givenas yed. Pimepy I kess he gife anoder von, und if I kits an in-leading, or indrotuckshun, I kess Ill go. I am von of de vellers dat vas ad de virst Barty, vhere mine swister-in-law de Madilda Yane vas tantz mit Herr Breitmann.     FRITZ SCHWACKENHAMMER,     Olim Studiosus Theologi,     now Uhlan free-lancer,     und Segretarius of Coptain Breitmann.     Vot gollops at mitnight,     Mit hroolah and yell,     Like der teufels wild yger     Boorst loose out of hell?     Vot cleams in the sonrise     Bright vlashin in gold?     Das sind die Uhlancers     Of Breitmann der bold.     Dey frighten de coontry,     Dey ploonder de town;     And when dey are oop     Die Franzosen co down:     For pefore de wild Norsemen     De Southron must flee;     Ab ira Normannorum     Libera nos Domine!     How dey sweep de chateaux!     How dey grab oop de hens!     Und gobble de toorkeys     Shoot oop in de pens     Like de Angel of Deat     Dey are ragin abroad:     You may track dem py fedders     Knee-deep in de road.     O der Breitmann ish on,     Und der Breitmann is on,     Und mit him de Uhlans     Are ploonderin gone.     De demon of fengeance     His wings oer em vave,     Mit deir fingers like hooks,     Und mit maws like de grafe.     Dey coom to a castel,     So shplendid, of bricks;     Franzosen defend it,     Das help em gar nichts.     For de Uhlans hafe take it,     Dey smash in de gate,     Und inshpired by Gotts fury,     Dey shdole all de plate.     From shamber to shamber     Dey fighted deir way,     Till dead in de hall     De Franzosen all lay;     Und dere shtood a mdchen,     So lieblich und hold,     Who laugh at de dead     Troo her ringlocks of gold.     Denn der Breitmann, all plooty,     Tom mdel so lind,     Spoke courtly und tender:     Vy laughst dou, mein kind?     Denn de plue-eyed young peaudy,     Mit lippe so red,     Said, Vy not shall I laughen?     Vhen Frenchmen are dead.     I coom here from Deutschland,     De shildren to teach;     Dey mock me for Deutsch,     Und dey sneer at mein sbeech;     Und since de war komm,     I vas nearly gone mad,     You wouldnt peliefe     How dey dreet me so pad.     Mit a tear Breitmann bend     To de peaudifool miss;     Crate Gott! canst dou suffer     Soosh horrors ash dis?     His arm round de maiden     Der hero has bound,     Und it shtaid dere goot vhile,     Fore dey got it unwound.     Ho! fetch me de diamonds!     Ho! shell out de rings!     Mit all in de castle     Of dat sort of dings.     Twas brought to de Captain     A donderin load:     At de veet of de mdchen     Dat ploonder he trowed.     Ho! pring oos champagner!     Und light oop de hall!     Dis night der Herr Breitmann     Will gife you a ball.     Dat pile of dead vellers,     Vot died for La France,     May see, if dey like,     How de Shermans can tance.     Dey find laties garments,     Und troot to confess     Likewise som Frntsch maidens,     Who help dem to tress.     De rest of de Uhlans     Who hadnt soosh loves,     Fixed oop in black clothes     Mit white chokers und gloves.     Now hei! for de fittles!     Und hei! for clavier!     For de tantz of de Uhlans     De men of de speer!     How de shendlemen ashk     If deyd blease introduce;     How de ladies mit beards     Were called Espionnes Prusses!     Hei, ho! how dey tanzt!     Hei, ho! how dey sang!     How mit klingen of glasses     De braun arches rang.     How dey trill from deir hearts     Ash dey pour out der wein,     De songs of de Oberland,     Songs of der Rhein.     Und madder und wilder,     All whirlin around,     Vent Hans mit de maiden     In Bacchanal bound.     She helt to his peard,     Und dey gissed as if mad;     I tont dink dat efer     Vas dimes like dey had.     Boot calm in de hall,     Ever calm on de floor,     Was a row of still guests     Dat wouldnt tantz nefermore.     Mit plood shtreams black winding,     Der lord mit his men,     When der Youngest Day cooms     Hans may meet dem acain.     Hoorah for der Uhlan,     So rash und so wild!     Hoorah for der Uhlan,     Der teufels own child!     Dis ish Breitmanns Last Barty,     Deyll sing it for years;     De lords of de lanzes,     De sons of de speers.     For dey frighten de coontry,     Dey ploonder de town;     Und when dey are oop     De Franzosen go down;     For pefore de wild Norsemen     Weak Southrons moost flee,     Ab ira Normannorum     Libera nos Domine!