Breitmann in Battle

DER FADER UND DER SON.     I dinks Ill go a vightin     outshpoke der Breitemann.     Its eighdeen hoonderd fordy-eight     since I kits swordt in hand;     Dese fourdeen years mit Hecker     all roostin I haf been,     Boot now I kicks der Teufel oop     and goes for sailin in.     If you go land out-ridin,     said Caspar Pickletongue,     Foost ding you knows you cooms across     some repels prave and young.     Away down Sout in Tixey,     deyll split you like a clam     For dat, spoke out der Breitmann,     I doos not gare one tam!     Who der Teufel pes de repels,     und vhere dey kits deir sass?     If dey make a run on Breitmann     hell soon let out de gas;     Ill shplit dem like kartoffels;     Ill schlog em on de kop;     Ill set de plackguarts roonin so,     dey dont know vhere to shtop.     Und de outshpoke der Breitmann,     mit his schlaeger py his side:     Forvarts, my pully landsmen!     its dime to run and ride;     Vill riden, vill vighten     der Copitain Ill pe,     Its sporn und horn und saddle now     all in de Cavallrie!     Und ash dey rode droo Vinchesder,     so herrlich to be seen,     Dere coomed some repel cavallrie     a riden on de creen;     Mit a sassy repel Dootchman     an colonel in gommand,     Says he, Vot Teufel makes you here     in dis mein Faderland?     Youre dressed oop like a shentleman     mit your plackguart Yankee crew,     You mudsills and meganics!     Der Teufel put you droo!     Old Yank, you ought to shtay at home     und dake your liddle horn,     Mit some oldt voomans for a noorse     der Breitmann laugh mit shkorn.     Und should I trink mein lager beer     und roost mine self to home?     Ife got too many dings like you     to mash beneat my thoom:     In many a fray und fierce foray     dis Dootchman will be feared     Pefore he stops dis vightin trade     twas dere he grayed his peard.     I pools dat peard out py de roots     I gifes him such a dwist     Dill all de plood roons out,     you tamned old Apolitionist!     You creenpacks mit your swordt und vatch,     right ofer you moost shell,     Und den you goes to Libby stright     und after dat to h-ll!     Mein creenpacks and mein schlaeger,     I kits em in New York,     To gife dem up to creenhorns,     young man, is not de talk;     De heroes shtopped deir sassin here     und grossed deir sabres dwice,     Und de vay dese Deutschers vent to vork     vos von pig ding on ice.     Der younger fetch de older     such a gottallmachty shmack     Der Breitmann dinks he really hears     his skool go shplit and crack;     Der repel shoomps dwelfe paces back,     und so he safe his life:     Der Breitmann says: I guess dem shoomps,     you learns dem of your vife.     If I should learn of vomans     I dinks it vere a shame,     Bei Gott I am a shentleman,     aristograt, and game.     My fader vos anoder     I lose him fery young     Der Teufel take your soul! Coom on!     Ill split your vaggin tongue!     A Yankee drick der Breitmann dried     dat oldt gray-pearded man     For ash the repel raised his swordt,     beneat dat sword he ran.     All round der shlim yoong repels vaist     his arms oldt Breitmann pound,     Und shlinged him down oopon his pack     and laidt him on der ground.     Who rubs against olt kittle-pots     may keep vhite if he can,     Say vot you dinks of vightin now     mit dis oldt shentleman?     Your dime is oop; you got to die,     und I your breest vill pe;     Pelievst dou in Morl Ideas?     If so, I lets you free.     I dont know nix apout ideas     no more dan pout Saint Paul,     Since Ife peen down in Tixey     I kits no books at all;     Im greener ash de clofer-grass;     Im shtupid as a shpoon;     Im ignoranter ash de nigs     for dey takes de Tribune.     Mein faders 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;     Vell hafe some trinks on strengt of dis     or else may I be tamd!     Oh! fader, how I shlog your kop,     der younger Breitmann said;     Id 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!     Whos dat a ridin py his side?     Dis heres 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 BREITMANNS LIED.