Breitmann am Rhein - Cologne

How wunderschn das Vaterland     In audumn-life abbears;     Vot rainpows gild ids vallies crand,     Ven seen troo vallin tears.     Und VON Ill creet mit sang und klang,     Und drown in goldnen wein;     Old Deutschlands cot her sohn again:     Hans Breitmanns on der Rhein.     Und doughts ish schwell dat mighdy heart,     Too awfool for make known;     Ven dey shunt him from de railroat car     Und tropped him in Cologne.     De holy towers of de dome     Cleam, twilicht-veiled, afar;     Und like some lonely bilgrims pipe,     Dim shines de efenin star.     Hans look to find his baggage check,     Und see dat all ish shdraighdts,     Denn toorn him to de city toors,     Mein nadife landwie gehts?     Boot dats vot all who read may run     Fool blainly armies write;     Ids ofer all half Shermany,     Set down in Black and White.     Oh, Black and White! O Weiss and Schwarz!     Vot dings ish dis to see?     I vonder vot in future years     Your mission ish to pe?     Also in crate America     We had soosh colors too!     Die Frb sind mir nicht unbekannt     Ids shoost tout comme chez nous.     Next tay to de Cathedral     He vent de dings to view,     Und found it shoost drei thaler cost     To see de sighds all troo.     Ids tear, said Hans; boot go ahet,     Ife cot de cash all right;     Boot ids queer dats only Protestands     Vot mosdly see de sighdt!     Im Mittelalter I hafe read     De shoorsh vas alvays sure     An open bicdure gallerie,     Und book for all de poor.     Boot now de dings is so arrange     No poor volk can get in;     We Yankees und de Englisch are     Pout all ash shbends de tin.     I shmiles like Mephistopheles     In shoorshes ven I see     Poor Catholics vollerin round apout     To shdeal a sighdttroo ME!     Dey peep und creep roundt chapel gates,     Boot soon kits trofe afay,     Dey gross demselfs, und make a brayer     Boot den dey cannot bay!     Dese Deutsche sacrisdans might learn     More goot in Italy,     Where beoples bays shoost half de brice,     For ten dimes more to see,     De volk vot dink I shbeak sefere     Apout dese Kster vays,     May read vot Mr. Bdeker     In his Belgine Hand Buch says.     Und valkin oop und town de down     Von ding vas shdill de same:     Shoost ash of oldt he saw de shpread     Of Jean Farinas name.     He find it nort, he find it sout,     He find it eferyvhere;     Dere vas no house in all Cologne     Boot J.M.F. vas dere.     De best Cologne in all Cologne     Ill shwear for cerdain sure,     Ish maket in de Jlichsplatz     Und dat at Numero Four.     Boot of dis Cologne in Jlichsplatz     Let dis pe understood,     Dat some of id ish foorst-rate pad,     Vhile some is foorst-rate good.     Boot von ding drafellers moost opserve,     Dis treadful trut I dells,     Fast ash dis Farinaceous crowd     So vast hafe grown the schmells     Dose awfool schmells in gass und strass     Vitch mofe crate Coleridge squalm:     If so he wrote, vot vouldt he write     Apout dem now, py tam?     Of all de schmells I efer schmelt,     Py gutter, sink, or well,     At efery gorner of Cologne     Deres von can peat dat schmell.     Vhen dere you go youll find it so,     Dont dake de ding on troost;     De meanest skunk in Yankee land     Vould die dere of disgoost.     Boot noding dinked der Breitmann     Of schmutz or idle schein,     Vhen he sat in Abendmmerung     Und looket owd on der Rhein     Im goldnen gleamvhile pealin far     Rang shlow, shveet kloster bells,     Und in de dim, plue peaudiful,     Rose distant Drachenfels.     Dey trinket lieb Liebfrauenmilch     So pure ash vomans trut;     De singed de songs of Shermany,     De songs of Breitmanns yout.     De songs mit tears of vanished years,     Made peaudiful in wein.     Dus endet out de firster tay     Of Breitmann on der Rhein.