Now, my Muse, thy powers summon!

For thy path leads to the Baron

And the lovely Margaretta.

Now be circumspect and courteous;

For, an aged trooper-colonel

Might with thee and others like thee

Not be very ceremonious;

But might throw thee down the staircase,

Which is steep and very slippery,

And might prove injurious to thee.

Now, my Muse, mount upward to the

Castle gate, behold there sculptured

The three balls upon the scutcheon.

As in the armorial bearings

Of the Medici in Florence--

Signs of ancient, noble lineage;

Now ascend the steps of sandstone,

Loudly knock at the great hall door,

Then step in and give report of

What thou there hast slyly noticed.

In the spacious, lofty knights' hall,

With its walls of panelled oak-wood.

And with rows of old ancestral

Dusty portraits decorated,

There the Baron took his comfort,

Seated in his easy arm-chair

By the cheerful blazing fire.

His mustache was gray already;

On his forehead, which a Swedish

Troopers sword had deeply scarred once,

Many wrinkles had been furrowed

Also by the hand of Time.

And a most unpleasant guest had

Taken quarters uninvited

In the left foot of the Baron.

Gout 'tis called in vulgar parlance,

But if any learnèd person

Rather podagra should call it,

I shall offer no objection;

Not the less will be its torments.

Just this day the pangs were milder,

Only now and then increasing,

When the Baron, smiling, spoke thus:

"Zounds! 'tis evident that in the

Long and dreadful Thirty Years' war.

E'en this plaguy gout adopted

Something of the art of tactics.

The attack begins in order;

First the skirmishers go forward,

Then the flying columns follow.

Oh, I wish the devil had them,

This whole reconnoitring party!

But not even this sufficeth.

Just as if I had a fortress

In my heart--like guns 'tis roaring.

Then it throbs like storming parties,

Piif! paif! I capitulate."

But just then there was a truce held.

So the Baron took his comfort

As he filled out of the stone jug

His large goblet brimming over.

Up by Hallau where the last spurs

Of the Hohe-Randen's ridges

To the Rhine are sloping downward,

Where the vintner, while at labour,

Hears the ceaseless mighty roaring

Of the Rhine-fall by Schaffhausen:

Had the sun with fervent glowing

Ripened well the spicy red wine

Which the Baron had selected

As his usual evening beverage.

And, to heighten his enjoyment,

He puffed out clouds of tobacco.

In his red and simple clay-pipe

Burned the weed from foreign countries,

Which he smoked through a long pipe-stem

Made of fragrant cherry-wood.

At the Baron's feet was lying

Gracefully the worthy tom-cat,

Hiddigeigei, with the coal-black

Velvet fur and mighty tail.

'Twas an heirloom from his long-lost,

Much-beloved, and stately consort,

Leonore Monfort du Plessys.

Hiddigeigei's native country

Was Hungaria, and his mother,

Who was of the race Angora,

Bore him to a Puszta tom-cat.

In his early youth to Paris

He was sent as a fond token

Of the love of an Hungarian,

Who, though far in Debreczin, still

With due reverence had remembered

The blue eyes of Leonora,

And the rats in her old palace.

With the stately Leonora

To the Rhine came Hiddigeigei.

A true house-pet, somewhat lonesome

Did he while away his life there;

For, he hated to consort with

Any of the German cat-tribe.

"They may have," thus he was thinking

In his consequential cat-pride,

"Right good hearts, and may possess too

At the bottom some good feeling,

But 'tis polish that is wanting;

A fine culture and high breeding,

I miss sorely in these vulgar

Natives of this forest-city.

And a cat who won his knight spurs

In fair Paris, and who often

In the quarter of Montfaucon

Has enjoyed a racy rat-hunt,

Misses in this little town here

All that is to him congenial,

Any intercourse with equals."

Isolated, therefore, but still

Ever dignified and solemn

Lived he in this lonely castle.

Graceful through the halls he glided,

Most melodious was his purring;

And in fits of passion even,

When he curved his back in anger,

And his hair stood bristling backward,

Never did he fail to mingle

Dignity with graceful bearing.

But when over roof and gable

Up he softly clambered, starting

On a hunting expedition.

Then mysteriously by moonlight

His green eyes like emeralds glistened;

Then, indeed, he looked imposing

This majestic Hiddigeigei.

Near his cat sat the old Baron.

In his eyes were often flashes,

Now like lightning--then more softened

Like the mellow rays of sunset,

As he thought of bygone times.

To old age belongs the solace

Of recalling days of yore.

Thus the aged ne'er are lonely.

The dear shades are floating round them,

Of the dead, in quaint old garments,

Gorgeous once, now sadly faded.

But fond memory blots decay out,

And the skulls once more with beauty

Are arrayed in youthful freshness.

Then they talk of days long vanished,

And the aged heart is beating,

And the fist oft clinches tightly.

As he passes by her turret,

Once again she smiling greets him;

Once again resound the trumpets,

And the fiery charger bears him

Neighing to the throng of battle.

So the Baron with good humour

Of the Past review was holding--

And, when oft he stretched his hand out,

Suddenly grasped at his goblet,

And a deep long draught then swallowed:

Probably a dear and lovely

Vision rose up bright before him.

Oft it seemed as if his memory

Clung to things which gave less pleasure;

For sometimes, without a reason,

Down there came on Hiddigeigei's

Back a kick with cruel rudeness.

And the cat thought it more prudent

Then his resting-place to alter.

Now into the hall stepped lightly

The old Baron's lovely daughter

Margaretta,--and her father

Nodded kindly as she entered.

Hiddigeigei's suffering face too

Showed delight as cats express it.

She had changed her festal white robe

For a garment of black velvet.

On her long and golden tresses,

A black cap sat most coquettish,

'Neath which her blue eyes were smiling

With a matron-like expression;

To the girdle was attached the

Bunch of keys and leather-pocket,

German housewife's badge of honour.

And she kissed the Baron's forehead,

Saying: "Dear papa, don't blame me,

If to-day I kept you waiting.

The old Lady Abbess yonder

In the convent did detain me,

Told me many things of import,

Wisely of old age discoursing,

And of Time, the great destroyer.

The Commander too of Beuggen

Said such sweet things, just as if they

Came right from the comfit-maker.

I was glad, when I could leave them.

For your lordship's further pleasure

Here I am, all due attention.

I am ready, from your favourite

Theuerdank to read aloud now;

For, I know, you like the rougher

Tales of hunting and adventure,

Better than the mawkish sweetness

Of our present pastoral poets.

"But, O wherefore, dearest father,

Are you ever, ever smoking

This bad poisonous tobacco?

I am frightened when I see you

Sitting there in clouds enveloped

As in times of fog the Eggberg.

And I'm sorry for the gilded

Picture-frames hung on the walls there,

And the pretty snow-white curtains.

Don't you hear their low complaining,

How the smoke from your red-clay pipe

Makes them faded, gray and rusty?

'Tis most truly a fine country,

That America which once the

Spanish admiral discovered.

I myself take great delight in

The gay plumage of the parrots,

And the pink and scarlet corals;

Dream at times also of lofty

Graceful palm-groves, lonely log-huts,

Cocoa-nuts, gigantic flowers,

And of mischievous wild monkeys.

I wish almost it were lying

In the sea still undiscovered;

All because of this tobacco

Which has been imported hither.

I can grant a man forgiveness,

Who more often than is needed

Draws his red wine from the barrel,

And could get, if necessary,

Reconciled unto his red nose;

Never to this horrid smoking."

Smiling had the Baron listened,

Smiling he puffed many smoke-clouds

From his clay-pipe, and then answered:

"Dearest child, you women always

Thoughtlessly do talk of many

Things beyond your comprehension.

It is true that soldiers often

Take up many evil habits,

Not adapted to the boudoir.

But my daughter finds with smoking

Too much fault; for through this habit

I have won my wife and household.

And because to-day so many

Old campaign tales through my head run,

Do not read to-night. Sit down here;

I will now relate thee something

Of this much-abused tobacco,

And of thy blest angel mother."

Sceptically, Margaretta

With her large blue eyes looked at him,

Took her work up to embroider,

Coloured worsted and her needle,

Moved her stool then near the Baron's

Arm-chair, and sat down beside him.

Charming picture! In the forest,

Round the knotty oak thus climbeth

The wild rose in youthful beauty.

Then the Baron at one swallow

Drank his wine, and thus related:

"When the wicked war was raging,

I once roved with some few German

Troopers yonder in fair Alsace;

Hans von Weerth was our good colonel.

Swedes and French laid siege to Breisach,

And their camp was all alive with

Stories of our daring ventures.

But who e'er can stand 'gainst numbers?

So one day the hounds attacked us,

Just as if wild beasts they hunted;

And at last, when bleeding freely

From the wounds their fangs inflicted,

We were forced to lay our arms down.

Afterwards the French transported

Us as prisoners to Paris,

Caged us in Vincennes' strong fortress.

'Damn them!' said our valiant colonel,

Hans von Weerth, 'it was much nicer,

Galloping, with shining sabres

Hostile lines to charge with fury,

Than on this hard bench to sit here,

And to battle with ennui thus.

For this foe there is no weapon,

Neither wine nor even dice-box,

Nothing but tobacco. I once

Tried it in the country of the

Dull Mynheers, and here it also

Will do service; let us smoke then!'

The commander of the fortress

Got a keg of best Varinas

For us from a Dutch retailer,

Got us also well-burnt clay-pipes.

In the prisoners' room commenced now

Such a smoking, such a puffing

Of dense clouds of strong tobacco

As no mortal eyes had seen yet

In the gallant Frenchmen's country.

Full of wonder gazed our jailors,

And the news spread to the king's ears,

And the king himself in person

Came to see this latest marvel.

Soon all Paris rang with stories

Of the wild and boorish Germans,

And of their, as yet unheard of,

Truly wondrous feats in smoking.

Coaches drove up, pages sprang down,

All came to the narrow guard-room,

Cavaliers and stately ladies;

She came also, she the noble

Leonore Montfort du Plessys.

Even now I see her slight foot

Stepping on our rough bare stone-floor,

Hear her satin train still rustling,

And my soldier's heart is beating

As if in the thick of battle.

Like the smoke from the big cannons

Came the smoke out of my clay-pipe;

And 'twas well so. On the same cloud

Which I puffed there in the presence

Of the proud one, sat god Cupid,

Gaily shooting off his arrows,

And he knew well how to hit right.

Out of wonder grew deep interest,

Then the interest fast to love changed,

And the German bear appeared soon

Finer far and nobler than the

Paris lions altogether.

"When, at last, the gates were opened

Of our dungeon, and the herald

Brought us tidings of our freedom,

I was then still more a captive

Bound in Leonora's fetters;

And remained thus, and the wedding

Which soon took us home to Rhine-land

Only made the rivets stronger.

When I think of this, I feel that

Tears on my mustache are rolling.

For what now to me remaineth

Of the past so fair, but memory,

And the black cat, Hiddigeigei,

And my Leonora's image.

Thou my child. God give her soul rest!"

Speaking thus, he knocked the ashes

From his pipe, and patted gently

Hiddigeigei; but his daughter

Roguishly knelt down before him.

Saying: "Dearest father, grant me

Your entire absolution.

Never shall you hear in future

From my lips an observation

On account of this vile smoking."

Graciously the Baron said then:

"Thou hast also been sarcastic

At my drinking oft too freely;

And I have a mind to tell thee

Still a most instructive story,

How in Rheinau in the cloister,

As the guest of the Lord Abbot

I went through a bout of drinking

In the famous wine of Hallau.

But"--the Baron stopped and listened.

"Zounds!" he said, "what's that I hear there?

Whence doth come that trumpet-blowing?"

Werner's music through the March night,

Plaintive soared up to the castle,

Begging entrance like a pet-dove,

Which, returning to its mistress,

Finds the window closed and fastened,

And begins to peck and hammer.

To the terrace went the Baron

And his daughter; Hiddigeigei

Followed both with step majestic.

Through the cat's heart then swept omens

Of a great, eventful future.

All around they looked--but vainly.

For the turret's gloomy shadow

Covered both the bank and Werner.

Like the blowing of the moot, then

Like the clanging charge of horsemen,

Up it mounted to the terrace,

Then died out;--a small boat dimly

They saw moving up the river.

Backward stepped the Baron quickly,

Pulled the bell and called his servant

Anton, who came in directly.

"Gain immediate information

Who was blowing here the trumpet

On the Rhine at this late hour.

If a spirit, sign the cross thrice;

If a mortal, greet him kindly,

And command his presence hither,

For with him I must hold converse."

Soldier-like, saluting, turned then

Right about face good old Anton:

"I'll fulfil your lordship's orders."

Meanwhile, silently descended

Midnight over vale and city;

And in Margaretta's slumbers

Came a dream most sweet and wondrous:

As she walked to the old minster

Once again in festal garments,

Fridolinus came to meet her;

By his side there walked another,

But 'twas not the dead man who once

Followed him to Glarus court-house;

'Twas a youth, fair, tall, and slender;

Like a trumpeter he looked, and

Greeted her with lowly reverence;

While Saint Fridolin was smiling.

Master Anton started early

The next morning for the city,

To find out that trumpet blower.

By St. Fridolin's cathedral

He turned off into a side-street.

From the other side there came with

Rapid steps the boatman Martin,

And they met just at the corner,

Bumping up against each other.

"'Pon my soul," cried out the worthy

Anton, as he rubbed his forehead;

"Your thick skull is hard as iron."

"Yours is not upholstered either

With soft wool or springy sea-weed,"

Was the boatman's ready answer.

"And what business have you running

Through the city's streets thus early?"

"I can ask the same," said Anton.

"I seek someone who last evening

From the shore my boat unfastened,"

Answered him the boatman Martin.

"He may be my man," said Anton.

"When I came down to the river,

There I found my boat turned over

On the shore--the rudder broken,

And the fastening cut asunder.

If a thunderstorm would only

Sweep away these wicked people,

Who like thieves at night are roving

On the Rhine in borrowed vessels."

"And the trumpet blow," said Anton.--

"But whenever I shall find him,

To the justice I shall take him.

He must pay me; even for the

Black and blue mark which you gave me,

I shall bring a heavy reckoning.

It is shameful how this fellow

Gives me such vexation!" Thus the

Boatman scolding went on farther.

"And I do not see myself, why

I should take such extra trouble

To hunt up this mischief-maker,"

Said old Anton to himself then.

"Seems to me it is already

Just the time when honest people

For their morning draught are longing."

To the "Golden Button's" shady

Tap-room turned the worthy Anton

Now his steps, and through a side-door

In he stepped: he deemed it wiser

Thus to hide before the public

Such an early morning visit.

Many worthy folks already

Had there quietly assembled

O'er their brimming foaming bumpers.

Like red roses shone their faces,

And like radishes their noses.

"Want a big glass?" asked the waitress

Our old Anton, who assented:

"To be sure! hot is the weather,

And when I woke up, already

In my throat I felt a dryness."

So good Anton soon was drinking

From his large Bohemian bumper,

Turning over in his mind well,

How he should despatch his business.

In the private room was sitting,

Just then Werner with the landlord,

Who had served for his guest's breakfast

A fine slice of red smoked salmon,

And commenced with the young stranger

An instructive conversation:

On the vintage in the Rhine-Pfalz,

How the price of hops was standing,

How they fared in time of war there.

Now and then, to sound the stranger,

He threw slyly out some questions,

Whence he came and what his business.

Still he gained no satisfaction;

But quite shrewdly thus he reasoned:

"He's no bookworm, for he seemeth

Much too martial--nor a soldier

Either, as he looks too modest;

He may be a necromancer,

An adept in all dark witchcraft,

Alchemy, and other black arts.

Wait, I'll catch thee;" and he turned their

Talk to hidden buried treasures,

And to midnight exorcisms.

"Yes, my friend, here near the city

Lies a sandbank in the river.

At the time of Fridolinus

Heaps of gold coin there were buried.

One who knows, a clever fellow,

Could there dig and make his fortune."

"I already saw the sandbank,"

Said young Werner, "when I rowed there

On the Rhine last night by moonlight."

"What, you know it then already?"

Said the landlord much astonished.

"Have I caught thee?" he thought, keenly

Looking at young Werner's pockets,

If he could not hear a jingling

Of great lots of golden money.

"Have I caught thee?" also gladly

To himself said worthy Anton.

"It is, after all, the right thing

Thus to take an early potion."

From the spot where he was seated

He had heard their conversation;

And besides upon the table.

By the stranger's sword and cocked hat,

Also lay the sought-for trumpet.

Drawing near, then, he said gravely:

"With your leave, if you're no spirit--

And that seems to me unlikely.

As you've just enjoyed your breakfast--

Then the Baron sends you greeting,

And invites you to his castle.

I will take you there with pleasure."

Thus he spoke. Young Werner listened,

Half astonished, and went with him.

Smirking, thought the cunning landlord:

"You will get it, my young master;

You believed you had full freedom

Thus to rove about the river,

Spying out long-buried treasures.

But the Baron found you out soon,

And will stop your bold proceedings.

Now you'll get it, when he treats you,

From his amply-furnished stores, to

Some of his well-seasoned curses.

Like a top your head will spin then,

And your ears buzz like a beehive.

But this will concern you solely.

If he keep you in a dungeon

Of your horse I'll take possession;

It will well score off your reckoning."

Once more in the hall together

Were the Baron and his daughter,

And again he smoked his pipe there,

When the ponderous folding-doors were

Opened, and, with modest reverence,

Werner entered. "If you only,"

Said the faithful Anton, "only

Knew, your gracious lordship, what a

Heavy task it was to find him!"

Keenly did the Baron's eyes rest

On young Werner, passing muster;

By her father, lightly leaning

On his arm-chair, Margaretta

Bashfully looked at the stranger,

And with both the first impression

Of each other was most happy.

"It is you, then," said the Baron,

"Who last night have startled us here

With your trumpet-blowing, therefore

I should like to speak to you now."

"This commences well," thought Werner,

And, embarrassed, cast his eyes down

To the ground. But the old Baron,

Kindly smiling, thus continued:

"You believe, perhaps, I shall now

Call you to account for having

Made loud music near the castle?

You are wrong, 'tis not my business;

For no license is here needed

On the Rhine; if anybody

Wants to catch a cold by playing

Late at night there, he may do so.

No, I only wish to ask you,

Whether you would like here often

As last night to blow the trumpet?

But I fear I am mistaken.

You are not by trade a player,

May be one of those damned scribblers,

Secretary to a foreign

Embassy, as many are now

Coaching all about the country,

Just to spoil all that the soldier's

Ready sword had once accomplished?"

"Not bad either," thought young Werner;

Still he liked the Baron's manner.

"I am no professional player,"

Said he, "and still less a scribbler.

As for my part, all the inkstands

In the Holy Roman Empire

Might dry up without my caring.

I am not in any service,

But as my own lord and master

I am travelling for my pleasure,

And await whatever fortune

On my pathway may be blooming."

"Very good, then," said the Baron.

"If it stands thus, you may well hear

Everything I have to tell you;

But before we go on farther,

With old wine it must be seasoned."

Cleverly his thoughts divining,

Margaretta, from the cellar,

Now brought up two dusty bottles

Which, with spider-webs all covered,

In the sand had lain half-buried;

Brought with them two fine-cut goblets,

Which she filled and then presented.

"This wine ripened long before the

War raged in our German country,"

Said the Baron. "'Tis a famous

Choice old wine which grew at Grenzach.

Brightly in the glass it sparkles,

Like pure gold its colour shineth,

And a fragrance rises from it

Like the finest greenhouse flowers.

Master Trumpeter, ring glasses!"

Loudly then rang both their goblets.

Emptying his, the Baron spun out

Farther still the conversation.

"My young friend, you know, as long as

This world lasts, there will be people

Who are fond of hobby-horses.

Some are mystics and ascetics,

Others love old wine or brandy.

Some, antiquities are seeking,

Others are for chafers craving;

Many others make bad verses.

'Tis a curious joke that each one

Much prefers to choose a calling

Most unsuited to his nature.

I thus also ride my hobby,

And this hobby is the noble

Muse of music who regales me.

As King Saul's deep sorrow vanished

At the sound of David's harp once,

So with cheering sounds of music

Do I banish age's inroads

And the gout, my old disturber.

When sometimes in tempo presto

I an orchestra am leading,

Oft I think I'm once more riding

At the head of my brave squadrons.

Right wing, charge the enemy! charge!

At them now you piercing violins!

Fire away you kettle-drums now!

In the town here there are many

Skilful players--though among them

Is a want of sense artistic,

And of connoisseurship, only

Their good will doth hide their failings.

Violin, flute, also viol,

All these parts are well supported

And the contrabass is perfect.

But one player still is wanting;

And, my friend, what is a general

Without orderlies, without a

Fugleman the line of battle,

And a band without the trumpet?

"Once 'twas different These old walls can

Hear him still, the valiant Rassmann,

The chief trumpeter of my squadrons.

Ha! that was a noble blowing!

Rassmann, wherefore didst thou die?

"Still as clear as on his last day,

Do I see him at the shooting

Festival at Laufenburg.

His mustache was fiercely twisted,

Bright and glistening was his trumpet,

And his riding-boots were shining

Like a mirror; I was chuckling.

''Tis a point of honour,' said he.

'I must all these Swiss astonish

With myself and with my trumpet.'

"Clear and cheerful rang out yonder

Bugle-horns and trumpets; but as

O'er the choir of forest singers

Sounds the nightingale's sweet warbling,

So above all rang out loudly

Rassmann's wondrous trumpet-blowing.

When we met, his cheeks were scarlet,

And fatigued appeared his breathing.

''Tis a point of honour,' said he;

And blew on still. Then were silenced

All the trumpeters from Frickthal,

Those from Solothurn and Aarau,

By the trumpeter great Rassmann.

Once again we met, 'twas evening.

In the 'Golden Swan' he sat then;

Like a giant 'mid the pigmies

Looked he in this crowd of players.

Many were the goblets emptied

By the trumpeters from Frickthal,

And from Solothurn and Aarau,

But the most capacious goblet

Was drank out by my brave Rassmann.

And with fiery Castelberger,

Which grows on the Aar by Schinznach,

He at last filled up his trumpet.

''Tis a point of honour,' said he;

Drank it out at one long swallow.

'To your health my worthy colleagues!

Thus drinks trumpet-blower Rassmann.'

Midnight had already passed by,

Under tables lay some snoring,

But with steady step and upright

Started Rassmann from the tavern.

On the Rhine with mocking humour

He poured forth a roguish tune yet,

Then a misstep! Poor, poor Rassmann!

Straight he fell into the river,

And the Rhine's tremendous whirlpool

Thundered foaming and engulfed him,

Him the bravest trumpet-blower.

Ha! that was a noble blowing!

Rassmann, wherefore didst thou die?"

Deeply moved the Baron told this;

Then continued after pausing:

"My young friend, and think, last evening

On the Rhine a trumpet rang out

Like a greeting from his spirit,

And a tune I heard performed there,

Such a wilderness of sounds, and

Played in Rassmann's finest manner.

If we only had that trumpet,

Then the gap would be filled up well.

And once more I'd lead a full band,

As it were to frays of music.

Therefore hear now my proposal:

Stay with us here in my castle.

Paralysed is now the music

In the forest-city, blow then

New life into her old bones."

Thoughtfully spoke then young Werner:

"Noble lord, you do me honour,

But I nourish a misgiving.

Slim and straight have I thus grown up,

Have not learnt the art of bending

My proud back in any service."

Said the Baron: "Take no trouble

On that head; because the service

Of the arts enslaves nobody.

Only want of understanding

Makes one lose one's independence.

Be assured, nought is required

Of you but some merry music.

Only, if in idle moments

You would write for me a letter,

Or with my accounts would help me,

I should thank you; for an ancient

Soldier finds the pen a burden."

Still young Werner hesitated;

But a glance at Margaretta,

And the clouds of doubt all vanished.

"Noble lord," he said, "I'll stay then,

On the Rhine shall be my home now!"

"Bravo!" said the Baron kindly.

"From the prompting of the moment

Have the best results proceeded;

Evil springs from hesitation.

Master Trumpeter ring glasses!

With the golden wine of Grenzach,

With a hearty grasp of hands thus

Let us seal our new-made contract."

Turning then to Margaretta:

"I present to you, my daughter,

This new member of our household."

Then young Werner's silent greeting

Was returned by Margaretta.

"Follow me now through the castle,

My young friend, that I may show you

Where you will abide in future.

In the tower there I have the

Very room for a musician,

O'er the Rhine and mountains looking;

And the radiant morning sun will

Wake you early from your slumber.

There you cosily can nestle.

And the trumpet will sound well there."

From the hall they both proceeded.

From the hall the Baron's daughter

Also went, and in the garden

Gathered cowslips and sweet violets,

Also other fragrant flowers,

Speaking to herself: "How lonely

Must the young man feel here, coming

Thus to dwell with utter strangers!

And, besides, the tower-room looks

With its whitewashed walls so naked,

That I think my pretty nosegay

Will do much for its adornment."

Azure heavens, glowing sunlight,

Bees' low humming, larks' gay carols,

Clear as glass the Rhine's green waters.

On the mountains snow is melting,

In the valleys blossom fruit trees,

May begins his reign at last.

In the path before the hall door

Hiddigeigei took his comfort,

Caring only that the sun's rays

On his fur should fall and warm him.

Through the garden walked the Baron

With his daughter, and with pleasure

He beheld the trees in blossom.

"If my life should be preserved still

For a hundred years or longer,

I should always be delighted

With this wonder-breathing May-time.

True, indeed, I set no value

On the May-dew, though the women

Like to wet with it their faces.

I have never seen a soul yet

Who by it improved her beauty;

Have no faith in arts of witchcraft

In the night of St. Walpurgis,

Nor in broomstick-riding squadrons.

Notwithstanding there belongs a

Magic to the month of May.

My old weary bones have suffered

Many painful gouty twinges

From the chilly winds of April.

Now these pains are quite forgotten,

And I feel as if the old strength

Of my youth were through me streaming,

And as if I were once more a

Beardless trim and gay young ensign,

In those days when at Noerdlingen

I fought fiercely, in close combat

With those brave blue Swedish horseman.

So I think, it would be pleasant

To agree, this is a feast-day,

Though no Saint has ever claimed it.

Let us saunter through the forest.

I will breathe the balmy pine air,

And the young folks may try whether

Fortune favours them at fishing.

Yes, to-day I yearn for pleasure.

Anton, get the horses ready."

So 'twas done as he had ordered.

In the court, filled with impatience,

Pawed and neighed the fiery horses.

Full of joyful expectation

For the sport were the young people.

Bent on fishing they had carried

The great net up from the river.

Worthy Anton had invited

Many friends of the old Baron,

Also had communicated

With the ladies of the convent;

And, besides, some uninvited

Guests had also here assembled.

When the landlord of the "Button"

Heard the news, he to his wife said:

"To thy care I trust entirely

All the business of the tavern;

In thy hands I lay the keys now

Of the cellar and the larder,

I must join the fishing-party."

Speaking thus he stole off quickly;

Ne'er he missed a hunt or fishing.

Strong and hearty looked the Baron,

On his charger firmly seated

Like a bronze equestrian statue.

By his side on her white palfrey

Rode the lovely Margaretta.

Gracefully to her slim figure

Clung in folds her riding-habit;

Gracefully the blue veil floated

From her riding-hat of velvet.

With a steady hand she boldly

Reined her palfrey, who was bearing

With delight so fair a burden.

Watchfully good Anton followed

His fair mistress; also Werner

After them was gaily trotting,

Though at a respectful distance.

For, behind, in solemn grandeur,

Came the big old-fashioned carriage

Of the Lady Princess Abbess,

With three ladies of the convent,

Likewise old and venerable.

They by Werner were escorted.

He made many courtly speeches

To these old and noble ladies,

And broke many flowering branches

From the trees, and most politely

Handed them into the carriage;

So that, struck with his fine manners,

They unto each other whispered:

"What a pity he's not noble!"

Up hill steep the road ascended,

And the forest of dark pine-trees

Now received the long procession.

Soon then through the dusky branches

Silver like the mountain-lake shone,

And already merry shouting

Came from thence; for the young people

Of the town had gained the lake-shore

By a shorter steeper path.

At the summit, where the main-road

Took a different direction,

Carriages and riders halted,

And the vehicles and horses

To the servants' care were left.

Full of vigour, through the forest,

Down the hill-slope walked the Baron,

And the ladies followed bravely.

Mosses like the softest velvet

Thickly covered all the ground there,

And descending was not dangerous.

On a ridge, which wide and sunny,

Far into the lake protruded,

Numerous blocks of rock lay scattered.

There the Baron rested, and the

Ladies followed his example.

Deep green lake, dense shade of fir-trees,

Many thousand times I greet you.

I who now this song am singing

Of the past, rejoice in you still.

Oh, how oft ye have refreshed me,

When escaping from the daily

Narrowness of petty town life,

Out to you I used to wander.

Often on the rock I've rested,

Which the roots of the old pine-trees

Cling to, while beneath the lake lies

With its gently rippled surface.

In deep shade the shores lie buried,

But the glittering rays of sunlight

Gaily dance across the water.

All around reigned holy silence,

Only heard there was the hammering

Of the pecker on the pine-trees.

Through the fallen leaves and mosses

Rustled softly emerald lizards,

And with clever questioning glances

Curiously they eyed the stranger.

Yes, I often lay there dreaming;

And when often still at night-fall

I sat there, I heard a rustling

Through the reeds, the water-lilies

Whispered softly to each other.

Then arose from the deep water

Mermaids, whose fair pallid faces

Brightly shone in the soft moonlight.

Heart overwhelming, mind bewildering,

Were their gliding graceful motions;

And they beckoned me to come there.

But the fir-tree held and warned me:

"Stay thou here on terra firma,

Hast no business in the water."

Deep green lake, dense shade of fir-trees,

Oft I think of you quite sadly.

Since those days I've been a wanderer:

I have climbed up many mountains,

And through many lands have travelled,

Looked upon the restless ocean,

And have heard the Sirens singing;

But yet often through my memory

Steal the lake's sweet soothing murmurs,

And soft whispers from the fir-trees,

Home, and love, and youth recalling.

Now there was a noisy thronging,

Running, shouting, laughing, joking,

Down beneath there on the shore.

Like a general, stood the cunning,

Skilful landlord of the "Button,"

'Mid the crowd of younger people,

And on every side was giving

His wise counsels, how they might now

Have a good successful fishing.

There behind the rocks a boat lay

In the reeds with brushwood covered,

And with chains securely fastened,

That no poachers should disturb it,

Who might come along at midnight,

And employ it for their fishing.

From its hiding-place they dragged it

Onward to the lake-shore, and there

Placed the heavy net within it.

Closely netted were the meshes

Of the coarsest twine, while many

Leaden weights thereon were fastened.

When they tried the boat for leakage,

Although somewhat out of order,

They pronounced it quite seaworthy.

Now the landlord and five comrades,

Gay and hopeful, took their places,

And one end of the great net threw

To some friends on shore remaining,

With the charge to hold it tightly.

From the shore they pushed away now,

Rowing stoutly as the net sank

Slowly down in a wide curve;

Then returned with speed much lessened,

Always dragging on the heavy

Bulky net, so that the fishes

Might therein become entangled.

On the shore they sprang out quickly,

And drew after them the netting,

Till they nigh approached those friends who

Still upon the shore were waiting.

Stoutly pulling back the ends, they

Raised the net out of the water,

In great hopes of lots of booty.

But within itself entangled

It came slowly to the surface

Empty: some unskilful rower

Had prevented it from sinking,

And the dwellers of the lake laughed

To have just escaped such danger.

Now the landlord cast sharp glances

Over all the meshes. Nothing

Met his anxious gaze but water;

Not the smallest fish was caught there;

Only an old boot half rotten,

And a toad half crushed and flattened,

Which with eyes protruding oddly

Looked upon the sunlit forest,

And the human faces round him,

And he thought: "It is most truly

Wonderful, how anybody

Ever can enjoy existence,

With this sky and this bright sunlight!

Well, it seems to me no one here

E'er can have the slightest notion

Of the mud and all its splendour.

Would I were in my own element!"

Those who stood upon the lake-shore

Raised a long and roaring laughter

At these first-fruits of the fishing.

But in rage broke out the landlord,

O'er their laughter rang his scolding:

"Stupid fellows, bunglers, numskulls!"

And with angry kicks he sent then

All the booty flying swiftly,

Boot and toad in peace together

To the water where they came from.

Loudly splashing they sank downward.

But the disappointed fishers

Would again now try their fortune,

Loosened all the tangled meshes,

And with greatest care they lowered

Then the net and raised it slowly.

And to do so there were needed

Many sturdy pulls and struggles.

Ringing shouts and cries of triumph

Greeted this successful fishing.

From the rock came down the Baron

To the fishers, and the ladies

Eagerly made haste to follow.

Over rocks and thorny brambles

To the shore they found a pathway.

Margaretta followed also,

Notwithstanding her long habit.

When young Werner saw her coming,

Bashfully his arm he offered,

And bewildered were his senses.

So Sir Walter Raleigh's heart once

Must have beaten, when his mantle

He made use of as a carpet

For his gracious royal mistress.

Yet with thanks fair Margaretta

Werner's arm and aid accepted.

Out there in the verdant forest

Many useless scruples vanish,

Which oft elsewhere greatly trouble

Masters of the ceremonies.

The descent there was not easy,

And no other arm was near her.

By the lake they gaily looked now

At the fishing booty struggling.

Flapping in the net's strong meshes

Were the captives. Many snapping

Sought a way still for escaping,

But on the bare sand were landed;

And thus fruitless was their trial.

Those who felt toward each other

In the depths such bitter hatred,

Now as captives were quite peaceful:

Snake-like eels, so smooth and slippery,

Well-fed carps with huge broad noses,

And the pirate-fish, the slender

Pike with jaws large and voracious.

As in war, the harmless peasants

Often to stray shots fall victims,

So the fate of being captured

Many others overtook:

Handsome barbels, spotted gudgeons;

Tiny bleaks, the river-swallow;

And through all this crowd of fishes

Sluggishly the crab was creeping;

Inwardly he sadly grumbled:

"Caught together, hung together."

Well contented said the Baron:

"After labour comes amusement.

Seems to me, that our fresh booty

Will taste better in the forest.

Therefore let us now make ready

For ourselves a rustic dinner."

To these words they all assented,

And the landlord of the "Button"

Sent out two fleet-footed fellows

To the city with the order:

"Two large pans bring quickly hither;

Bring me golden fresh-made butter,

Also bread, and salt sufficient,

And a keg of fine old wine.

Bring me lemons too, and sugar;

For I feel a premonition

As if May-drink would be wanted."

Off they started. Under shelter

Of a rock with a tall pine-tree,

Some the hearth were getting ready,

Bringing there dry boughs and fagots,

Loads of furze and moss together.

Others now prepared the fishes

For the feast, and all the ladies

Gathered herbs of spicy fragrance,

Such as thyme and leaves of strawberries;

Also gathered for the May-wine

The white-blooming fragrant woodroof.

Which rejoiced at being broken

By such tender hands, and thought thus:

"Sweet it was in these dark pine-woods,

To be blooming, 'mid the rocks here,

But still sweeter in the May-time

'Tis to die, and with the last breath

Highly then to spice the May-wine

For the joy of human beings.

Death in general is corruption,

But the woodroof's death is like that

Of the morning-dew on blossoms,

Sweetly, without sighs, exhaling."

From the town returning quickly

Came the two fleet-footed fellows,

Bringing stores, as had been ordered.

And soon crackled on the stone-hearth

Cheerfully a blazing fire.

In the pans were frying briskly

What had recently been swimming.

First a mighty pike was served up

To the ladies by the landlord,

As a show of rustic cooking;

And a solemn earnest silence

Soon gave evidence that all were

Very busy with the banquet.

Only the confused low sounds of

Gnawing fish-bones, munching crab-claws,

Now disturbed the forest quiet.

Meanwhile, farther up, delicious

Fragrant May-wine was preparing.

In a bowl of size capacious

Margaretta's taste artistic

Well had brewed it; mild and spicy,

As sweet May himself the drink was.

Every glass she filled up, kindly

Helping all with graceful bearing.

Everybody got his share, and

All were merry round the fire.

There the city-teacher also

Stretched himself upon the grass-bank.

From the school he had absconded,

Also to enjoy the fishing.

In his heart he bore a secret,

Had to-day composed a song.

May-wine, May-wine, drink of magic!

Suddenly his cheeks were glowing,

And his eyes were shining brightly.

On the rock he sprang courageous,

Saying: "I will sing you something."

Smiling now, the others listened,

And young Werner stepping forward,

On his trumpet low and softly

Blew a piece first as a prelude.

Then upon the rock the teacher

Raised his voice and sang with fervour.

Werner joined him on the trumpet

Clear and joyful, and the chorus

Also fell in--clear and joyful

Through the forest rang the