 | The Breitmann Ballads |  |
83
BREITMANN IN BATTLE.
“TUNC TAPFRE AUSFUHRERE STREITUM ET RITTRIS DIGNUM POTUERE ERIAGERE LOBUM.”
“Hiltibraht enti Hadubrant.”
DER FADER UND DER SON.
I dinks I'll go a vightin'”—outshpoke der Breite mann,
‘It's 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.”
‘It's 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, dey'll split you like a clam”—
“For dat,” spoke out der Breitmann, “I doos not gare one tam!
“Foost ding you knows you cooms across some repels prave and young,
Away down Sout' in Tixey, dey'll split you like a clam”—
“For dat,” spoke out der Breitmann, “I doos not gare one tam!
86
A Yankee drick der Breitmann dried—dat oldt gray-pearded man—
For ash the repel raised his swordt, beneat' dat sword he ran.
All roundt der shlim yoong repel's vaist his arms oldt Breitmann pound,
Und shlinged him down oopon his pack and laidt him on der ground.
For ash the repel raised his swordt, beneat' dat sword he ran.
All roundt der shlim yoong repel's 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;
Peliev'st dou in Morál Ideas? If so, I lets you free.”
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;
Peliev'st dou in Morál Ideas? If so, I lets you free.”
“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-grass; I'm shtupid as a shpoon;
I'm ignoranter ash de nigs—for dey takes de Tribune.
Since I'fe peen down in Tixey I kits no books at all;
I'm greener ash de clofer-grass; 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.”
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.”
87
“Und vas dy fader Breitmann? Bist du his kit und 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 pe tam'd!”
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 pe 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.”
“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.
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 Yunger bick der parrel oop und schwig him all at one.
“Bei Gott! dat settles all dis dings—I know dou art mein son!”
How glorious from de great pokal he drink de beer so prown!
But der Yunger bick der parrel oop und schwig him all at one.
“Bei Gott! dat settles all dis dings—I know dou art mein son!”
88
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.
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.
| The Breitmann Ballads | |