Breitmann as an Uhlan
“Bjo foeri ek ther,
Brynthings apaldr!
Magni blandinn
Ok magentiri,
Fullr er hann ljoda.”
-Sigrdrifurnal
“Beer I bear to thee,
Battle’s great apple-tree!
Mingled with might
And with bright glory,
All full of song.”
-The Edda.
I
The Vision
“Dere vas vonce oopon a dimes a Frantchman who asket if a Sharman could hafe esprit. Allowin for his pad shbellin, de reater will find dat der Herr Breitmann was hafe a spree goot many dimes. You gant ged rount de Dootch.” - FRITZ SWACKENHAMMER.
GOTTS blitz! blau Feuer, potz bomben Tod!
Vot shimmers in de mitnacht roth?
Like hell-shtrom boorst o’er heafen’s plain,
Trowin dead light on eart acain:-
Ja! - wide im nord om Odin shtone
Lies a shiant form im glare alone.
Troonk py de eis-kalt roarin shdream
Der Hans ish hafe ein wunder tream.
Troonk om haunted Odinstein
Im Hexenlicht und Elfenschein
Vhere blooty Druids omens trew
From grin und screech of shaps dey slew;
Or vhere der Norseman long of yore
Vas carven eagles on de shore,
As o’er him yell de Valkyr broot
Und crows valk round knee teep im ploot,
Vhile rabens schkreem o’er ruddy bay;
Dere - ten pottles troonk - Hans Breitmann lay.
Fast und rof der war-man shnore
Like de hammer-shlog of Thor,
Schnell ash Mjollner’s bang und beat
Heaved de form from het to veet
Vhile apofe him in de shkies
Dere he saw a glorie rise,
Und im mittle von it all
De iron lords of crate Valhall.
Long he gaze mit wolfen glare
At de Aesir in de air,
Long mit schneerin baren grin
He toorn his nase auf und hin
(For ne’er a Sherman - tam de otts-
Vas efer yet gife in to Gotts),
Dill avery Aes owned oop dat he
A gott-like man of brass moost pe.
Shtern der Breitmann raise his het,
To his fader Gotts he set:
“Let your worts of wisehood shlip;
Rush your runes, und let ’em rip!
For you de gotts hafe efer pe
Of dose who vere ash gotts to me:-
Alt Thor der Thoren here pelow-
Vot hell you vants,[36] I’d like to know?”
Antworded ash de donner clangs,
Der fader of de iron bangs:
“De gotts will let de hell-dogs go,
Und raise damnation here pelow;
Until de sassy Frenchmen schmell
De rifers ten dat roon troo hell
To telle dis I comme dence,
Dou lord of lion impudence.
“Drafeller! I know dee vell!
Breitmann improturbable!
Vhen on eart I hat my shy,
Breitmann of dat age vas I.
I schwear py Thor! so crate und gay,
I smashed de Jotuns in my tay,
Und dou shall pe ge-writ sooplime
Ash de crate Thor of deiner time.
“Now ve lets de eagles vly
Skreemin troo de vlamin shky,
Our own specials: - dare nod laugh;
For in de London Telegraph,
A voondrous poy vot make oos shdare,
For hop vhat may, he’s alvays dere!
Vill dell de worlt, troo blut and flame,
Hans Breitmann ist der Uhlan’s name.
“Und all dou e’er on eart has done,
From oop gang oontil settin sun,
Vill pe ash nix - I schvear py Thor!
To vat dou’lt do in dieser war;
Plazin roofs und mordered men,
Hell set loose on eart again;
Rush und ride in shtorm und floot,
Cannon roarin, pools of bloot;
Deutschland mad in fool career,
Led py dy Uhlanen speer,
Hell’s harfest - sheafs of fictorie,
Reaped mit deat’s sword und reapt by dee!
“Ja! On many a dorf und disch,
Dou shalt pring a requisish;[37]
Dwendy dimes de Frantscher men
Hafe sporned dy land in blut acain-
All dose dwenty dimes in von,
Py Deutschland shall to France pe done,
Und dwenty dimes in blut and wein
Shalst dou refenge de Palatine.
“Go! - mit shpeer und fiery muth!
Go! - mit durst for bier und blut!
Go! - mit lofe for Vaterland,
Into burning fury fanned:
Towns und hen-roosts shall hafe shown
Vhere der Uhlan ist peen gone,
Und cocks vill roon und men crow tame
To hear of der Uhlanen name.”
Der fision fadet in de shky,
Und hours vent on und time goed py.
Vot heardest dou, Napolium?
De rumpitty, rumpitty, rumpitty poom!
Ven you hear de sound of de droom,
Oh denn you know dat de Dootch hafe coom,
De treadful roarin Dootch, mit de droom
Und de roompitty, pumpitty, poompity pum!
De wild ferocious Dootch on a bum,
Mit cannon roar und pattle hum,
Mit fee und faw on de foe und fum!
Led py de awful Breitemum!
Bitty boom!! BOOM!!
II
Breitmann in a Balloon
WHO vas efer hear soosh voonders,
Holy breest or virshin nonn?
As pefelled de Coptain Breitmann,
Vhen he hoont an air-ballon.
Der Bizzy[38] und der Dizzy,[39]
Mit lothairingen und Lothair,
Vas nodings to dis Deutscher,
Who vent kitin troo de air.
Id was in yar Nofember,
In eighdeen sefendee,
Der Breitmann vent a prowlin,
By monden light vent he.
In fillages deserted
He hear de Uhu moan;
For you alvays hear der Uhu[40]
Vhere der Uhu-lan ish gone.
Alone allonsed[41] der Uhlan,
Boot nodings could he find
Safe whitey clouds a drivin
In moonshine fore de wind.
Boot ash he see dese cloudins
He bemark dat von vas round,
Und inshtead of goin oopwarts
It kep risin towards de ground.
“Oh, vot ish dis a gomin?
Some planet, py de Lord!
Too boor to life in heafen,
Coom down on eart to poard;
Und pelow it schwing tree engels-
Two he-vons mit a wench.
Boot, mein Gott! vot sort of engels
Can dose pe, dalkin Fraentsch!
“I hafe read in Eckhartshausen
Dat oop in heafen - py tam!
De engels dalk in Sherman,
Und sing Mardin Luther’s psalm.
O nein - es sind kein engeln
Vot sail so smoofly on,
Das sind verfluchte Franzosen
In einem luft-ballon!”[42]
Hei! how der Breitman streak it
Ven vonce he kess de trut’!
He spurred id like de wild fire
Of hope in early yout’.
Troo de weingarts like der teufel
Vhen he shase a lawyer’s soul;
Down der moundain mit his lanze
Und his wafin banderol.
Down de moundain, o’er de valley,
Troo de village he ish gone;
Dog-barks die out pehind him,
Oders bark ash he come on.
Liddle heedet he deir bellin,
Liddle mind der Hahnen crow;
Liddle hear der Bauern yellin,
Clotter, clodder, on he go.
“Oh, vot ish hoontin foxen,
Und vot ish yager pliss,
Und vot ish shasin bison
On de blains, to soosh ash dis?
I hafe dinked dat roonin rebels
Vas de best of eartly fun;
Boot id isn’t half so sholly
Ash to go a luft-ballon.”
Und ash id shdill vent onwart,
Shdill onwarts mit der wind,
Der coom a real madness
To catch id, o’er his mind.
Und had’st dou seen him vylin,
Dat wild onfuriate brick,
Dou’st hafe schworn dat Coptain Breitmann
Was pecome balloonatic.
In fain dey trow deir sand-bags,
In fain all dings let fall,
De ballon shdill kep a sinkin,
Und id vouldn’t rise at all.
Yet de wild wind trife id onwarts,
Onwarts shdill der Breitmann go,
Dill he cotch id py a rope-ent
Vot vas hangin town pelow.
Boot vhen it risen oopwarts,
Ash he cling to id, of corse,
Mit de lefter hand he holtet
To de pridle of his horse.
Der horse valk on his hind-legs:
Too schwer to rise vas he;
Mein Gott! vot fix for Breitmann
Of de Uhlan cavallrie!
So he go for seferal stunden
Petween himmel und eart pelow,
Boot der teufel und die engels
Couldn’t make der Hans let go.
Dill all at vonce an idee
Coom from his loocky shtar-
He led co his horse’s pridle
Und glimb oop indo de car.
Und vot you dinks he foundet
Vhen in dat air-ballon?
A nople Englisch vicomte,
Milord de Robinson;
Und mit him vas a laity,
Mit whom he’d rooned afay,
Whom he indroduce to Breitmann
Ash die Jungfer Salome.
Und der dritte was a barson,
Whom Milord, mit prudent view,
Hat took als secretaire,
Likevise for pallast doo.
Dey should hafe bitched him ofer
Vhen de gas was out, dey say;
Boot de dame vould not ’low it:-
She’d an arriere pensee.
Sait Milord: “Afar we’ve wandered,
We are completely brown;
And I’ll give a thousand shiners
If you’ll take me to a town
Where no one will molest us
Till we find our way to Lon—”
Here der Breitmann ent de sentence
Ash he gry out, shortly, “done.”
“And as for this fair lady
To whom I would be bound,”
Sait Milord, “we’ll have a wedding
Before we reach the ground.
To escape her father’s anger
We fled to live in peace,
But she’s relatives in London,
And they have - the police.”
O vas not dis a voonders
To make de Captain shdare?-
A tausend pounds in bocket
Und a veddin in de air?
He gafe avay de laity,
Und als sie wieder kam
Zur festen Erde wieder,
Ward sie Robinson Madame.[43]
“O go mit me,” said Breitmann,
“O go in mein Quartier!
Don’t mind dem gommon soldiers,
For I’m an officier.”
He guide dem troo de coontry
Till dey reach de ocean strand;
Now dey sit und pless Hans Breitmann,
In de far-off English land.
Dis ish Breitmann’s last adfenture
How troo Himmel air flew he:
Und it’s dime, oh nople reader!
For a dime to part from dee.
Dou may’st dake it all in earnest
Or pelieve id’s only fon;
Boot dere’s woonder dings has hoppent
Fery oft in Luft-ballon.
III.
Breitmann and Bouilli
“Tres estime ami, - Ick seyn nock nit verdorb,
Vielleickt Sie denck wohl kar, das ick sey tod gestorb,
Ock ne Kott loben Danck, ick leb nock kanss wohl auf.
...............
Naturlich wie Kespenst die off die Kasse keh.”
- Deutsch-Franzos, Leipzig, 1736.
Vot roombles down de Bergstrass?
Vot a grash ish in de air!
Mit a desberate gonfusion,
Und a gry of wild tespair,
Das sind gethrasht Franzosen,[44]
Und dose who after flee
Are de terror of Champagner,
Die Uhlan cavallrie.
So liddle say die hoonted,
De hoonters lesser shdill;
Der Frank is ride for’s leben,
Der Deutscher rides to kill.
Ofer dickly-doosty faces
Deir eyes like wild-katzs glare;
De blut und iron ridin
Of furie und despair.
Boot of all de wild Uhlanen,
Der Breitmann ride de pest;
For he mark de Frantsch gommanter
Ish most elegandtly tresst.
Und ash he coom down on him,
Dere’s a deat’ look in his eye:
“Gotts! if I carfe dat toorkey,
How I’ll make de stoofin vly!”
Mit a clotter und a flotter
Like a hell-sturm dey are on:
Mit a rottle to de pattle
Coom de Deutschers, knockin’ down,
Down de moundain to a brucke-
Vhy die Frantschmen toorn ad bay?
Oder Deutsch were dere pefore dem,
Und die pridge ish coot avay!
Von second der Franzose
Look down mit blitzen eye;
Von second at de brucke,
Den toorn him round to die.
Vhile mit out-ge-poke-te lanze,
Like ter teufel shot from hell,
Rode der ploonder-shtarvin Breitmann
On der grau-bart Colonel.
Vot for der Coptain Breitmann
Ish shdop in his career?
Vot for he pool his pridle?
Vot for let down his speer?
Vot for his eyes like saucers
Grow pigger, rimmed mit staub?
Vot for his hair, a pristlin,
Lift oop his pickel-haub?[45]
So awfool - so oneart’ly,
So treadful was his glare,
So unbeschreiblich gastly,
Dat der Colonel self was shkare.
Oop come der Breitmann ridin,
Und mit gratin force he said:
“Bist - du - wirkelich - lebendig?[46]
Can de grafe gife oop its tead?
“Dou livest yet - dou breaf’st yet,
Dough oldter now you pe
Since I mordered you in Strasburg,
Mein freund - mon Jean Bouilli.
We lofed de selfe maiden
Wohl forty years agone:-
She died to hear I kilt you:-
Jean - how weiss your beard ish grown!
“I would gife my Hab’ und Guter,[47]
Dereto mein bit of life
Couldt I pring dat shild to leben,
Und make her, Jean, dy wife!”
Here der Breitmann boorst out gryin,
Like a liddle prook vept he;
Und dey hugged and gissed einander,
Der Breitmann und Bouilli.
“Ach, de efils dat from efil
Troo a life ish efer grow!
Had I nefer dink I killed you,
Many a man were livin now-
Many a man dat shleeps in cane-brakes,
Many a man py pillow-shore;
For dy morder mate me reckelos,
Und von tead man gries for more!
“O Madchen! schon im Himmel![48]
(Warst schon on eart’ difine)-
Can’st dink among de Engeln
Of soosh as me und mine?
Den look on soosh a Reue,
Ash eart’ has nefer known:-
Whereto hast dou a sabre?
Wherefore not kill me, Jean?”
“O, ne pleurez pas, mon Breitmann!
Je trouve cela trop fort,”
Gry der Colonel sehr politely;
“How! - you crois dat I was mort!
Mon Dieu! ’Tis but one minute,
As we galloped to this plain,
I thought your spear, mon gaillard,
Would kill me o’er again.
Je vous fais mon compliment,
Your tendresse becomes you well;
Et ne pleurez pas, mon brave,
Pour la petite demoiselle.
I have had a thousand since;
One can always find such game;
Et pour dire la verite,
I have quite forgot her name.”
Der Breitmann lok so earnest,
Long and earnest at his foe,
Ash if seein troo his augen
To de forty years ago.
Mit vot a shmile der Breitmann
Toorned roundt und rode away:
Dat was all his parting greetin
To der Colonel Francais.
IV.
Breitmann Takes the Town of Nancy
O HEAR a wondrous shdory
Vot soundet like romance,
How Breitmann mit four Uhlans
Vas dake de town of Nantz.
De Frantschmen call it Nancy,[49]
Und dey say its fery hard
Dat Nancy mit her soldiers
Vas getook py gorpral’s guard.
Dey dink id vas King Wilhelm
Ash Hans ride in de down,
Und like Odin in his glorie
Gazed derriply aroun’.
Denn mit awfool condesenchen
He at de Frantschmen shtare,
Und say, “Ye wretsched shildren?
Abbortez mir vodre mere!”
Hans mean de city Syndic,
Whom maire de Frantschmen call;
So mit a tousand soldiers
Dey ‘scort him to de Hall;
In de shair of shtade dey sot him,
Der maire coom to pe heard,
Und Hans glare at him fife minutes
Pefore he shbeak a word.
Den in iron dones he ootered:
“Ich temand que rentez fous:
Shai dreisig mille soldaten
Bas loin l’ici, barploo!
Aber tonnez-moi Champagner;
Shai an soif exdrortinaire-
Apout one douzaine cart-loads;
Und dann je fous laisse faire.”[50]
Denn he say to Schwackenhammer,
His segretaire - “Read
A liddle exdra liste
Of dings de army need,
Und dell dem in Franzosisch
Dey moost shell de neetfool down
In less dan dwendy minudes,
Or, py Gott, I’ll purn de town.”
“Item - one tousand vatches
Of purest gold so fair;
Dazu funf tousand silbern,
For de gommon soldiers’ wear;
Und tree dousand diamant ringe
Dey moost make tirectly come,
We need dem for our schweethearts
Ven we write to em at home!
“Von million cigarren
Ve’ll accept ash extra boons
For not squeezin dem seferely,
Dazu dwelf tousand shboons.”
Here der maire fell down in schwoonin,
Denn all dat he could say
Vas,”O mon dieu, de dieu, dieu!
Nous voila ruinees!”[51]
No wort der Breitmann ootered,
He only make a sgratch,
Calm and silend on de daple,
Mit a liddle friction match.
De maire versteh de motion,
So went him to de task
Of raisin mong de peoples
Vot it vas der Breitmann ask.
So kam he mit de ringe,
Dey vind dem pooty soon;
So kam he mit de vatches,
Und avery silber spoon.
Boot ash for de champagner,
He wept and loudly call
Dat par dieu! he hadn’t any,
For de Deutsch hafe troonk it all.
Ja! - de gorporal’s guart have trinket
Efery pottle in de down,
Vhile dese negotiations
Oop-stairs vere written down.
Boot der Breitmann sooplimely,
Like von who nodings felt,
Said, “Instet of le champagner
Nous brentirons du gelt.”[52]
Ja wohl! Donnes cent mille franken,
C’est mir egal, you know;[53]
Pid dem pring id in a horry,
For ’tis dime for oos to go.”
Der maire he pring de money,
Und der Breitmann squeeze his hand,-
“Leb wohl, dou nople brickbat,
Herzbruder in Frankenland!
“Boot it griefes my soul to larmen,
Und I sympathize mit dein,
To pense of you, mon ami,
Sans le champagner wein.
Dere will oder Deutsch pe gomin,
Und it preak mine heart to dink
De vay dey’ll bang and slang you
If dere’s no champagne to trink!
“Cela fous fera misere
Que she ne feux bas see;
So, vollow mes gonseilles,
Et brenez mon afis.
Shai, moi, deux mille boutelles,
De meilleur dat man can ashk,[54]
Vich I will gladly sell-
Sheap as dirt - ten franks a flask.”
De maire look oop to heafen,
Wohl nodings could he say,
Vhile oud indo de mitnight
Der Breitmann rode afay.
Away - atown de falley,
Till noding more abbears
Boot de glitter of de moonlight,
De moonlight on deir spears.
V
Breitmann in Bivouac
HE sits in bivouacke,
By fire, peneat’ de drees;
A pottle of champagner
Held shently on his knees;
His lange Uhlan lanze
Stuck py him in de sand;
Vhile a goot peas-poodin’ sausage
Adorn his oder hand.
Und jungere Uhlanen
Sit round mit oben mout’
To hear der Breitmann’s shdories
Of fitin in de Sout’
Und he gife dem moral lessons,
How pefore de battle pops:
“Take a liddle brayer to Himmel,
Und a goot long trink of schnapps.”
Denn his leutenant bemarket:
“How voonder shdrange it peen
Dat so very many wild pigs
Ish dis year in de Ardennes.
Ash I sout dere - donner’r’wetter!-
I sah dem coom heraus,
Shoost here und dere an Eber
Mit a hoondert tousand sows.
“Shoost dink of all dese she-picks
Vot flet to neutral land!”
Said Breitmann: “Fery easy
Ish dis to oonderstand:
Dese schwein-picks mit de sauen
Vot you saw a-roonin rond,
Ish a crate medempsygosis
Of the Frantsche demi-monde.
“I hafe readet in de Bible
How soosh a coterie
Vas ge-toornet into swine-picks,
Und roon down indo de see;
Boot since de see aint handy,
Or de picks vere all too dumm,
Dey hafe coot across de porder
Und vly to Belgium.”
Now ash dey boorst oud laughin,
Und got more liquor out,
Dey hearden from de sendry
A shot und denn a shout.
Und Breitmann crasp his sabre
Quick ash de bullet hiss,
Und leapin out, demantet,
“Herr’r’r’r Gott! vat row ish dis?”
Und bold der Schwabian answert:
“Dis minute on de ground
Dere comed a Frantschman greepin,
On all-fours a-prowlin round.
I ask him vat he vanted;
Werda! I gry; boot he
Say nodings to my shallenge,
Und only answer ‘Oui.’
“So I shoot him like der teufels,
Und I rader dink our friend,
Dis sneakin Frank-tiroir,
Ish a-drawin to his end.”
So dey hoonted in de pushes,
Und in avery gorner dig,
Boot, mein Gott! how dey vas laughin,
Ven dey found a - mordered pig.
Next week dey hear from Paris,
Und reat in de Gaulois
Of de most adrocious action
De vorlt vas efer saw.
How de Uhlan cannibalen,
Dis vile und awful prood,
Hafe killt a nople Frantschman,
Und cut him oop for food.
“Ja - shop him indo sausage,
Und coot him indo ham;
Und schwear dey’ll serfe all oders
Exacdly so - py tam!
Sons of France, awake to glory,
Let your anciend valor shine!
Und shweep dis Prussian vermin
Het und dails indo de Rhine!”
VI
Breitmann’s 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 given - as yed. Pimepy I kess he gife anoder von, und if I kits an in-leading, or indrotuckshun, I kess I’ll 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 Theologiae, now Uhlan free-lancer, und Segretarius of Coptain Breitmann.
VOT gollops at mitnight,
Mit h’roolah and yell,
Like der teufel’s wild yager
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![55]
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 o’er 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 Gott’s 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 madchen,
So lieblich und hold,
Who laugh at de dead
Troo her ringlocks of gold.
Denn der Breitmann, all plooty,
To’m madel 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 wouldn’t peliefe
How dey dreet me so pad.”
Mit a tear Breitmann bend
To de peaudifool miss;
“Crate Gott! can’st 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 madchen
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 Frantsch maidens,
Who help dem to tress.
De rest of de Uhlans
Who hadn’t 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 dey’d blease introduce;
How de ladies mit beards
Were called Espionnes Prusses!
Hei, ho! how dey tanzet!
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 wouldn’t 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 teufel’s own child!-
Dis ish “Breitmann’s Last Barty,”
Dey’ll 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!