Als die Roemer frech geworden,
Zogen sie nach Deutschlands Norden,
Vorne beim Trompetenschall
Ritt der Generalfeldmarschall
Herr Quinctilius Varus.
When the Romans, rashly roving,
Into Germany were moving,
First of all--to flourish, partial--
Rode 'mid trumps the great field-martial,
Sir Quinctilius Varus.
But in the Teutoburgian forest
How the north wind blew and chor-rused;
Ravens flying through the air,
And there was a perfume there
As of blood and corpses.
All at once, in sock and buskins
Out came rushing the Cheruskins
Howling, 'Gott und Vaterland!'
They went in with sword in hand,
Against the Roman legions.
Ah, it was an awful slaughter,
And the cohorts ran like water;
But of all the foe that day,
The horsemen only got away,
Because they were on horseback.
O Quinctilius! wretched general,
Knowest thou not that such our men are all?
In a swamp he fell--how shocking!
Lost two boots, a left-hand stocking.
And, besides, was smothered.
Then, with his temper growing wusser.
Said to Centurion Titiusser,
'Pull your sword out--never mind,
And bore me through with it behind,
Since the game is busted.'
Scaevola, of law a student,
Fine young fellow--but imprudent
As a youth of tender years,
Served among the volunteers,--
He was also captured.
E'en his hoped-for death was baffled,
For ere they got him to the scaffold
He was stabbed quite unaware,
And nailed fast en derriere
To his Corpus Juris.
When this forest fight was over
Hermann rubbed his hands in clover;
And to do the thing up right,
The Cheruscans did invite
To a first-rate breakfast.
But in Rome the wretched varmints
Went to purchase morning garments;
Just as they had tapped a puncheon,
And Augustus sat at luncheon,
Came the mournful story.
And the tidings so provoked him,
That a peacock leg half choked him,
And he cried--beyond control--
'Varus--Varus--d--n your soul!
Redde legiones!'
His German slave, Hans Schmidt be-christened,
Who in the corner stood and listened,
Remarked, 'Der teufel take me wenn
He efer kits dose droops acain,
For tead men ish not lifin.'
Now, in honour of the story,
A monument they'll raise for glory.
As for pedestal--they've done it;
But who'll pay for a statue on it
Heaven alone can tell us.