[After the manner of Schiller.]
"Bursch! {070}if foaming beer content ye,
Come and drink your fill;
In our cellars there is plenty;
Himmel! how you swill!
That the liquor hath allurance,
Well I understand;
But 'tis really past endurance,
When you squeeze my hand!"
And he heard her as if dreaming,
Heard her half in awe;
And {071}the meerschaum's smoke came streaming
From his open jaw:
And his pulse heat somewhat quicker
Than it did before,
And he finished off his liquor,
Staggered through the door;
Bolted off direct to Munich,
And within the year
Underneath his German tunic
Stowed whole butts of beer.
And he drank like fifty fishes,
Drank till all was blue;
For he felt extremely vicious--
Somewhat thirsty too.
But at length this dire deboshing
Drew towards an end;
Few of all his silver groschen
Had he left to spend.
And he knew it was not prudent
Longer to remain;
So, with weary feet, the student
Wended home again.
At the tavern's well-known portal
Knocks he as before,
And a {072}waiter, rather mortal,
Hiccups through the door--
"Master's sleeping in the kitchen
You'll alarm the house;
Yesterday the Jungfrau Fritchen
Married baker Kraus!"
Like a fiery comet bristling,
Rose the young man's hair,
And, poor soul! he fell a-whistling
Out of sheer despair.
Down the gloomy street in silence,
Savage-calm he goes;
But he did no deed of vi'lence--
Only blew his nose.
Then he hired an airy garret
Near her dwelling-place;
Grew a beard of fiercest carrot,
Never washed his face;
Sate all day beside the casement,
Sate a dreary man;
Found in smoking such an easement
As the wretched can;
Stared for hours and hours together.
Stared yet more and more;
Till {073}in fine and sunny weather.
At the baker's door,
Stood, in apron white and mealy,
That beloved dame,
Counting out the loaves so freely,
Selling of the same.
Then like a volcano puffing,
Smoked he out his pipe;
Sighed and supped on ducks and stuffing,
Ham and kraut and tripe;
Went to bed, and, in the morning,
Waited as before,
Still his eyes in anguish turning
To the baker's door;
Till, with apron white and mealy,
Came the lovely dame,
Counting out the loaves so freely,
Selling of the same.
So one day--the fact's amazing!--
On his post he died!
And they found the body gazing
At the baker's bride.