Charles Godfrey Leland

(15 August 1824 - 20 March 1903 / Philadelphia, Pennsylvania)

Breitmann As An Uhlan. - Poem by Charles Godfrey Leland

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, 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;
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!!

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, October 14, 2010

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