« 上一页继续 »
"Dere ish drunks all full mit money
"Shoost look at dese shpoons und vatches!
"Vot you vantsh mit your schnapps und lager?
Der ish pottles der Kaiser Charlemagne
Dat fetched him-he shtood all shpellpound;
She drawed him oonder der wasser,
Breitmann in Battle
"Tunc tapfre ausführere Streitum et Rittris dignum potuere erjägere lobum "
Der Fader und der Son
"I DINKS I'll go a fitin"-outspoke der Breitmann, "It's eighteen hoonderd fordy-eight since I kits swordt in hand; Deese 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!
"Who der Teufel pe's de repels und vhere dey kits deir sass,
Und den outshpoke der Breitmann, mit his schlaeger py his side:
"Forvarts, my pully landsmen! it's dime to run und ride; Will riden, will fighten-der Copitain I'll pe, It's sporn und horn und saddle now-all in de Cavallrie!"
Und ash dey rode troo Winchester, so herrlich to pe seen,
You mudsils and meganics! Der Teufel put you troo!
Old Yank you ought to shtay at home und dake your liddle horn,
Mit some oldt voomans for a noorse"-der Breitmann laugh mit shkorn.
"Und should I trink mein lager-bier und roost mine self to home?
Ife got too many dings like you to mash beneat' my thoom:
In many a fray und fierce foray dis Deutschman will be feared Pefore he stops dis vightin trade-'twas dere he grayed his peard."
"I pools dat peard out by de roots-I gifes him sooch a dwist Dill all de plood roons out, you tamned old Apolitionist! Your creenpacks mit your swordt und watch right ofer you moost shell,
Und den you goes to Libby straight-und after dat to h-ll!" "Mein creenpacks und mein schlaeger, I kits 'em in New York,
To gife dem up to creenhorns, young man, is not de talk;" De heroes shtopped deir sassin' here und grossed deir sabres dwice,
Und de vay dese Deutschers vent to vork vos von pig ding on ice.
Der younger fetch de older such a gottallmachty smack Der Breitmann dinks he really hears his skool go shplit und crack;
Der repel choomps dwelfe paces back, und so he safe his life: Der Breitmann says: "I guess dem choomps you learns dem of your vife."
"If I should learn of vomans I dinks it vere a shame, Bei Gott I am a shentleman, aristograt, and game. My fader vos anoder-I lose him fery young
Ter Teufel take your soul! Coom on! I'll split your waggin' tongue!"
A Yankee drick der Breitmann dried-dat oldt gray-pearded
For ash the repel raised his swordt, beneat' dat swordt he ran.
All roundt der shlim yoong repel's waist his arms oldt Breitmann pound,
Und shlinged him down oopon his pack und laidt him on der ground.
"Who rubs against olt kittle-pots may keep vite-if he can, Say vot you dinks of vightin now mit dis old shentleman? Your dime is oop; you got to die, und I your breest vill pe; Peliev'st dou in Moral Ideas? If so I lets you free."
"I don't know nix apout Ideas—no more dan pout Saint Paul,
"Mein fader's name vas Breitmann, I heard mein mutter say,
"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!"
"Oh! fader, how I shlog your kop," der younger Breitmann said;
"I'd den dimes sooner had it coom right down on mine 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,
How stately rode der Breitmann oop!-how lordly he kit down?
How glorious from de great pokal he drink de bier so prown! But der Yunger bick der parrel oop and schwig him all at one. "Bei Gott! dat settles all dis dings-I know dou art mein son!"
Der one has got a fader; de oder found a child.
Bote ride oopon one war-path now in pattle fierce und wild
A Musical Duel
"I KNOW a story," suddenly exclaimed Count d'Egerlyn, one evening as we were taking supper at our parlor in the St. Nicholas, in New York. Now if the count had suddenly sung, "I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows," he would not have excited more astonishment. For though the count was a gentleman of wit, a finished cosmopolite, and a thorough good fellow, and had moreover a beautiful wife, he was never known to tell tales of any description, either in school or out of it.
At the word up started Wolf Short and young C, the latter declaring that he was, like Time, all ears, while the former, listening as if dreaming,