Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 102, March 5, 1892

Excerpt

THE MODERN ALEXANDER'S FEAST

OR, THE POWER OF SOUND.

(An Ode for the Brandenburg Diet Day; a long way after Dryden.)

["At the banquet of the Diet of Brandenburg, the GERMAN EMPEROR said:—'The assured knowledge that your sympathy loyally attends me in my work, inspires me with fresh strength to persevere in my task, and to advance along the path marked out for me by Heaven. To this are added the sense of responsibility to our Supreme Lord above, and my unshakable conviction that He, our former ally at Rossbach and Dennewitz, will not leave me in the lurch. He has taken such infinite pains with our ancient Brandenburg and our House, that we cannot suppose he has done this for no purpose.... My course is the right one, and it will be persevered in."—Daily Paper.]

'Twas in the royal feast Brandenburg set

For Providence's pet:

Aloft in Teuton state

The god-like hero sate

On his Imperial throne:

His Brandenburgers listened round,

Appreciative of the Power of Sound;

All admire shouting—when the Shouter's crowned!

The Jovian Eagle at his side

Perched, and like Rheims's Jackdaw, eyed

The Olympian hero in his pride.

Happy, happy, happy Chief!

None but the loud,

None but the loud,

From the crass crowd may win belief!

His looks he shook, his long moustache he twirled,

And saw a vision of himself as Sovereign of the World!

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound.

"A present deity!" they shout around.

"A present deity!" the vaulted roofs rebound.

With ravished ears,

The monarch hears,

Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres!

In praise of Brandenburg the Shouting Emperor spoke,

In language like a huge thrasonic joke.

The newest god in triumph comes;

Blare the trumpets, thump the drums:

Flushed with a purple grace,

He lifts his Jovian face!

Now give the blowers breath. He comes, he comes!

New ALEXANDER fair and young,

Drinking, in Teuton nectar, once again

To Brandenburg, that treasure

Of earth, and heaven's chief pleasure,

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure,

Which to the gods has given such pain!

Soothed with the sound, the Emperor grows vain,

Fights all his battles o'er again;

'Twas Heaven that routed all his foes, Olympus slew his slain.

He has the greatest of allies!

Doubters are dastards in his eyes,

And grumblers at their deified

Young Emperor in his proper pride.

Should shake from their false shoes

Germania's dust. The Muse

Must sing Jove-WILHELM great and good,

By a benignant fate

Lifted, gifted, gifted, lifted,

Lifted to a god's estate,

Olympian in his mood:

          *           *           *           *           *

The mighty Master smiled to see,

Infant-in-Arms, young Germany,

Jove's nursling, quit his cot and pap,

And, quite a promising young chap,

Grown out of baby-shoes and bottle,

And "draughts" which teased his infant throttle,

Get rid of ailments, tum-tum troubles,

Tooth-cutting pangs, and "windy" bubbles,

A tremendous time beginning;

Fighting still, all foes destroying:—

"A world-empire's worth the winning...!