The Trumpeter of Sakkingen A Song from the Upper Rhine.

Excerpt

CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS.
CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.

O Song, at home well known to fame,

That German hearts hath deeply stirred

And long hath made of Scheffel's name

A dear and honoured household word,

Go forth in thy first foreign dress,

Go forth to Albion's noble land!

Will she not greetings kind express,

And warmly clasp the stranger's hand?

The Emerald Isle will surely give

A welcome neither cold nor faint;

For on thy pages still doth live

The name of Erin's ancient Saint.

Across the sea my country's shores

As Hope's bright star before me rise;

Will she not open wide her doors

To one who on her heart relies?

Farewell, oh work of vanished hours;

When suffering rent my weary heart,

Thy breath of fragrant woodland flowers

Did life renew, fresh strength impart.

Oh Scheffel! may thy years be long!

And may'st thou live to see the time,

When this thy genial Schwarzwald song

Will find a home in every clime.

Basel, June, 1877.

CONTENTS.

PAGE17111316

 

HOW YOUNG WERNER RODE INTO THE SCHWARZWALD19YOUNG WERNER WITH THE SCHWARZWALD PASTOR33

 

ST. FRIDOLIN'S DAY48YOUNG WERNER'S ADVENTURES ON THE RHINE64

 

THE BARON AND HIS DAUGHTER78HOW YOUNG WERNER BECAME THE BARON'S TRUMPETER94

 

THE EXCURSION TO THE MOUNTAIN LAKE109THE CONCERT IN THE GARDEN PAVILION128

 

TEACHING AND LEARNING142YOUNG WERNER IN THE GNOME'S CAVE153

 

THE HAUENSTEIN RIOT169YOUNG WERNER AND MARGARETTA187

 

WERNER SUES FOR MARGARETTA201THE BOOK OF SONGS215

 

217

 

232

 

247

 

253

 

257

 

THE MEETING IN ROME273SOLUTION AND END288303

"Who is yonder light-haired stranger

Who there like a cat is roaming

O'er the roof of ?"--

Thus asked many honest burghers,

Dwellers on the Isle of Capri,

When they from the market turning

Looked up at the palm-tree and the

Low-arched roof of moorish fashion.

And the worthy Don Pagano

Said: "That is a strange queer fellow,

And most strange his occupation.

Came here with but little luggage,

Lives here quite alone but happy,

Clambers up the steepest mountains,

Over cliffs, through surf is strolling,

Loves to steal along the sea-shore.

Also lately 'mid the ruins

Of the villa of Tiberius

With the hermits there caroused.

What's his business?--He's a German,

And who knows what they are doing?

But I saw upon his table

Heaps of paper written over,

Leaving very wasteful margins;

I believe he is half crazy,

I believe he's making verses."

Thus he spoke.--And I myself was

This queer stranger. Solitary

I had on this rocky island

Sung this song of my dear Schwarzwald.

I went as a wand'ring scholar

To far countries, to Italia;

With much art became acquainted,

Also with bad vetturinos,

And with many burning flea-bites;

But the sweet fruit of the lotus,

Which doth banish love of country

And the longing to return there,

I have never found here growing....