The Poetry Corner

Schnitzerls Philosopede

By Charles G. Leland

Die Speer die er thut fhren die ist sehr gross und lang, Das sollt du glauben mire, gemacht von Vogelsgang. Sein Ross das ist die Heide, das sollt du glauben mir, Darauf er nun thut reiten, fhrwahr das sag ich dir. Ein schn nerr Lied von dem Mai Und von dem Herbst. 16th century. I. Prologue. Herr Schnitzerl make a phlosopede, Von of de pullyest kind; It vent mitout a vheel in front, And hadnt none pehind. Von vheel vas in de mittel, dough, And it vent as sure ash ecks, For he shtraddled on de axel dree, Mit der vheel petween his lecks. Und vhen he vant to shtart it off He paddlet mit his feet, Und soon he cot to go so vast Dat efery dings he peat. He run her out on Broader shtreed, He shkeeted like der vind, Hei! how he bassed de vancy crabs, And lef dem all pehind! De vellers mit de trottin nags Pooled oop to see him bass; De Deutschers all erstaunished saidt: Potztausend! Was ist das? Boot vaster shtill der Schnitzerl flewed On mit a ghastly shmile; He tidnt tooch de dirt, py shings! Not vonce in half a mile. Oh, vot ish all dis eartly pliss? Oh, vot ish mans soocksess? Oh, vot ish various kinds of dings? Und vot ish hobbiness? Ve find a pank node in de shtreedt, Next dings der pank ish preak! Ve folls, and knocks our outsides in, Vhen ve a ten shtrike make. So vas it mit der Schnitzerlein On his philosopede. His feet both shlipped outsidevard shoost Vhen at his exdra shpeed. He felled oopon der vheel of coorse; De vheel like blitzen flew! Und Schnitzerl he vos schnitz in vact, For it shlished him grod in two. Und as for his philosopede, Id cot so shkared, men say, It pounded onward till it vent Ganz tyfelwards afay. Boot vhere ish now der Schnitzerls soul? Vhere dos his shbirit pide? In Himmel droo de endless plue, It takes a medeor ride. II. Hans Breitmann and His Philosopede. Vhen Breitmann hear dat Schnitzerl Vas quardered into dwo, Und how his crate philosopede To m tyfel had peen flew, He dinked und dinked so heafy, Ash only Deutschers can, Denn saidt, Who mighdt peliefet Dish is de ent of man? De human souls of beoples Exisdt in deir ides, Und dis of Wolfram Schnitzerl Mighdt drafel many vays. In his Bestimmung des Menschen Der Fichte makes pelieve, Dat ve brogress oon-endtly In vhat pehindt ve leave. De shparrow falls ground-downvarts Or drafels to de West; De shparrows dat coom afder, Bild shoost de same old nest. Man had not vings or fedders, Und in oder dings, Tis set, He tont coom up to shparrows, But on nests he goes ahet. O! vliest dou droo bornin vorldts, Und nebuloser foam, By monsdrous mitnight shiant forms, Or vhere red tyfels roam; Or vhere de ghosdts of shky-rockets Peyond creation flee? Vhere eer dou art, O Schnitzerlein, Crate Saindt! Look down on me! Und deach me how you maket Dat crate philosopede, Vhich roon dwice six mals vaster Ash any Arap shteed. Und deach me how to stonish volk, Und knock dem oud de shpots. Coom pack to eart, O Schnitzerlein, Und pring id down to dots! Shoost ash dish vordt vent outvarts, Hans dinked he saw a vlash, Und oonterwards de dable He doompelt mit a crash. Und to him, moong de glasses, Und pottles ash vas proke, Mit his het in a cigar-box, A foice from Himmel shpoke: Adsum, Domine Breitmann! Herr Copitain, here I pe! So dell me rite honeste, Quare inquietasti me? Te video inter spoonibus, Et largis glassis too, Cerevisia repletis, Sicut percussus tonitru! Denn Breitmann ansver Schnitzerl; Coarctor nimis, see! Siquidem Philistiim Pugnant adversum me. Ergo vocavi te, Ash Saul vocavit Sam Uel, ut mi ostenderes Quid teufel faciam? Denn de shpirit (in Lateinisch) Saidt Bene, dats de talk, Non habes in hoc shanty, A shingle et some chalk? Non video inkum nec calamos (I shpose some bummer shdole em), Levate oculos tuos, son, Et aspice ad linteolum! Denn Breitmann see de biece of chalk Vhich riset vrom de vloor, Und signed a fine philosopede Alone, oopon de toor. De von dat Schnitzerl fobricate, Und oonderneat he see: Probate inter equites, (Try dis in de cavallrie). Der Breitmann shtood oop from de vloor, Und leanet on a post; Und saidt: If dis couldt, shouldt hafe peen, Dar vouldt, mighdt peen a ghosdt; Boot if id pe noumenon, Phenomenoned indeed, Or de soobyectif obyectified, Ife cot de philosopede. Denn out he seekt a plackschmit, Ash vork in iron-steel, To make him a philosopede Mit shoost an only vheel. De dings vas maket simple, Ash all crate id#233;es shouldt pe, For tvas noding boot a gart-vheel, Mit a dwo-feet axel dree. De dimes der Breitmann doomple, In learnin for to ride, Vas ofdener ash de sand-crains Dat rollen in de tide. De dimes he cot oopsettet, In shdeerin left und righdt, Vas ofdener ash de cleamin shdars, Dat shtud de shky py night. Boot de vorstest of de veadures In dis von-vheel horse, you pet, Ish dat man couldt go so nicely, Pefore he get oopset. Some dimes he co like plazes, Und doorn her, extra-fine; Und denn shlop ofer dis is vot Hafe kill der Schnitzerlein. Soosh droples ash der Breitmann hafe, To make dis vention go, Vas nefer seen py mordal man, Oopon dis vorldt pelow. He doomplet righdt he doomplet left, He hafe a dousand doomps; Dere nefer vas a gricket ball Ash get soosh fernal boomps. Boot ash hed shvearet hed poot it droo, He shveart it moost pe tone; Dough he schimpft und flucht gar lsterlich, He visht het neer pegun. Mit Hagel! Blitz! Kreuz-sakrament! He maket de Houser ring, Und vish der Schnitzerl vas in hell, For deachin him dis ding. Nun goot! At lasht he cot it, Und peautifool he goed, Dis day, saidt he, Ill stonish folk A ridin in de road. Dis day, py shings! Ill do it, Und knock dings oud of sight: Ach weh! for Breitmann dat day Vas not be-markt mit vhite. De noombers of de Deutsche volk, Dat coomed dis sighdt to see, I dink, in soper earnst-hood, Mighdt not ge-reckonet pe. For miles dey shtoodt along de road, Mein Gott!boot dey wern dry; Dey trinket den lager-bier shops out, Pefore der Hans coom py. Vhen all at vonce drementous gries De fery coondry shook, Und beoples shkreemt, Da ist er! Schau! Here cooms der Breitmann, look! Mein Gott! vas efer soosh a sighdt! Vas efer soosh a gry! Vhen like a brick-pat in a vighdt, Der Breitemann roosh py? Oh mordal man! Vhy ish idt, dou Hast passion to go vast? Vhy ish id dat te tog und horse Likes shbeed too quick to lasht? De pugs, de pirds, de pumple-pees, Und all dat ish, tvouldt seem Ish nefer hobby boot, exsepdt, Vhen pilin on de shdeam. Der Breitmann flew! Von mighdy gry Ash he vent scootin bast; Von derriple, drementous yell; Dat day de virst und lasht. Vot ha! Vot ho! Vhy ish it dus? Vhot makes dem shdare aghasht? Vhy cooms dat vail of vild deshbair? Ish somedings cot ge-shmasht? Yea, efen so. Yea, ferily, Shbeak, soul! it ish dy biz! Der Breitmann shkeet so vast along Dey fairly heard him whizz. Vhen shoost oopon a hill-top point It caught a pranch ge-bent, Und like an apple from a shling, Afay Hans Breitmann vent. Vent droo de air an hoondert feet Allowin more or lees: Denn, pob-pob-pob a mile or dwo He rollet along I guess. Say hast dou seen a gannon ball Half shpent, shtill poundin on, Like made of gummi-lasticum? So vent der Breitmann. Dey bick him oop dey pring him in, No wort der Breitmann shboke. Der doktor look he shwear erstaunt Dat nodings ish peen proke. He rollt de rocky road entlang, He pounce oer shtock und shtone, Youd dink hed knocked his outsites in, Yet nefer preak a pone! All shtill Hans lay, bevilderfied; He seemt not mind de shaps, Nor mofed oontil der medicus Hafe dose him vell mit schnapps. De schmell voke oop de boetry Of tays vhen he vas yoong, Und he murmulte de fragmends Of an sad romantish song: Ash sommer pring de roses Und roses pring de dew, So Deutschland gifes de maidens Who fetch de bier for you. Komm Maidelein! rothe Waengelein! Mit wein-glass in your paw! Vell get troonk among de roses, Und pe soper on de shtraw! Ash vinter pring de ice-wind Vitch plow oer Burg und hill, Hard times pring in de landlord, Und de landlord pring the pill. Boot sing Maidelein rothe Waengelein! Mit wein glass in your paw! Vell get troonk among de roses, Und pe soper on de shtraw! Dey dook der Breitmann homewarts, Boot efer on de vay He nefer shpeaket no man, Und nodings else couldt say, Boot, Maidelein rothe Waengelein! Mit wein-glass in her paw, Vell get troonk among de roses, Und pe soper on de shtraw! Dey laid der Hans im bette, Peneat de eider doun, Und sembelet all de doktors Who doktor in de town, Dat ish, de Deutsche Aertzte, For Breitmann alvays says, De Deutschers ish de onlies Mit originell ides. Der vas Doktor Moritz Schlinkenschlag, Dat vork ash Cafopath, Und de learned Cobus Schoepfskopf, Who use de milchy bath; Und Korschalitschky aus Boehmen, Vhat cure mit slibovitz, Und Wechselbalg, der Preusse, Who only tend to fits. Dere vas Strobbich aus Westfalen, Who mofe all eartly ills Mit concentrirter Schinken juice, Und Pumpernickel pills. Und a bier-kur man from Munich, Und a grape-curist from Rhein, Und von who shkare tiseases Mit a dose of Schlesier-wein. So dey meet in consooldation, Mit Doktor Winkeleck, Who proctice renovation Mit sauer-kraut und speck. Und dat no man shouldt pe shlightet, Or dreatet ash a tunce, Dey greed to dry deir systems Oopon Breitmann all at vonce. Dat ish, mit de exscepdion Of gifin Schlesier-wein: For de remedy vas dangerfull For von who trink from Rhein. Ash der Teufel vonce deklaret, Vhen he taste it on a shpree, Dat a man, to trink soosh liquor, Moost a porn Silesian pe. So dey all vent los at Breitmann, Und woonderfool to dell, He coom to his Gesundheit, Und pooty soon cot vell. Some hinted at Natura, Mit her olt vis sanatrix, Boot eash doktor shvore he curet him, Und de rest were taugenix. I know not vot der Breitmann More newly has pegun; Boot dey say he talks day-dayly Mit Dana of de Sun. Dey talk in Deutsch togeder, Und volk say de end will be, Philosopedal shanges In de Union Cavallrie. Gott helf de howlin safage! Got helf de Indi-n! Shouldt Breitmann shoin his forces Mit Sheneral Sheridan! Und denn, to sing his braises, Ill write anoder lied: Hier hat dis dale an ende, Of Breitmanns Philosopede!