THE LEGEND OF HEINZ VON STEIN Our rode from his wild, dark castle The terrible Heinz von Stein; He sat himself down at a table, And growled for a bottle of wine; Then, seized with a deep love-longing, To the valorous Ritter von Stein!" But she answered, "The kissing business On a countenance ugly as thine!" Oh, then the bold knight was angry, And fiercely he rode to the castle, And this is the dreadful legend Of the terrible Heinz von Stein. Charles Godfrey Leland [1824-1903] HALLOWE'EN OF a' the festivals we hear, Frae Handsel-Monday till New Year, There's few in Scotland held mair dear For mirth, I ween, Or yet can boast o' better cheer, Than Hallowe'en. Langsyne indeed, as now in climes Where priests for siller pardon crimes, Did pray and graen; But customs vary wi' the times At Hallowe'en. Ranged round a bleezing ingleside, For that day's wark is thrown aside Placed at their head the gudewife sits, Bogle's ha'e gart folk tyne their wits Grieved, she recounts how, by mischance, Upon the green, Or sail wi' witches owre to France Syne, issued frae the gardy-chair, That a' fu' daintily may fare At Hallowe'en. And when they've toomed ilk heapit plate, And a' things are laid out o' gate, To ken their matrimonial mate, The youngsters keen Search a' the dark decrees o' fate A' things prepared in order due, Gosh guide's! what fearfu' pranks ensue! At whilk, bedene, Their sweethearts by the far end pu' At Hallowe'en. Ithers, wi' some uncanny gift, In an auld barn a riddle lift, Where, thrice pretending corn to sift, Wi' charms between, Their joy appears, as white as drift, But 'twere a langsome tale to tell Puir Jock Maclean, Plump in a filthy peat-pot fell At Hallowe'en. Half filled wi' fear, and droukit weel, But frae that time the silly chiel Did never grien To cast his cantrips wi' the Deil At Hallowe'en. O Scotland! famed for scenes like this, Shall steek their e'en, Will ever be the constant wish of Jockie Mein. John Mayne [1759-1836] YAW, DOT IS SO! YAW, dot is so! yaw, dot is so! "Dis vorldt vas all a fleeting show!" I shmokes mine pipe, I trinks mine bier, Und efry day to vork I go; "Dis vorldt vas all a fleeting show;" Yaw, dot is so! yaw, dot is so! I don't got mooch down here below. I vork und sleep, Yaw, dot is so! yaw, dot is so! Some food to cadt; Vot else? Shust vait a minude, dough; Yaw, dot is so! Yaw, dot is so! yaw, dot is so! Dis vorldt don't been a fleeting show. I haf mine frau, I haf mine poys To sheer me, daily, as I go;: Dot's pest as anydings I know; Yaw, dot is so! Charles Follen Adams [1842 TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO Two honder year ago de worl' is purty slow, Even folk upon dis countree 's not so smart, Den who is travel roun' an' look out de pleasan' groun' I'll tole you who dey were, de beeg, rough voyageurs, Baptême! He's comin' all de way from Canadaw. But He watch dem, le bon Dieu, for He's got some work to do, An' He won't trust ev'rybody, no siree! Only full-blood Canadien, lak Marquette an' Hennepin, An' w'at you t'ink of Louis Verandrye? On church of Bonsecours! makin' ready for de tour, Yass, sir! Dey're ready now for goin' anyw'ere. De nort' win' know dem well, an' de prairie grass can tell How offen it is trample by de ole tam botte sauvage— An' gray wolf on hees den kip very quiet, w'en He hear dem boy a' singin' upon de long portage, An' de night would fin' dem lie wit' deir faces on de sky, An' de breeze would come an' w'isper on deir ear 'Bout de wife an' sweetheart dere on Soreal an' Trois Rivieres Dey may never leev to see anoder year. Dat's true, Dey may never leev to kiss anoder year. An' you'll know de place dey go, from de canyon down below, Or de mountain wit' hees nose above de cloud, De lak among de hill, w'ere de grizzly drink hees fill, Ax de wil' deer if de flash of de ole Tree Reever sash He don't see it on de woods of Illinois, An' de musk-ox as he go, w'ere de camp-fire melt de snow, De smell he still remember of tabac Canadien! Ha! Ha! It's hard forgettin' smell of tabac Canadien! So, ma frien', de Yankee man, he mus' try an' understan', 'W'en he holler for dat flag de Star an' Stripe, If he's little win' still lef' an' no danger hurt hese'f, |