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THE LEGEND OF HEINZ VON STEIN

Our rode from his wild, dark castle

The terrible Heinz von Stein;
He came to the door of a tavern,
And gazed on the swinging sign.

He sat himself down at a table,

And growled for a bottle of wine;
Up came with a flask and a corkscrew
A maiden of beauty divine.

Then, seized with a deep love-longing,
He uttered, "O damosel mine,
Suppose you just give a few kisses

To the valorous Ritter von Stein!"

But she answered, "The kissing business
Is entirely out of my line;
And I certainly will not begin it

On a countenance ugly as thine!"

Oh, then the bold knight was angry,
And cursed both coarse and fine;
And asked, "How much is the swindle
For your sour and nasty wine?"

And fiercely he rode to the castle,
And sat himself down to dine;

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,
The kintry 'round in Popish rhymes

Did pray and graen;

But customs vary wi' the times

At Hallowe'en.

Ranged round a bleezing ingleside,
Where nowther cauld nor hunger bide,
The farmer's house, wi' secret pride,
Will a' convene;

For that day's wark is thrown aside
At Hallowe'en.

Placed at their head the gudewife sits,
And deals round apples, pears, and nits;
Syne tells her guests, how, at sic bits
Where she has been,

Bogle's ha'e gart folk tyne their wits
At Hallowe'en.

Grieved, she recounts how, by mischance,
Puir pussy's forced a' night to prance
Wi' fairies, wha in thousands dance

Upon the green,

Or sail wi' witches owre to France
At Hallowe'en.

Syne, issued frae the gardy-chair,
For that's the seat of empire there,
To co'er the table wi' what's rare,
Commands are gi'en;

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
At Hallowe'en.

A' things prepared in order due,

Gosh guide's! what fearfu' pranks ensue!
Some i' the kiln-pat thraw a clew,

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,
At Hallowe'en.

But 'twere a langsome tale to tell
The gates o' ilka charm and spell;
Ance, gaen to saw hampsced himsel',

Puir Jock Maclean,

Plump in a filthy peat-pot fell

At Hallowe'en.

Half filled wi' fear, and droukit weel,
He frae the mire dught hardly speel;

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,
That thy sons walk where wisdom is,
Till death in everlasting bliss

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! yaw, dot is so!

I don't got mooch down here below.
I eadt und trink,

I vork und sleep,
Und find out, as I oldter grow,
I haf a hardter row to hoe;
Yaw, dot is so!

Yaw, dot is so! yaw, dot is so!
Dis vorldt don't gife me half a show;
Somedings to vear,

Some food to cadt;

Vot else? Shust vait a minude, dough;
Katrina, und der poys! oho!

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

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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'
For geev' de Yankee peop' a leetle start?

I'll tole you who dey were, de beeg, rough voyageurs,
Wit' deir cousin w'at you call coureurs de bois,
Dat's fightin' all de tam, an' never care a dam,
An' ev'ry wan dem feller he's come from Canadawa

Baptême!

He's comin' all de way from Canadaw.

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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,
See dem down upon de knee, all prayin' dere-
Wit' de paddle on de han' ev'ry good Canadien man,
An' affer dey be finish, hooraw for anyw'ere.

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,
Or de rapid on de reever roarin' loud.

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,
Den he better geev anoder cheer, ba cripe!
For de flag of la belle France, dat show de way across
From Louisbourg to Florida an' back,

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