In luftiger Trinkkemenaten
—Den Ort gesteht man nicht ein—
Da prueften drei spaete Nomaden
Den edelsten pfaelzischen Wein.
In a tavern, in cool, pleasant weather—
I know not the name or the sign—
Three travellers were drinking together
The noblest Palatinate wine.
In grand ruddy Roemers was blinking
The fine pearling Rieslinger gold,
And vines on the trellis were winking
In moonlight from grape-eyes untold.
The first, a far-travelled and wary
Philologist, spoke out his mind:
'This was made by the fire-sprite and fairy,
With ether and sunshine combined.
So it glows and it flows ever finer;
Spirit-sparkling, soft-rythmic we mix;
Like Ionian drink-songs in minor,
When sung by Homerical bricks'
The second, a dried-up old fellow,
Who the law of the Romans professed,
'Proficiat,' said he, ''tis mellow.
'What we sip is not far from the best.
Who sees not when Bacchus's donum
In this glass gleams like gold i' the sun,
That the Justum, aequum et bonum,
In this Roman are blended in one.'
The third one, while trimming the tapers,
Said modestly, next: 'Do ye see
I'm no poet, and none of the papers
Get writin's from fellows like me.
But I tell you, my heart rattles quicker,
When such wine as I've got here I swills;
It's an out-and-out beautiful liquor,—
God bless them Palatinate hills!'
Meanwhile, with a spear on his shoulder,
By the bridge went a fourth man along;
And waving his weapon, the holder
Sang out to the night-wind his song.
'Ye gentlemen, hear what I'm singing:
The public need sleep—do you mind?
Eleven o'clock has done ringing;
You must all go to bed, or be fined!'