THE GERMAN FATHERLAND.

HICH is the German's fatherland?

WHICH

Is 't Prussia's or Swabia's land?

Is 't where the Rhine's rich vintage streams ?
Or where the Northern sea-gull screams?
Ah, no, no, no!

His fatherland's not bounded so!

Which is the German's fatherland?
Bavaria's or Styria's land?

Is 't where the Marsian ox unbends?
Or where the Marksman iron rends? -
Ah, no, no, no!

His fatherland's not bounded so!

Which is the German's fatherland?
Pomerania's, or Westphalia's land?
Is it where sweep the Dunian waves?
Or where the thundering Danube raves?·
Ah, no, no, no!

His fatherland's not bounded so!

Which is the German's fatherland?
O, tell me now the famous land!
Is 't Tyrol, or the land of Tell?

Such lands and people please me well. -
Ah, no, no, no!

His fatherland's not bounded so!

Which is the German's fatherland?
Come, tell me now the famous land.
Doubtless, it is the Austrian state,
In honors and in triumphs great. -
Ah, no, no, no!

His fatherland 's not bounded so!

Which is the German's fatherland?
So tell me now the famous land!
Is 't what the Princess won by sleight
From the Emperor's and Empire's right? -
Ah, no, no, no!

His fatherland's not bounded so!

Which is the German's fatherland?
So tell me now at last the land!
As far's the German accent rings
And hymns to God in heaven sings,
That is the land,

There, brother, is thy fatherland!

There is the German's fatherland,

Where oaths attest the graspéd hand,

--

Where truth beams from the sparkling eyes,

And in the heart love warmly lies;

That is the land,

There, brother, is thy fatherland!

That is the German's fatherland,

Where wrath pursues the foreign band,

-

Where every Frank is held a foe,
And Germans all as brothers glow;
That is the land, –

All Germany's thy fatherland!

Ernst Moritz Arndt. Tr. J. Macray.

THE GERMAN'S NATIVE LAND.

NOW ye the land where, tall and green,
The ancient forest-oaks are seen?
Where the old Rhine-waves sounding run
Through vineyards gleaming in the sun?
We know the lovely land full well;
"Tis where the free-souled Germans dwell.

Know ye the land where truth is told,
Where word of man is good as gold?
The honest land where love and truth
Bloom on in everlasting youth?
We know that honest land full well;
'Tis where the free-souled Germans dwell.

Know ye the land where each vile song
Is banished from the jovial throng?
The sacred land where, free from art,
Religion sways the simple heart?

We know that sacred land full well;
'Tis where the free-souled Germans dwell.
Anonymous. Tr. C. T. Brooks.

GERMANY.

ROM Poland they came on through Prussia Proper,

FROM

And Konigsberg the capital, whose vaunt,

Besides some veins of iron, lead, or copper,

Has lately been the great Professor Kant.
Juan, who cared not a tobacco-stopper
About philosophy, pursued his jaunt

To Germany, whose somewhat tardy millions
Have princes, who spur more than their postilions.

And thence through Berlin, Dresden, and the like,
Until he reached the castellated Rhine;
Ye glorious Gothic scenes! how much ye strike
All phantasies, not even excepting mine:
A gray wall, a green ruin, rusty pike,

Make my soul pass the equinoctial line

Between the present and past worlds, and hover
Upon their airy confine, half-seas-over.

Lord Byron.

THE HAPPIEST LAND.

THERE at house on

HERE sat one day in quiet,

By an alehouse on the Rhine,

Four hale and hearty fellows,
And drank the precious wine.

The landlord's daughter filled their cups,
Around the rustic board;

Then sat they all so calm and still,

And spake not one rude word.

But, when the maid departed,
A Swabian raised his hand,

And cried, all hot and flushed with wine,
"Long live the Swabian land!

"The greatest kingdom upon earth
Cannot with that compare;
With all the stout and hardy men
And the nut-brown maidens there."

“Ha!” cried a Saxon, laughing,
And dashed his beard with wine;
“I had rather live in Lapland,

Than that Swabian land of thine!

"The goodliest land on all this earth,

It is the Saxon land!

There have I as many maidens

As fingers on this hand!"

Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!"

A bold Bohemian cries;

"If there's a heaven upon this earth,

In Bohemia it lies.

"There the tailor blows the flute,
And the cobbler blows the horn,
And the miner blows the bugle,
Over mountain gorge and bourn."

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