Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GERMANY; A WINTER TALE: CAPUT 3, by HEINRICH HEINE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GERMANY; A WINTER TALE: CAPUT 3, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In the old cathedral at aix-la-chapelle
Last Line: "long life to the king,"" shouting loudly."
Subject(s): Aachen, Germany; Charlemagne (742-814); Freedom; Aix-la-chapelle; Liberty


IN the old cathedral at Aix-la-Chapelle
Lie buried great Charlemagne's ashes;
(Not the living Charles Mayer in Swabia born,
Who the writer of so much trash is!)

As the smallest of poets I'd sooner live
At Stukkert, by Neckar's fair river,
Than be buried as Emp'ror at Aix-la-Chapelle,
And so be extinguish'd for ever.

In the streets of Aix-la-Chapelle the dogs
Are ennui'd, and humbly implore us:
"O stranger, prythee give us a kick,
"And to life for a time thus restore us."

I saunter'd along in this tedious place
For an hour, with great perseverance,
And saw that the Prussian soldiery
Are not the least changed in appearance.

The high red collar still they wear,
With the same grey mantle below it --
(The Red betokens the blood of the French,
Sang Korner the youthful poet).

They are still the wooden pedantic race,
In every motion displaying
The same right angle, and every face
A frigid conceit still betraying.

They walk about stiffly, as though upon stilts,
Stuck up as straight as a needle,
Appearing as if they had swallow'd the stick
Once used as the best means to wheedle.

Yes, ne'er has entirely vanish'd the rod,
They carry it now inside them;
Familiar Du will recall the old Er
Wherein they were wont to pride them.

The long mustachio nothing more
Than the pigtail of old discloses
The tail that formerly hung behin
Is hanging right under their noses.

I was not displeased with the new costume
Of the cavalry, I must confess it;
And chiefly the headpiece, the helmet in fact
With the steel point above it, to dress it.

It seems so knightly, and takes one back
To the sweet romance of past ages,
To the Countess Johanna of Montfaucon,
Tieck, Uhland, Fouque, and such sages

The middle ages it calls to mind,
With their squires and noble inferiors,
Who in their bosoms fidelity bore,
And escutcheons upon their posteriors.

Crusades and tourneys it brings back too,
And love, and respect at a distance,
And times of faith, ere printing was known,
When newspapers had no existence.

Yes, yes, I admire the helmet, it shows
An intellect truly enchanting!
Right royal indeed the invention was,
The point is really not wanting!

If a storm should arise, a peak like this
(The thought is terribly fright'ning)
On your romantic head might attract
The heavens' most modern lightning!

At Aix-la-Chapelle, on the posthouse arms,
I saw the bird detested
Yet once again. With poisonous glare
His eyes upon me rested.

Detestable bird! If e'er thou should'st fall
In my hands, thou creature perfidious,
I would tear thy feathers from off thy back,
And hack off thy talons so hideous!

And then I would stick thee high up on a polo
In the air, thou wicked freebooter,
And then to the joyful shooting match
Invite each Rhenish sharpshooter.

As for him who succeeds in shooting thee down,
The crown and sceptre shall proudly
Reward the worthy; the trumpets we'll blow,
"Long life to the king," shouting loudly.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net