Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE NOBLEMAN AND THE PENSIONER, by GOTTLIEB KONRAD PFEFFEL

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THE NOBLEMAN AND THE PENSIONER, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Old man, god bless you! Does your pipe taste sweetly?
Last Line: "the turkish pipe shall be."
Subject(s): Asia; Smoking; Far East; East Asia; Orient; Tobacco; Pipes; Cigars; Cigarettes

"OLD man, God bless you! does your pipe taste
A beauty, by my soul!
A red-clay flower-pot, rimmed with gold so neatly!
What ask you for the bowl?"
"O sir, that bowl for worlds I would not part
A brave man gave it me,
Who won it -- now what think you? -- of a bashaw
At Belgrade's victory.
"There, sir, ah! there was booty worth the show-
Long life to Prince Eugene!
Like after-grass you might have seen us mowing
The Turkish ranks down clean."
"Another time I'll hear your story; --
Come, old man, be no fool;
Take these two ducats, -- gold for glory,
And let me have the bowl!"
"I'm a poor churl, as you may say, sir;
My pension's all I'm worth:
Yet I'd not give that bowl away, sir,
For all the gold on earth.
"Just hear now! Once, as we hussars, all merry,
Hard on the foe's rear pressed,
A blundering rascal of a janizary
Shot through our captain's breast.
"At once across my horse I hove him, --
The same would he have done,
And from the smoke and tumult drove him
Safe to a nobleman.
"I nursed him, and, before his end, bequeathing
His money and this bowl
To me, he pressed my hand, just ceased his breath-
And so he died, brave soul!
"The money thou must give mine host, -- so thought
I, --
Three plunderings suffered he:
And, in remembrance of my old friend, brought I
The pipe away with me.
"Henceforth in all campaigns with me I bore it,
In flight or in pursuit;
It was a holy thing, sir, and I wore it
Safe-sheltered in my boot.
"This very limb, I lost it by a shot, sir,
Under the walls of Prague:
First at my precious pipe, be sure, I caught, sir,
And then picked up my leg."
"You move me even to tears, old sire:
What was the brave man's name?
Tell me, that I, too, may admire,
And venerate his fame."
"They called him only the brave Walter;
His farm lay near the Rhine" --
"God bless your old eyes! 't was my father,
And that same farm is mine.
"Come, friend, you've seen some stormy weather,
With me is now your bed;
We'll drink of Walter's grapes together,
And eat of Walter's bread."
"Now, -- done! I march in, then, to-morrow;
You're his true heir, I see;
And when I die, your thanks, kind master,
The Turkish pipe shall be."

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