Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GERMANY; A WINTER TALE: CAPUT 11, by HEINRICH HEINE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GERMANY; A WINTER TALE: CAPUT 11, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Behold the wood of teutoburg
Last Line: And towards it I gave a few dollars.
Subject(s): Freedom; Germany; Jahn, Frederick Ludwig (1778-1852); Neander, Johann August (1789-1850); Liberty; Germans; Mendel, David


BEHOLD the wood of Teutoburg,
Described in Tacitus' pages;
Behold the classical marsh, wherein
Stuck Varus, in past ages.

Here vanquish'd him the Cheruscian prince,
The noble giant, named Hermann;
'Twas in this mire that triumph'd first
Our nationality German.

Had Hermann with his light-hair'd hordes
Not triumph'd here over the foeman,
Then German freedom had come to an end,
We had each been turn'd to a Roman!

Nought but Roman language and manners had now
Our native country ruled over,
In Munich lived Vestals, the Swabians e'en
As Quirites have flourish'd in clover!

An haruspex had Hengstenberg surely been,
And groped about in the bowels
Of oxen; Neander an Augur, and based
On flights of birds his avowals,

Birch-Pfeifer had tippled her turpentine,
Like the Roman ladies admired.
('Tis said that they, by its frequent use,
A pleasing odour acquired).

Friend Raumer had been no German scamp,
But a regular Roman Scampatius,
And Freiligrath written without using rhyme,
Like worthy Flaccus Horatius.

The clumsy beggar, Father Jahn,
Had then been call'd Clumsianus;
Me Hercule! Massmann would Latin have talk'd,
As Marcus Tullius Massmanus!

The friends of truth, instead of with curs
In the papers, would in the arena
Have had to wage a mortal fight
With the lion, jackal, hyena.

One single Nero we now should have had,
'Stead of three dozen pieces of knavery;
Our veins should we have open'd, and so
Defied the bailiffs of slavery.

Thank heaven! The Romans were driven away,
A glorious triumph was Hermann's;
Both Varus and all his legions succumb'd,
And we remain'd still Germans!

We Germans remain, and German we speak,
As we before times have spoken;
An ass is an ass, not asinus,
The Swabian line is unbroken.

Friend Raumer remain'd a German scamp
In our northern German climate;
And Freiligrath no Horace became,
But in verse is accustom'd to rhyme it.

Thank heaven that Massmann no Latin e'er writes,
Brich-Pfeifer writes nothing but dramas,
And drinks no nasty turpentine
Like those lovely Roman charmers.

O Hermann, for this we're indebted to thee!
So at Dettmoldt thy friends and extollers
A monument proud of late have design'd,
And towards it I gave a few dollars.





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