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Breitmann As An Uhlan: 1. The Vision
by [?]

“Bjó foeri ek thér,
Brynthings apaldr!
Magni blandinn
Ok magentíri,
Fullr er hann ljoda.”

“Beer I bear to thee,
Battle’s great apple-tree!
Mingled with might
And with bright glory,
All full of song.”
The Edda.


“Dere vas vonce oopon a dimes a Frantchman who asket if a Sharman could hafe ésprit. Allowin for his pad shbellin, de reater will find dat der Herr Breitmann was hafe a spree goot many dimes. You gant ged rount de Dootch.” – FRITZ SWACKENHAMMER.

GOTTS blitz! blau Feuer, potz bomben Tod!
Vot shimmers in de mitnacht roth?
Like hell-shtrom boorst o’er heafen’s plain,
Trowin dead light on eart acain:-
Ja! – wide im nord om Odin shtone
Lies a shiant form im glare alone.
Troonk py de eis-kalt roarin shdream
Der Hans ish hafe ein wunder tream.

Troonk om haunted Odinstein
Im Hexenlicht und Elfenschein
Vhere blooty Druids omens trew
From grin und screech of shaps dey slew;
Or vhere der Norseman long of yore
Vas carven eagles on de shore,
As o’er him yell de Valkyr broot
Und crows valk round knee teep im ploot,
Vhile rabens schkreem o’er ruddy bay;
Dere – ten pottles troonk – Hans Breitmann lay.

Fast und rof der war-man shnore
Like de hammer-shlog of Thor,
Schnell ash Mjöllner’s bang und beat
Heaved de form from het to veet
Vhile apofe him in de shkies
Dere he saw a glorie rise,
Und im mittle von it all
De iron lords of crate Valhall.

Long he gaze mit wölfen glare
At de Aesir in de air,
Long mit schneerin bären grin
He toorn his nase auf und hin
(For ne’er a Sherman – tam de otts-
Vas efer yet gife in to Gotts),
Dill avery Aes owned oop dat he
A gott-like man of brass moost pe.

Shtern der Breitmann raise his het,
To his fader Gotts he set:
“Let your worts of wisehood shlip;
Rush your runes, und let ’em rip!
For you de gotts hafe efer pe
Of dose who vere ash gotts to me:-
Alt Thor der Thören here pelow-
Vot hell you vants,[1] I’d like to know?”

Antworded ash de donner clangs,
Der fader of de iron bangs:
“De gotts will let de hell-dogs go,
Und raise damnation here pelow;
Until de sassy Frenchmen schmell
De rifers ten dat roon troo hell
To telle dis I comme dence,
Dou lord of lion impudence.

“Drafeller! I know dee vell!
Breitmann improturbable!
Vhen on eart I hat my shy,
Breitmann of dat age vas I.
I schwear py Thor! so crate und gay,
I smashed de Jötuns in my tay,
Und dou shall pe ge-writ sooplime
Ash de crate Thor of deiner time.

“Now ve lets de eagles vly
Skreemin troo de vlamin shky,
Our own specials: – dare nod laugh;
For in de London Telegraph,
A voondrous poy vot make oos shdare,
For hop vhat may, he’s alvays dere!
Vill dell de worlt, troo blut and flame,
Hans Breitmann ist der Uhlan’s name.

“Und all dou e’er on eart has done,
From oop gang oontil settin sun,
Vill pe ash nix – I schvear py Thor!
To vat dou’lt do in dieser war;
Plazin roofs und mordered men,
Hell set loose on eart again;
Rush und ride in shtorm und floot,
Cannon roarin, pools of bloot;
Deutschland mad in fool career,
Led py dy Uhlanen speer,
Hell’s harfest – sheafs of fictorie,
Reaped mit deat’s sword und reapt by dee!