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Steinli Von Slang
by [?]


DER watchman look out from his tower
Ash de Abendgold glimmer grew dim,
Und saw on de road troo de Gauer
Ten shpearmen coom ridin to him:
Und he schvear: “May I lose my next bitter,
Und denn mit der Teufel go hang!
If id isn’t dat pully young Ritter,
De hell-drivin Steinli von Slang.

“De vorldt nefer had any such man,
He vights like a sturm in its wrath:
You may call me a recular Dutchman,
If he arn’t like Goliath of Gath.
He ish big ash de shiant O’Brady,
More ash sefen feet high on a string,
Boot he can’t vin de hearts of my lady,
De lofely Plectruda von Sling.”

De lady make welcome her gast in,
Ash he shtep to de dop of de shtair,
She look like an angel got lost in
A forest of audumn-prown hair.
Und a bower-maiden said ash she tarried:
“I wish I may bust mit a bang!
If id isn’t a shame she ain’t married
To der her-re-liche Steinli von Slang!”

He pows to de cround fore de lady,
Vhile his vace ish ash pale ash de tead;
Und she vhispers oonto him a rédè
Ash mit arrow point accents, she said:
“You hafe long dimes peen dryin to win me,
You hafe vight, and mine braises you sing,
Boot I’m ‘fraid dat de notion aint in me,
De Lady Plectruda von Sling.

“Boot brafehood teserves a reward, sir;
Dough you’ve hardly a chost of a shanse.
Sankt Werolf! medinks id ish hard, sir,
I should allaweil lead you dis dance.”
Like a bees vhen it it booz troo de clofer,
Dese murmurin accents she flang,
Vhile singin, a stingin her lofer,
Der woe-moody Ritter von Slang.

“Boot if von ding you do, I’ll knock under,
Our droples moost endin damit
Und if you pull troo it,- by donder!
I’ll own myself euchred, und bit.
I schvear py de holy Sanct Chlody!
Py mine honor-und avery ding!
You may hafe me-soul, puttons und pody,
Mit de whole of Plectruda von Sling.”

“Und dish ish de test of your power:-
Vhile ve shtand ourselfs round in a row,
You moost roll from de dop of dis tower,
Down shdairs to de valley pelow.
Id ish rough and shteep ash my virtue:”
(Mit schwanenshweet accents she sang:)
“Tont try if you dinks id vill hurt you,
Mine goot liddle Ritter von Slang.”

An Moormoor arosed mong de beoples;
In fain tid she doorn in her shkorn,
Der vatchman on dop of de shdeeples
Plowed a sorryfool doon on his horn.
Ash dey look down de dousand-foot treppé,
Dey schveared dey vouldt pass on de ding,
Und not roll down de firstest tam steppé
For a hoondred like Fräulein von Sling.


‘Twas audumn. De dry leafs vere bustlin
Und visperin deir elfin wild talk,
Vhen shlow, mit his veet in dem rustlin,
Herr Steinli coomed out for a walk.
Wild dooks vly afar in de gloamin,
He hear a vaint gry vrom de gang;
Und vished he vere off mit dem roamin:
De heart-wounded Ritter Von Slang.

Und ash he vent musin und shbeakin,
He se, shoost ahead in his vay,
In sinkular manner a streakin,
A strange liddle bein, in cray,
Who toorned on him quick mit a holler,
Und cuttin a dwo bigeon ving,
Cried, “Say, can you change me a thaler,
Oh, guest of de Lady von Sling?”

De knight vas a goot-nadured veller,
(De peggars all knowed him at sight,)
So he forked out each groschen und heller,
Dill he fix de finances aright.
Boot shoost ash de liddle man vent, he,
(Der Ritter,) ashtonished cried “Dang!”
For id vasn’t von thaler boot tventy,
He’d passed on der Ritter von Slang.