Text by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
translated into English by Joseph Massaad
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Soon after Hagen, night quickly fell, And I could feel in my intestines A creeping cold. I didn’t feel warm Till Unna, in one of the inns. I found a pretty maiden there, She served me punch in a friendly way; Her curly hair was like yellow silk, Her soft eyes shone like a moon-ray. I heard the lisping Westphalian accent Again, with a joy without measure. The punch brought back the sweet memories, Of my dear brothers in pleasure. Those dear Wesphalians with whom, In Göttingen, I so often drank, Till, with our hearts so moved, Under the tables, we sank! I’ve always so much liked Those dear Wesphalian friends, A people so firm, so sure, so true, Void of bragging and pretence. How splendid, on the duelling ground, They stand with lion hearts! So true are their tierces, So precise are their quartes. They fence well, they drink well, They are such friendly folks: They reach you a hand and then weep, They are sentimental oaks. May Heaven guard you, worthy race, May Heaven bless your seeds, Preserve you from war and fame, From heroes and heroic deeds. May God send easy trials To your worthy young men, May he bring all your daughters Safely to the alter- Amen! |
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