And when in the Lime of Frankenstein The merry riders found them, The castle-youth in garments fine Came thickly thronging round them. A jack-boot made of porcelain They brought--he did not falter, But drained it as he drew the rein, While all sang out the psalter; 'Ye fellows, let your voices sound! The welcome goes around, around; Holliro! the boot-cup Goes round, goes round!' In the castle-court another swarm Came with loud musket-banging, While on the castle-master's arm The second boot was hanging. With their finest wine they filled the boot, And grandly spoke the Ritter-- 'Sir Neighbour--not upon one foot! And this does not taste bitter. Ye fellows, let your voices sound! The welcome goes around, around; Holliro! the boot-cup Goes round, goes round!' The Rodenstein drank out the cup; 'God bless your nose for ever, For mine was nearly doubled up In such a flowing river. Now to your castle-hall, and there We'll rest from this pace so killing; I think in it your lady fair The Charlemagne's horn is filling. So once more let your voices sound! The welcome goes around, around; Holliro! the emperor's drink-horn Goes round, goes round!' Next morning lay a mantle white Of fog o'er hill and valley; They brought the album to the knight, And in't he wrote this sally With trembling hand--' Be this in sign I folded here my banners, And praise the House of Frankenstein, As one of taste and manners. Their welcome cheered my heart and head So much I could not find my bed! Holliro! not only boot-cup, But everything went around!' Hol-li-roh! THE PAWNING. Und wieder sass beim Weine Im Waldhorn ob der Bruck Der Herr vom Rodensteine Mit schwerem Schluck und Gluck. Again there sat hard drinking, All in the Hunting Horn, The Rodenstein ne'er winking, Accurst with thirst forlorn. The landlord wept the hour He came his wine to try-- 'He sits there like a tower, And drinks me high and dry. 'How will it end? by thunder! He never pays me--no! I'll have to pawn his plunder, Or else he will not go.' The beadle went to work in The tap-room of the Horn: 'Pull off your velvet jerkin, Your boots, and all you've worn. 'Pull off the mantle round you, Your gloves and sable hat; Unto this host you've bound you With all you have at that.'