De pridges risen all aroundt So quaindly, left und right, Pedween each pridge und shattow, lies, A lemon of yellow light, Und das volk a-goin ober, So darklin onwarts pass, Dey look like Chinese shattows - shown Apofe a lookin-glass. All shdiller grows, und shdiller, Sogar die efenin preeze, Ish only heardt far ober het In dese long lines of drees; A real oldt Holland feelin Cooms gadderin ober all, You'd nefer dink a sturm hat peen Oopon dis Grand Canawl. De nople houses! - how dey'd mofe An old New Yorker's heart, Time vas - twix dese und dose at home You couldn't tell 'em part, Mit crate brass knockers on de toors, Und parlors town so low You see de crates a glowin prite O'er carbets ash you go. Dere's comfort-full of avery dings, You veel it ash you look, You knows de volks ish opulend, Und keep a bully cook; Und oopon de high camine, Or here und dere on shelf, Dere's Japanesisch dings in rows, Pe mingled oop mit delf. Dere's noding in dis Holland life, Vitch seems of present day, De fery shildren in de shdreeds Look quaintlich as dey blay; De liddle rosy housemaids, In bicdures vell I know, De dames und heers hafe all an air Of sixdy years ago. They may dalk of anciendt hishdory Und for romantisch seek, De ding dat mofes most teeply ish Old-vashioned - not antique. O if you live in Leyden town You'll meet, if troot' pe told, De forms of all de freunds who tied Vhen du werst six years old. SCHEVENINGEN, OR DE MAIDEN'S COORSE. Oldt Flamisch. HET vas Mijn Heer van Torenborg, Ride oud oopon de sand, Und vait to hear a paardeken; Coom tromplin from de land. He vaited vhen de boeren volk Vent oud oopon de plain, He vaited dill de veary crows Flew nestwarts home acain. He vaited ash de wild fox vaits In long-some hoonger noth, He vaited dill de flitterin bats Vere plack on Abendroth. Id's woe to watch for taily bread Or bide forgotten call, Boot oh, to vait for heartsen lofe Ish veariest of dem all. "O dat ish not mine laity's prooch Shoost now so star-like shined, O dat ish not mine laity's haar Soft floatin on de wind. Her goot crayhound mit soosh a step Vas nefer vont to go, Und dat is niet her paardeken Whose shtep so vell I know. "Dat light ish speer light from a lanz Vitch'll part mine pody und soul, De floatin haar is a pennon gay Or wafin banderol. De crayhound ish a ploot-hound wild Vitch long has dracked me here, Und het paardeken ish a var-horse Vot has hoonted me like deer." Well shpoke Mijn Heer van Torenborg All drue vas afery wordt, For dey bored him troo mit lanzen, Und dey hewed him mit de swordt. Dey killt him armloss, harmlos; De plooty reiver band; Und puried him so careloosly Dat his vace shtick out de sand.