Out rode from his wild, dark castle, The terrible Heinz von Stein: He came to the door of a tavern And gazed at the swinging sign. He sat himself down at a table, And growled for a bottle of wine; Up came, with a flask and a corkscrew, A maiden of beauty divine. Then, seized with a deep love-longing, He uttered, “Oh, damosell mine, Suppose you just give a few kisses To the valorous Rotter von Stein.” But she answered, “The kissing business Is entirely out of my line; And I certainly will not begin it On a countenance ugly as thine.” Oh, then the bold knight was angry, And he cursed both coarse and fine; And asked: “How much is the swindle For your sour and nasty wine?” And fiercely he rode to the castle, And sat himself down to dine; And this is the terrible legend Of the terrible Heinz von Stein. BRIGAND SONG. _Air_--Von Weber’s “Dernière Pensée.” ’G giebt kein schönres Leben Als das Rauberleben In dem düstern, düstern Wald. THERE’S no life is nobbier Than to be a robbier In the gloomy, gloomy, gloomy wood. Always blood a-drinkin’, Killin’ folks like winkin’, Little hinfants murderin’ all we could. Comes a carriage glidin’, Or a feller ridin’, Or a tinker travellin’ with his cram, Then each jovial rover Holloas out, “Shell over! For your life we do not care a d--n!” A FARTHING AND A SIXPENCE. A FARTHING and a sixpence, And both of them were mine; The farthing went for water, And the sixpence went for wine. The landlord and his daughter Cry, both of them, “Oh woe!” The landlord when I’m coming, And the daughter when I go. My shoes are all in pieces, My boots are torn, d’ye see; And yonder, on the hedges, The birds are singing free. And if there were no taverns, I’d never wish to roam; And no bung-hole in the barrel, Then I couldn’t drink at home. _Count Albert von Schlippenbach._ [Illustration: “IN A SWAMP HE FELL--HOW SHOCKING!”] THE TEUTOBURGER BATTLE. WHEN the Romans, rashly roving, Into Germany were roving, First of all--to flourish, partial-- Rode ’mid trumps the great field-martial, Sir Quintilius Varus. But in the Teutoburgian forest How the north wind blew and chor-rused; Ravens flying through the air, And there was a perfume there As of blood and corpses. All at once, in sock and buskins, Out came rushing the Cheruskins Howling, “Gott and Vaterland!” They went in with sword in hand Against the Roman legions. Ah, it was an awful slaughter, And the cohorts ran like water; But of all the foe that day The horsemen only got away, Because they were on horseback!