The calves are seen to roast the cook, On men are riding the horses; On freedom of teaching and laws of light The Catholic owl discourses. The herring is a sans-culotte, The truth is told by Bettina, And puss-in-boots brings Sophocles On the stage, with learned demeanour. An ape for German heroes has built A Pantheon, for glory zealous;[20] And Massmann has lately been using a comb, As German papers tell us. The German bears, I grieve to say, Are atheists unbelieving, And in their place the parrots of France The Christian faith are receiving. The Moniteur of Uckermark With equal frenzy seems smitten; The dead have on the living there The vilest epitaph written.[21] Then let us not swim against the stream, Good friends! ’twould serve us but badly; But let us ascend the Templehof hill,[22] “Long life to the king!” shouting gladly. 22. ENLIGHTENMENT. Have the scales that dimm’d thy vision Fallen, Michael? Canst thou see How they’re stealing in derision All the choicest food from thee? In return, divine enjoyment Promise they in realms above, Where the angels’ sole employment Is to cook us fleshless love. Michael, hath thy faith grown weaker, Or thy appetite more strong? Thou dost grasp life’s sparkling beaker, And thou sing’st a hero-song. Fear not, Michael! take thy pleasure While on earth, and eat what’s good; When thou’rt dead, thou’lt have full leisure To digest in peace thy food. 23. WAIT AWHILE! Because my lightnings are so striking, You think that I can’t thunder too! You’re wrong, for I’ve a special liking For thunder, as I’ll prove to you. This will be seen with awful clearness When the right moment is at hand; You’ll hear my voice in startling nearness,-- The word of thunder and command. The raging storm will surely shiver Full many an oak upon that day; Each palace to its base shall quiver, And many a steeple proud give way. 24. NIGHT THOUGHTS. When, Germany, I think of thee At night, all slumber flies from me; I cannot close mine eyes for yearning, And down my cheeks run tears all burning. How swiftly speeds each rolling year! Since I have seen my mother dear Twelve years have pass’d away; the longer I wait, my yearning grows the stronger. My yearning’s growing evermore; That woman has bewitch’d me sore! Dear, dear old woman! with what fervour I think of her! may God preserve her! The dear old thing in me delights, And in the letters that she writes I see how much her hand is shaking,-- Her mother’s heart, how nearly breaking!