On the right Balthasar shall have his place, On the left shall be Melchior’s station, In the midst shall be Gaspar. I know not what When alive, was their right situation. The Holy Alliance from out of the East, Now canonised so duly, Perchance has not always its mission fulfill’d Quite properly and truly. Balthasar perchance and Melchior too Were men of but weak resolution, Who promised, when sorely press’d from without, Their kingdom a constitution, And afterwards broke their word.--Perchance King Gaspar, who reign’d o’er the Moormen, Rewarded with black ingratitude His foolish fond subjects, the poor men! CAPUT V. And when I came to the bridge o’er the Rhine, Where the bastion its corner advances, There saw I Father Rhine flowing on In the silent moonbeam’s glances. “All hail to thee, good Father Rhine, Now that I’m home returning! Full often have I on thee thought, With longing and deep yearning.” Thus spake I, and heard in the waters deep A voice at once strange and moaning, Like the wheezing cough of an aged man, With grumbling and feeble groaning: “Thou’rt welcome, and as thou rememberest me, I see thee, good youth, again gladly; ’Tis thirteen long years since I saw thee last, My affairs have meanwhile gone badly. “At Biberich many a stone I’ve gulp’d down, “My digestion in consequence worse is; “Yet heavier far on my stomach, alas, “Lie Nicholas Becker’s[47] verses! “My praises he chants, as though I were now “The purest and best-behaved maiden, “Who never allow’d any mortal to steal “The crown with her purity laden. “Whenever I hear the stupid song, “I could tear my beard in a passion, “And feel inclined to drown myself “In myself, in a curious fashion! “That I am a virgin pure no more “The French know better than any; “For they with my waters have mingled oft “Their floods of victory many. “The stupid song and the stupid man! “Indeed he has treated me badly; “To a certain extent he has compromised me “In matters political sadly. “For if the French should ever come back, “I must blush at their reappearance, “Though I’ve pray’d with tears for their return “To heaven with perseverance. “I always have loved full well the French, “So tiny yet full of sinew; “Still wear they white breeches as formerly? “Does their singing and springing continue? “Right glad should I be to see them again, “And yet I’m afraid to be twitted “On account of the words of that cursèd song; “And the sneers of its author half-witted! “That Alfred de Musset[48], that lad upon town, “Perchance will come as their drummer, “And march at their head, and his wretched wit “Play off on me all through the summer.”