Poor Father Rhine thus made his complaints, And discontentedly splutter’d.-- In order to raise his sinking heart, These comforting words I utter’d: “O do not dread, good Father Rhine, “The laugh of a Frenchman, which is “Worth little, for he is no longer the same, “And they also have alter’d their breeches. “Their breeches are red, and no longer are white, “They also have alter’d the button; “No longer they sing and no longer they spring, “But hang their heads like dead mutton. “They now are philosophers all, and quote “Hegel, Fichte, Kant, over their victuals; “Tobacco they smoke, and beer they drink, “And many play also at skittles. “They’re all, like us Germans, becoming mere snobs, “But carry it even farther; “No longer they follow in Voltaire’s steps, “But believe in Hengstenberg[49] rather. “As for Alfred de Musset, indeed it is true “That he still to abuse gives a handle; “But be not afraid, and we’ll soon chain down “His tongue so devoted to scandal. “And if he should play off his wretched wit, “We’ll punish him most severely, “Proclaiming aloud the adventures he meets “With the women he loves most dearly. “Then be contented, good Father Rhine, “Bad songs treat only with laughter; “A better song ere long thou shalt hear,-- “Farewell, we shall meet hereafter.” CAPUT VI. On Paganini used always to wait A Spiritus Familiaris, Ofttimes as a dog, ofttimes in the shape Of the late lamented George Harris. Napoleon, before each important event, Saw a man in red, as they mention, And Socrates he had his Dæmon too, No fanciful mere invention. E’en I, when I sat at my table to write, When the darkness of night had entwined me, Have sometimes seen a muffled form, Mysteriously standing behind me. Hid under his mantle, a Something he held, And when the light happen’d to catch it, It strangely gleam’d, and methought ’twas an axe, An executioner’s hatchet. His stature appear’d to be under the mean, His eyes like very stars glisten’d; He never disturb’d me as I wrote, But quietly stood there, and listen’d. For many a year I had ceased to see This very singular fellow, But found him here suddenly at Cologne, In the moonlight silent and mellow. I saunter’d thoughtfully through the streets, And saw him behind me stalking, Just like my shadow, and when I stood still, He also left off walking. He stood, as if he were waiting for me, And when I onward hurried, He follow’d again, and thus I reach’d The Cathedral yard, quite flurried. I could not bear it, so turn’d sharp round, And said: “I insist on an answer; “Why follow me thus in the silent night, “And lead me this wandering dance, Sir?