The music was painful and out of tune, And frozen was every musician; The eagles perch’d over the standards look’d down Upon me in woeful condition. In ghostly fashion the men all appear’d, All lost in old recollections,-- The wondrous imperial dream revived, Awakening olden affections. I wept on that day. Tears rose in my eyes, And down my cheeks fast fleeted, When I heard the long-vanish’d loving shout Of “Vive l’Empereur!” repeated. CAPUT IX. I left Cologne on my onward road At a quarter to eight precisely; We got to Hagen at three o’clock, And there had our dinners nicely. The table was cover’d. Here found I all The old-fashion’d German dishes; All hail, thou savoury sour-krout, hail, The reward of my utmost wishes! Stuff’d chestnuts all in green cabbages dress’d! My food when I was a baby! All hail, ye native stockfish, ye swim In the butter as nicely as may be! One’s native country to each fond heart Grows ever dearer and dearer-- Its eggs and bloaters, when nicely brown’d, Come home to one’s feelings still nearer. How the sausages sang in the spluttering fat. The fieldfares, those very delicious And roasted angels with apple sauce, All warbled a welcome propitious. “Thou’rt welcome, countryman,” warbled they, “Full long hast thou been delaying! “Full long hast thou with foreign birds “In foreign lands been straying!” Upon the table stood also a goose, A silent, kindhearted being; Perchance she loved me in younger days, When our tastes were nearer agreeing. Full of meaning she eyed me, cordial but sad, And fond, like the rest of her gender; She surely possess’d an excellent soul, But her flesh was by no means tender. A boar’s head they also brought in the room, On a pewter dish, for me to guzzle; The _bores_ with us are always deck’d out With laurel leaves round their muzzle. CAPUT X. On leaving Hagen the night came on, And I felt a chilly sensation Inside. At the inn at Unna I first Recover’d my animation. A pretty maiden found I there, Who pour’d out my punch discreetly; Like yellow silk were her comely locks, Her eyes like the moonlight gleam’d sweetly. Her lisping Westphalian accents I heard With joy, as she utter’d them clearly; The punch with sweet recollections smoked, I thought of my brethren loved dearly; The dear Westphalians, with whom I oft drank At Göttingen, while we were able, Till we sank in emotion on each other’s necks, And also sank under the table. That loveable, worthy, Westphalian race! I ever have loved it extremely; A nation so firm, so faithful, so true, Ne’er given to boasting unseemly.