And he blew until his blowing Filled with melody the night air. In the depths the Rhine was listening, Salmon, trout, and pike were listening, Water-nymphs were listening also, And the wind the ringing tones bore To the castle tenderly. FIFTH PART. THE BARON AND HIS DAUGHTER. Now, my Muse, thy powers summon! For thy path leads to the Baron And the lovely Margaretta. Now be circumspect and courteous; For, an aged trooper-colonel Might with thee and others like thee Not be very ceremonious; But might throw thee down the staircase, Which is steep and very slippery, And might prove injurious to thee. Now, my Muse, mount upward to the Castle gate, behold there sculptured The three balls upon the scutcheon. As in the armorial bearings Of the Medici in Florence-- Signs of ancient, noble lineage; Now ascend the steps of sandstone, Loudly knock at the great hall door, Then step in and give report of What thou there hast slyly noticed. In the spacious, lofty knights' hall, With its walls of panelled oak-wood. And with rows of old ancestral Dusty portraits decorated, There the Baron took his comfort, Seated in his easy arm-chair By the cheerful blazing fire. His mustache was gray already; On his forehead, which a Swedish Troopers sword had deeply scarred once, Many wrinkles had been furrowed Also by the hand of Time. And a most unpleasant guest had Taken quarters uninvited In the left foot of the Baron. Gout 'tis called in vulgar parlance, But if any learned person Rather podagra should call it, I shall offer no objection; Not the less will be its torments. Just this day the pangs were milder, Only now and then increasing, When the Baron, smiling, spoke thus: "Zounds! 'tis evident that in the Long and dreadful Thirty Years' war. E'en this plaguy gout adopted Something of the art of tactics. The attack begins in order; First the skirmishers go forward, Then the flying columns follow. Oh, I wish the devil had them, This whole reconnoitring party! But not even this sufficeth. Just as if I had a fortress In my heart--like guns 'tis roaring. Then it throbs like storming parties, Piif! paif! I capitulate."