Now, at last, the long-expected Day had come, the Baron's birthday. At the table he was chatting With his friend and pleasant neighbour, The good prelate of St. Blasien, Who had driven hither early, To express his heartfelt wishes. Meanwhile many hands were busy Decorating the pavilion With fresh garlands, and were placing Rows of music-desks in order. By degrees there came now gliding Through the side-gate by the river All the musical performers. First, the youthful burgomaster Bending under the unwieldy Contra-bass, whose sounds sonorous Often from his thoughts did banish All the cares of his high office, And the council's stupid blunders. Next there came the bloated chaplain Who played finely on the violin, Drawing from it such shrill wailings, As if wishing to give utterance To his lonely bachelor's heart. With his horn beneath his arm came The receiver's clerk, who often, A great bore to his superior, With his playing did enliven All the dry accounts he summed up, And the dulness of subtraction. There came also stepping slowly, Dressed in black, but shabby looking, With a hat the worse for usage, He the lank assistant-teacher, Who by Art consoled himself for What was wanting in his income, And instead of wine and roast beef Lived upon his flute's sweet music. Then came--Who can count, however, All these instrumental players? All the talent of the city For this concert had united. From the ironworks of Albbruck Even came the superintendent; He alone played the viola. Like a troop of mounted warriors Who the enemy expecting, Lurk in safe and hidden ambush, So they waited for the Baron To arrive. And like good marksmen Who with care before the battle Try their weapons, if their powder By the dew has not been damaged, If the flint is good for striking; So by blowing, scraping, tuning, They their instruments were trying.