But besides old Hiddigeigei, Standing far down by the river There was still another listener To these first attempts at blowing, Who felt anger more than pleasure. It was Werner. He came early With his trumpet to the garden, Wanted to compose a song there In that quiet morning-hour. First, however, his dear trumpet He laid on the rustic table. Then stood musing by the stone-wall Gazing at the rapid river. "Yes, I see, your waves preserve still Their old course and disposition, Ever toward the ocean rushing, As my heart for my love striveth. Who now from the goal is farthest, Clear green river, thou or I?" All this train of thought was broken By the stork from the old tower, Who, full of a father's pride, had Taken his young brood to ramble On the Rhine-shore for the first time. 'Twas amusing to young Werner How just then the old stork gravely, On the sand with stealthy cunning, Closely a poor eel was watching, Who of various worms was making There a comfortable meal. He, however, who was wielding O'er the little worms the strand-law, Soon himself will serve as breakfast. For the greater eats the lesser, And the greatest eats the great ones. In this simple manner nature Solves the knotty social question. No more did his smoothness help him, No more his sleek body's wriggling, No more his spasmodic beating With his tail so strong and supple. Tightly held in the indented Beak of the determined parent, He was given to the hopeful Stork-brood, now to be divided; And they held with noisy clatter Solemnly their morning-feast. Nearer to observe this, Werner Had descended to the Rhine-bank, And he seemed in no great hurry To commence his composition. There he sat himself down gently On the insect-covered moss-bank. Shaded by a silvery willow, And it gave him much amusement Thus to be a silent witness Of this banquet of the storks. Pleasures, yet, of all descriptions Are but fleeting on our planet. Even to the most contented Doth it happen that fate often Like a meteor bursts upon them. Only a short time had Werner Viewed this scene when he was startled By the tones of his own trumpet, Which like keen-edged Pandour daggers Deep into his soul were cutting.