What I receive e'er in my book I write
My love of order borders on excess.

O knew I but where wing my coins their flight
All, all so quickly too! I cannot guess.
My uncle comes down well. The editors
Pay promptly - O, ye unbelievers, know,
Ask what I will, no publisher demurs!
I write much

yet, "How does the money go?".

I am sedate, and like the sage I live
Of Sans-Souci

and ever sans six sous!

Now if I strayed, a thriftless fugitive,
Then would I bear my fate without ado.
But thus My chamber is on the ground floor.
Who stays at home like me, I fain would know
Except when friends perchance knock at my door?
And so I ask, "How does the money go?"

I never play at faro, or at loo!

-

No! God forbid! To such I've bade farewell.
And if sometimes I take a hand or two
What is it but the merest bagatelle?
'Tis true, I'll not deny my gains are modest
For, on the contrary, the cards I throw
Turn badly up - and yet the banker's honest.
That solveth not, "How does the money go?"

I do not drink, and if I eat five score

Of oysters

well, the winter's here,

The oyster season. Burgundy moreo'er

I drink but for digestion's sake, 'tis clear.
That every mill-stream yieldeth not its share
Of oysters, that their price so high should grow
'Tis hard, but then, that is not my affair.
All I ask is, "How does the money go?"

Dass ich für Mädchen mich in Schulden stürze
Fällt mir nicht ein. Sich Lieb' erkaufen? Pfui!
Schenk' ich Mathilden auch einmal 'ne Schürze,
'Nen neuen Seiden hut, ein Parapluie,

'Ne Damenuhr, 'nen ächten Blonden-Kragen, Und was den jungen Mädchen sonst gefällt – Was wollen solche Lappereien sagen?

Da frag' ich immer noch: Wo bleibt mein Geld?

STOLTERFOTH.

DAS RECHTE WORT.

Tief auf des Rheines Grunde
Da liegt ein goldner Hort,
Du findest ihn zur Stunde,
Weisst du das Zauberwort,
Das rechte Wort, zu halten
Mit einem einz'gen Klang
Die mächtigen Gewalten
Des Stroms in seinem Gang.

Im Thale liegt vergraben
Ein Schwert, das immer siegt,
Und, wer es könnte haben,
Hätt' bald die Welt bekriegt.
Ein Wort nur muss erschallen,
Dann springt der Boden auf,
Und aus den Felsenhallen
Glänzt hell der Stahl herauf.

I make no debts for girls, depend upon it!

Ne'er dreamt of such a thing. Fye! buy one's loves!

And if I give Mathilda a new bonnet,

A shawl, a parasol, an apron, gloves,

A golden watch, a collar of real lace,

Or aught that maidens love us to bestow

What are such trifles? Are they not in place?

And so I ask, “How does the money go?"

STOLTERFOTH.

THE RIGHT WORD.

Deep 'neath the Rhine's

A golden treasure lies,

green billow

Knew'st thou the spell of magic
"Twould at thy voice arise;
That magic word which holdeth,
With but a single sound,
The mighty torrent's surges,
As if in fetters bound.

Deep in the valley buried
A sword all-conqu❜ring lies,
And he who can possess it
Against the world may rise.
One word must first be spoken,
The earth then opes, and lo!
From out her rocky chambers
The steel will brightly glow.

Und droben auf den Bergen
Da liegt im dunklem Schacht
Ein Schlüssel, der von Zwergen
Und Gnomen wird bewacht;

Er öffnet alle Pforten,

Und ist auf immer dein,

Weisst du von tausend Worten

Das rechte nur allein!

Wie hab' ich schon gesonnen
Vergebens manches Jahr,
Und Wort um Wort begonnen
Bis es ein Liedlein war,
Doch immer noch verborgen
Sind Schlüssel, Schwert und Hort,
Und was ich sang mit Sorgen,
War nie das rechte Wort.

DAS KIND.

Ich schau' dich an wehmüthig

Du blondgelocktes Kind,
Und fühl' es tief, wie selig
Wohl deine Eltern sind.

Was ist das Gold der Reichen,
Was auf der Stirn ein Kranz,
Kind! gegen deine Locken
Und deiner Augen Glanz?

Und was sind alle Stimmen
Vereint zu Ruhm und Preis
Gegen dein süsses Lallen
Und - meine Thräne heiss?

And there on yonder mountains,
Deep in the shaft profound,

By dwarfs and gnomes well guarded,
There may a key be found;

It opens every portal,

For ever 'tis thy own,

Know'st thou 'mong words unnumbered

That one right word alone.

How have I mused already

In vain so long, so long,
Till, word by word commencing,
It ended in a song!

But still as yet lie hidden

That treasure, key, and sword,

And what I sang so often

Was never the right word.

THE CHILD.

I look on thee with sadness,
Thou flaxen-headed boy,
And Oh! I feel it deeply,

How great thy parent's joy!

What are the rich man's treasures,
Fame's garlands that we twine,
My child, to thy fair tresses,
To those bright eyes of thine?

And what are all the voices
Which but in praise combine,
Compared with thy sweet lispings,
And these hot tears of mine?