Classic Poem

Rhyme, and ring the changes well,
Sing the song of Gabriel,
Gabriel of Odenwald.

Lo, a voice delusive called
From the Ohio's crooked vale,
Saying, " Sail and sail and sail
Over the sea and hither away,
Westering to the Land of Play;
Happy region of Do-as-you-please,
Where the guilders grow on trees,
Where the peasants all are kings
And there be no underlings. "

Gabriel, the idle dreamer,
Heard the Utopian voice alluring;
Sought a sail-ship, — not a steamer;
Soon the vessel leaves her mooring,
Veers and tacks to Occident,
Bears him o'er the crinkled sea;
Never soul so indolent
Lounged upon a deck as he.

With the vagrant breeze he glides
Over sunlit, moonlit tides,
Skims to port and shore;
Spins along the shining rail,
Sleeps into Ohio's vale, —
Wakes — the journey o'er.

Not an idler Gabriel sees,
Not a kreutzer on the trees;
Every pretzel must be bought;
Naught is proffered him for naught.
'Tis the Region of Unrest,
Busy, toiling, moiling West!

All the peasant kings he found
Building houses, tilling ground.
Gabriel of Odenwald
From his dream is disenthralled;
Transatlantic, far away,
Eastward looms the Land of Play.

Like the lily, like the daisy,
Lolling Gabriel was lazy;
Clownish were his clumsy paces,
Ludicrous his slow grimaces;
Ill-defined the thoughts he spoke,
Like the wreathed tobacco-smoke
From his meerschaum upward shed
Curling round his shaggy head.
Little could he understand: —
" Vish I vas in Faterland,
Nichts is goot for notings hier
Only shust das lager-bier. "

Easily he wept or smiled,
Easily was he beguiled;
Rill-like, shallow o'er his mind
Ran affections swift and kind;
Secretly he shared his meat
With a lame cur on the street;
" Vonce I had a hund, " said he,
" Vat vas very freund to me;
Ya, mein Herr, dat hund vas mine;
Vish I heard him barkin' hier;
Vish I had a glass goot bier,
Oder flasche German wein. "

Hard by Mineami Bayou,
Where the gadding breezes cool
Loiter up from the Ohio,
Gabriel, at sink of sun,
Throned upon a wooden stool,
Fondled his accordion.
Then the ragged urchins round,
And their brown-legged sisters, maybe,
Lugging each a flax-haired baby, —
Sometimes, too, the weary mothers,
Yea, and I, and lingering others,
By sad, dulcet quaverings won,
Gathered near to catch the sound;
O'er the hill the risen moon
Paused to hear the mellow tune;
All too sadly, all too soon,
Gabriel would cease to play,
Light his pipe and puff away.
" Vas a Fräulein, " — mumbled he;
" Vish I vas to-night not hier;
Not America for me, —
Only shust das lager-bier. "
" Play a waltz now, Gabriel! " " Nein.
Rheinwein ist der beste wein. "

Gabriel did sigh and sadden
For the linden shades of Baden,
For the glooms of Odenwald;
So a homesick brief he scrawled
To his mother, her to tell
That he was not strong or well.
(Of the Fräulein wrote he not, —
Haply Gabriel forgot.)
Soon the doting mother old, —
Four-score were her years and three, —
Sent the lout a purse of gold,
With the summons — " Come to me!
Komm zu mir, mein Sohn, geschwind,
Komm zu mir, mein liebes Kind. "

From the Ohio's crooked vale,
Flying fast by rail and sail,
Home to Odenwald away,
Eastward to the Land of Play,
Gabriel of Odenwald
Followed the mother-tongue that called
From the fatherland in tearful tone,
" Komm, Gabriel, mein lieber Sohn! "
Followed the mother-voice and the call
Of the nameless Fräulein, short or tall,
And the coaxing lisp of the linden leaves,
And the bark of a dog forlorn that grieves
For an absent master; the gurgle, too,
Of bottled grape-juice and foamy brew,
And the tweedle-dee of the fiddle gay
That leads to the dance on a holiday; —
Followed his dreams and his memories,
Whirled with the sleeping speed of wheels,
Flew on the eager wings of the breeze,
Doubting of naught that his foolish heart feels,
Sure that the country of Do-as-you-please,
If any such ever is found upon earth,
Is the home of our mother, the land of our birth.