Classic Poem

My Germany was drunk, and you —
You drank her toasts and joined the wassail:
Believed in every pipe-bowl; true
Acclaimed each black-red-golden tassel.

But when the transport sweet was o'er,
You were surprised, my friend, past measure;
For lo! the folk were sick and sore,
An hour ago so flushed with pleasure!

Foul apples now for wreaths of pride,
And rudeness from the lower orders;
Gendarmes escorting by your side,
They bring you to the German borders.

And there you stand, and moan, " Alack! "
The boundary posts through tears descrying:
Those pillars like a zebra's back;
And thus you ease your soul by sighing:

" Aranjuez, those days, how good!
That vanished on thy sands too fleetly,
When I before King Philip stood,
Among his grandees honoured meetly!

" When Marquis Posa was my role ,
With what delight the king applauded!
My verse how loud he would extol,
Although my prose he never lauded! "