Gling, glang, gloria!
Victoria! Victoria!
Cer'visia, encoria!
De treadful mitnight ride
Of Breitmann's vild Freischarlinger,
All famous, broad, und vide.


BREITMANN AS A BUMMER

DER SHENERAL SHERMAN holts oop on his coorse,
He shtops at de gross-road und reins in his horse.
"Dere's a ford on de rifer dis day we moost dake,
Or elshe de grand army in bieces shall preak!"
Vhen shoost ash dis vord from his lips had gone bast,
There coomed a young orterly gallopin' fast,
Who gry mit amazement: "Herr Shen'ral! Goot Lord!
Dat Bummer der Breitmann ish holdin' der ford!"

Der Shen'ral he ootered no hymn und no psalm,
But opened his lips und he priefly say "D--n!
Dere moost hafe been viskey on dat side der rifer;
To get it dose shaps vould set hell in a shiver;
But now dat dey hold it, ride quick to deir aid:
Ho, Sickles! move promp'ly, send down a prigade!
Dat Dootchman moost vork mighty hard mit his sword
If againsd a whole army he holds to de ford."

Dey spoored on, dey hoory'd on, gallopin' shtraight,
But for Breitmann help coomed shoost a liddle too late,