Edmund Clarence Stedman

The Ballad of Lager Bier

In fallow college days, Tom Harland,
⁠We both have known the ways of Yale,
And talked of many a nigh and far land,
⁠O'er many a famous tap of ale.
There still they sing their Gaudeamus,
⁠And see the road to glory clear;
But taps, that in our day were famous,
⁠Have given place to Lager Bier.

Now, settled in this island-city,
⁠We let new fashions have their weight;
Though none too lucky—more 's the pity!—
⁠Can still beguile our humble state
By finding time to come together,
⁠In every season of the year,
In sunny, wet, or windy weather,
⁠And clink our mugs of Lager Bier.

On winter evenings, cold and blowing,
⁠'T is good to order "'alf-and-'alf";
To watch the fire-lit pewter glowing,
⁠And laugh a hearty English laugh;
Or even a sip of mountain whiskey
⁠Can raise a hundred phantoms dear
Of days when boyish blood was frisky,
⁠And no one heard of Lager Bier.

We've smoked in summer with Oscanyan,
⁠Cross-legged in that defunct bazaar,
Until above our heads the banyan
⁠Or palm-tree seemed to spread afar;
And, then and there, have drunk his sherbet,
⁠Tinct with the roses of Cashmere:
That Orient calm! who would disturb it
⁠With Norseland calls for Lager Bier?

There 's Paris chocolate,—nothing sweeter,
⁠At midnight, when the dying strain,
Just warbled by La Favorita,
⁠Still hugs the music-haunted brain;
Yet of all bibulous compoundings,
⁠Extracts or brewings, mixed or clear,
The best, in substance and surroundings,
⁠For frequent use, is Lager Bier.

Karl Schaeffer is a stalwart brewer,
⁠Who has above his vaults a hall,
Where—fresh-tapped, foaming, cool, and pure—
⁠He serves the nectar out to all.
Tom Harland, have you any money?
⁠Why, then, we 'll leave this hemisphere,
This western land of milk and honey,
⁠For one that flows with Lager Bier.

Go, flaxen-haired and blue-eyed maiden,
⁠My German Hebe! hasten through
Yon smoke-cloud, and return thou laden
⁠With bread and cheese and bier for two.
Limburger suits this bearded fellow;
⁠His brow is high, his taste severe:
But I 'm for Schweitzer, mild and yellow,
⁠To eat with bread and Lager Bier.

Ah, yes! the Schweitzer hath a savor
⁠Of marjoram and mountain thyme,
An odoriferous, Alpine flavor;
⁠You almost hear the cow-bells chime
While eating it, or, dying faintly,
⁠The Ranz-des-vaches entrance the ear,
Until you feel quite Swiss and saintly,
⁠Above your glass of Lager Bier.

Here comes our drink, froth-crowned and sunlit,
⁠In goblets with high-curving arms,
Drawn from a newly opened runlet,
⁠As bier must be, to have its charms.
This primal portion each shall swallow
⁠At one draught, for a pioneer;
And thus a ritual usage follow
⁠Of all who honor Lager Bier.

Glass after glass in due succession,
⁠Till, borne through midriff, heart, and brain,
He mounts his throne and takes possession,—
⁠The genial Spirit of the grain!
Then comes the old Berserker madness
⁠To make each man a priest and seer,
And, with a Scandinavian gladness,
⁠Drink deeper draughts of Lager Bier!

Go, maiden, fill again our glasses!
⁠While, with anointed eyes, we scan
The blouse Teutonic lads and lasses,
⁠The Saxon—Pruss—Bohemian,
The sanded floor, the cross-beamed gables,
⁠The ancient Flemish paintings queer,
The rusty cup-stains on the tables,
⁠The terraced kegs of Lager Bier.

And is it Göttingen, or Gotha,
⁠Or Munich's ancient Wagner Brei,
Where each Bavarian drinks his quota,
⁠And swings a silver tankard high?
Or some ancestral Gast-Haus lofty
⁠In Nuremberg—of famous cheer
When Hans Sachs lived, and where, so oft, he
⁠Sang loud the praise of Lager Bier?

For even now some curious glamour
⁠Has brought about a misty change!
Things look, as in a moonlight dream, or
⁠Magician's mirror, quaint and strange.
Some weird, phantasmagoric notion
⁠Impels us backward many a year,
And far across the northern ocean,
⁠To Fatherlands of Lager Bier.

As odd a throng I see before us
⁠As ever haunted Brocken's height,
Carousing, with unearthly chorus,
⁠On any wild Walpurgis-night;
I see the wondrous art-creations!
⁠In proper guise they all appear,
And, in their due and several stations,
⁠Unite in drinking Lager Bier.

I see in yonder nook a trio:
⁠There's Doctor Faust, and, by his side,
Not half so love-distraught as Io,
⁠Is gentle Margaret, heaven-eyed;
That man in black beyond the waiter—
⁠I know him by his fiendish leer—
Is Mephistophiles, the traitor!
⁠And how he swigs his Lager Bier!

Strange if great Goethe should have blundered,
⁠Who says that Margaret slipt and fell
In Anno Domini Sixteen Hundred,
⁠Or thereabout; and Faustus,—well,
We won't deplore his resurrection,
⁠Since Margaret is with him here,
But, under her serene protection,
⁠May boldly drink our Lager Bier.

That bare-legged gypsy, small and lithy,
⁠Tanned like an olive by the sun,
Is little Mignon; sing us, prithee,
⁠Kennst Du das Land, my pretty one!
Ah, no! she shakes her southern tresses,
⁠As half in doubt and more in fear;
Perhaps the elvish creature guesses
⁠We've had too much of Lager Bier.

There moves, full-bodiced, ripe, and human,
⁠With merry smiles to all who come,
Karl Schaeffer's wife,—the very woman
⁠Whom Rubens drew his Venus from!
But what a host of tricksome graces
⁠Play round our fairy Undine here,
Who pouts at all the bearded faces,
⁠And, laughing, brings the Lager Bier.

"Sit down, nor chase the vision farther,
⁠You're tied to Yankee cities still!"
I hear you, but so much the rather
⁠Should Fancy travel where she will.
Yet let the dim ideals scatter;
⁠One puff, and lo! they disappear;
The comet, next, or some such matter,
⁠We'll talk above our Lager Bier.

Now, then, your eyes begin to brighten,
⁠And marvellous theories to flow;
A philosophic theme you light on,
⁠And, spurred and booted, off you go!
If e'er—to drive Apollo's phaeton—
⁠I need an earthly charioteer,
This tall-browed genius I will wait on,
⁠And prime him first with Lager Bier.

But higher yet, in middle Heaven,
⁠Your steed seems taking flight, my friend;
You read the secret of the Seven,
⁠And on through trackless regions wend!
Don't vanish in the Milky Way, for
⁠This afternoon you 're wanted here;
Come back! come back! and help me pay for
⁠The bread and cheese and Lager Bier.