Classic Poem

O Danton, great was your mistake,
And you had cause to rue it;
One can carry one's country away on the soles
Of one's boots—one can certainly do it.

Half of the kingdom of Bückeburg
I bore on my own shoe-leather.
I never saw in all my life
Such shocking roads and weather.

To look at the home whence our family sprang,
At Bückeburg I tarried;
For this was my grandfather's native town;
A Hamburg wife he married.

We arrived in Hanover at noon,
And I spent my time in moving
About the place, when my boots were brushed—
Travel should be improving.

And heavens! how fine and spruce it was!
No mud allowed in the streets here;
Magnificent buildings on every hand—
Imposing piles—one meets here.

I was specially pleased with a spacious square,
Walled round by houses stately.
'Twas here the king in his palace dwelt;
The exterior charmed me greatly.

(Of the palace, I mean.) A sentry-box
Stood on either side the portal.
The redcoats with muskets, keeping guard,
Seemed fierce to a timid mortal.

“This is where Ernest Augustus lives,”
My guide went on expounding;
“A Tory lord of the good old school;
For his age, of a vigour astounding.

“In idyllic safety he houses here,
More secure for the courage lacking
In some whom we know and could easily name
Than for all his guardsmen's backing.

“I have heard him complain of his dreary post
In a manner to waken one's pity;
Of this office of king he's condemned to fill
In Hanover our city.

“After English life, he feels ours here
Too narrow and unprogressive;
He's afraid he will hang himself yet for spleen,
His boredom's so excessive.

“When I saw him the day before yesterday,
His own royal back was bending
Above the fire while he cooked a draught
For some dogs that needed tending.”