Читать книгу Mary at the Farm and Book of Recipes Compiled during Her Visit among the "Pennsylvania Germans" - Edith May Bertels Thomas - Страница 66
AN OLD SONG EVENING.
ОглавлениеAunt Sarah and Mary spent few idle moments while carrying out their plans for "doing over" the old parlor. Finally, 'twas finished. Mary breathed a sigh of satisfaction as the last picture was hung on the wall. She turned to her Aunt, saying, "Don't you think the room looks bright, cheery and livable?"
"Yes," replied her Aunt, "and what is more essential, homey, I have read somewhere, 'A woman's house should be as personal a matter as a spider's web or a snail's shell; and all the thought, toil and love she puts into it should be preserved a part of its comeliness and homelikeness forever, and be her monument to the generations.'"
"Well, Aunt Sarah," replied Mary, "I guess we've earned our monument. The air that blows over the fields, wafted in from the open window, is sweet with the scent of grain and clover, and certainly is refreshing. I'm dreadfully tired, but so delighted with the result of our labors. Now we will go and 'make ready,' as Sibylla says, before the arrival of Ralph from the city. I do hope the ice cream will be frozen hard. The Sunshine Sponge Cake, which I baked from a recipe the Professor's wife gave me, is light as a feather. 'Tis Ralph's favorite cake. Let's see; besides Ralph there are coming all the Schmidts, Lucy Robbins, the school teacher, and Sibylla entertains her Jake in the kitchen. I promised to treat him to ice cream; Sibylla was so good about helping me crack the ice to use for freezing the cream. We shall have an 'Old Song Evening' that will amuse every one."
Quite early, as is the custom in the country, the guests for the evening arrived; and both Mary and Aunt Sarah felt fully repaid for their hard work of the past weeks by the pleasure John Landis evinced at the changed appearance of the room.
The Professor's wife said, "It scarcely seems possible to have changed the old room so completely."
Aunt Sarah replied, "Paint and paper do wonders when combined with good taste, furnished by Mary."
During the evening one might have been forgiven for thinking Professor Schmidt disloyal to the Mother Country (he having been born and educated in Heidelberg) had you overheard him speaking to Ralph on his favorite subject, the "Pennsylvania German." During a lull in the general conversation in the room Mary heard the Professor remark to Ralph: "The Pennsylvania Germans are a thrifty, honest and industrious class of people, many of whom have held high offices. The first Germans to come to America as colonists in Pennsylvania were, as a rule, well to do. Experts, when examining old documents of Colonial days, after counting thousands of signatures, found the New York 'Dutch' and the Pennsylvania 'Germans' were above the average in education in those days. Their dialect, the so-called 'Pennsylvania German' or 'Dutch,' as it is erroneously called by many, is a dialect which we find from the Tauber Grund to Frankfurt, A.M. As the German language preponderated among the early settlers, the language of different elements, becoming amalgamated, formed a class of people frequently called 'Pennsylvania Dutch'."
Professor Harbaugh, D.D., has written some beautiful poems in Pennsylvania German which an eminent authority, Professor Kluge, a member of the Freiburg University, Germany, has thought worthy to be included among the classics. They are almost identical with the poems written by Nadler in Heidelberger Mundart, or dialect.
Mary, who had been listening intently to the Professor, said, when he finished talking to Ralph: "Oh, please, do repeat one of Professor Harbaugh's poems for us."
He replied, "I think I can recall several stanzas of 'Das Alt Schulhaus an der Krick.' Another of Professor Harbaugh's poems, and I think one of the sweetest I have ever read, is 'Heemweeh.' Both poems are published in his book entitled 'Harbaugh's Harfe,' in Pennsylvania German dialect, and possess additional interest from the fact that the translations of these poems, in the latter part of the same book, were made by the author himself."
"Oh, do repeat all that you remember of both the poems," begged Mary.
The Professor consented, saying: "As neither you nor Mr. Jackson understand the Pennsylvania German dialect, I shall translate them for you, after repeating what I remember. 'Heemweeh' means Homesickness, but first I shall give you 'Das Alt Schulhaus an der Krick'."
[A]DAS ALT SCHULHAUS AN DER KRICK.
Heit is 's 'xactly zwansig Johr,
Dass ich bin owwe naus;
Nau bin ich widder lewig z'rick
Un schteh am Schulhaus an d'r Krick,
Juscht neekscht an's Dady's Haus.
Ich bin in hunnert Heiser g'west,
Vun Marbelstee' un Brick,
Un alles was sie hen, die Leit,
Dhet ich verschwappe eenig Zeit
For's Schulhaus an der Krick.
* * * * * * *
Der Weisseech schteht noch an der Dhier—
Macht Schatte iwwer's Dach:
Die Drauwerank is ah noch grie'—
Un's Amschel-Nescht—guk juscht mol hi'—
O was is dess en Sach!
* * * * * * *
Do bin ich gange in die Schul,
Wo ich noch war gans klee';
Dort war der Meeschter in seim Schtuhl,
Dort war sei' Wip, un dort sei' Ruhl—
Ich kann's noch Alles sch'.
Die lange Desks rings an der Wand—
Die grose Schieler drum;
Uf eener Seit die grose Mad,
Un dort die Buwe net so bleed—
Guk, wie sie piepe rum!
* * * * * * *
Oh horcht, ihr Leit, wu nooch mir lebt,
Ich schreib eich noch des Schtick:
Ich warn eich, droll eich, gebt doch Acht,
Un memmt uf immer gut enacht,
Des Schulhaus an der Krick!
From "Harbaugh's Harfe." Published by the Publication and Sunday School Board of the Reformed Church, Philadelphia, Pa. Used by permission.
THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE AT THE CREEK.
Today it is just twenty years,
Since I began to roam;
Now, safely back, I stand once more,
Before the quaint old school-house door,
Close by my father's home.
I've been in many houses since,
Of marble built, and brick;
Though grander far, their aim they miss,
To lure heart's old love from this
Old school-house at the creek.
* * * * * * *
The white-oak stands before the door,
And shades the roof at noon;
The grape-vine, too, is fresh and green;
The robin's nest!—Ah, hark!—I ween
That is the same old tune!
* * * * * * *
'Twas here I first attended school,
When I was very small;
There was the Master on his stool,
There was his whip and there his rule—
I seem to see it all.
The long desks ranged along the walls,
With books and inkstands crowned;
Here on this side the large girls sat,
And there the tricky boys on that—
See! how they peep around!
* * * * * * *
Ye, who shall live when I am dead—
Write down my wishes quick—
Protect it, love it, let it stand,
A way-mark in this changing land—
That school-house at the creek.
HEEMWEH.
Ich wees net was die Ursach is—
Wees net, warum ich's dhu:
'N jedes Johr mach ich der Weg
Der alte Heemet zu;
Hab weiter nix zu suche dort—
Kee' Erbschaft un kee' Geld;
Un doch treibt mich des Heemgefiehl
So schtark wie alle Welt;
Nor'd schtart ich ewe ab un geh,
Wie owe schun gemeldt.
Wie nacher dass ich kumm zum Ziel,
Wie schtarker will ich geh,
For eppes in mei'm Herz werd letz
Un dhut m'r kreislich weh.
Der letschte Hiwel schpring ich nuf;
Un ep ich drowe bin,
Schtreck ich mich uf so hoch ich kann
Un guk mit Luschte hin;
Ich seh's alt Schtee'haus dorch die Beem,
Un wott ich war schunm drin.
* * * * * * *
Wie gleich ich selle Babble Beem,
Sie schtehn wie Brieder dar;
Un uf'm Gippel—g'wiss ich leb!
Hockt alleweil 'n Schtaar!
'S Gippel biegt sich—guk, wie's gaunscht—
'R hebt sich awer fescht;
Ich seh sei' rothe Fliegle plehn,
Wann er sei' Feddere wescht;
Will wette, dass sei' Fraale hot
Uf sellem Baam 'n Nescht!
* * * * * * *
Guk! werklich, ich bin schier am Haus!—
Wie schnell geht doch die Zeit!
Wann m'r so in Gedanke geht.
So wees m'r net wie weit.
Dort is d'r Schhap, die Walschkornkrip,
Die Seiderpress dort draus;
Dort is die Scheier, un dort die Schpring—
Frisch quellt des Wasser raus;
Un guk! die sehm alt Klapbord-Fens,
Un's Dheerle vor'm Haus.
* * * * * * *
Zwee Blatz sin do uf dare Bortsch,
Die halt ich hoch in Acht,
Bis meines Lebens Sonn versinkt
In schtiller Dodtes-Nacht!
Wo ich vum alte Vaterhaus
'S erscht mol bin gange fort.
Schtand mei' Mammi weinend da,
An sellem Rigel dort:
Un nix is mir so heilig nau
Als grade seller Ort.
* * * * * * *
Was macht's dass ich so dort hi' guk,
An sell End vun der Bank!
Weescht du's? Mei' Herz is noch net dodt,
Ich wees es, Got sei Dank!
Wie manchmal sass mai Dady dort,
Am Summer-Nochmiddag,
Die Hande uf der Schoos gekreizt,
Sei Schtock bei Seite lag.
Was hot er dort im Schtille g'denkt?
Wer mecht es wisse—sag?
HOME-SICK NESS.
