Post-Prandial
PHI BETA KAPPA
WENDELL PHILLIPS, ORATOR; CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, POET
1881
'THE Dutch have taken Holland,'--so the schoolboys used to say;
The Dutch have taken Harvard,--no doubt of that to-day!
For the Wendells were low Dutchmen, and all their vrows were Vans;
And the Breitmanns are high Dutchmen, and here is honest Hans.
Mynheers, you both are welcome! Fair cousin Wendell P.,
Our ancestors were dwellers beside the Zuyder Zee;
Both Grotius and Erasmus were countrymen of we,
And Vondel was our namesake, though he spelt it with a V.
It is well old Evert Jansen sought a dwelling over sea
On the margin of the Hudson, where he sampled you and me
Through our grandsires and great-grandsires, for you would n't quite
agree
With the steady-going burghers along the Zuyder Zee.
Like our Motley's John of Barnveld, you have always been inclined
To speak,--well,--somewhat frankly,--to let us know your mind,
And the Mynheers would have told you to be cautious what you said,
Or else that silver tongue of yours might cost your precious head.
But we're very glad you've kept it; it was always Freedom's own,
And whenever Reason chose it she found a royal throne;
You have whacked us with your sceptre; our backs were little harmed,
And while we rubbed our bruises we owned we had been charmed.
And you, our quasi Dutchman, what welcome should be yours
For all the wise prescriptions that work your laughter-cures?
'Shake before taking'?--not a bit,--the bottle-cure's a sham;
Take before shaking, and you 'll find it shakes your diaphragm.
'Hans Breitmann gif a barty,--vhere is dot barty now?'
On every shelf where wit is stored to smooth the careworn brow
A health to stout Hans Breitmann! How long before we see
Another Hans as handsome,--as bright a man as he!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Little Hans
Lead vocal: graham dye
Little hans, little hans, what do you see?
The worlds is full of big surprises
Little hans, little hans, what can they be?
They come in many shapes and sizes
Little boys always love to play
But something is not quite right
Little hans wont come out today
Hes scared of a horse that might bite
Little hans, little hans, what can it be?
Your thoughts are filled with such confusion
Little hans, little hans when will you see?
Youre barking up the wrong conclusion
Professor man asks him oh so nicely
Why will you not come out?
Little hans tells him most politely
What he is thinking about
A ride in a tram, a lily white lamb, raspberry jam
Little hans, little hans, where will you go?
The world is full of compromises
Little hans, little hans, how will you know?
The come in many strange disguises
Professor man shakes his head and wonders
How will he work it out?
Little hans tells him quite precisely
What hes been dreaming about
I jump in the bath, I make myself laugh, I ride a giraffe
Little hans, little hans, I found a clue
I think Ive made the right connection
Little hans, little hans, all I can do
Is give a common sense injection
Little boys grow up just like daddy
Professor man has no doubt
Little hans goes to sleep and wonders
What he was talking about
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Breitmann In Paris
DER teufel's los in Bal Mabille,
Dere's hell-fire in de air,
De fiddlers can't blay noding else
Boot Orphee aux Enfers:
Vot makes de beoples howl mit shoy?
Da capo - Bravo! - bis!!
It's a Deutscher aus Amerika:
Hans Breitmann in Paris.
Dere's silber toughts vot might hafe peen,
Dere's golden deeds vot must:
Der Hans ish come to Frankenland
On one eternal bust.
Der same old rowdy Argonaut
Vot hoont de same oldt vleece,
A hafin all de foon dere ish-
Der Breitmann in Paris.
Mit a gal on eider shoulder
A holdin py his beard,
He tantz de Cancan, sacrament!
Dill all das Volk vas skeered.
Like a roarin hippopatamos,
Mit a kangarunic shoomp,
Dey feared he'd smash de Catacombs,
Each dime der Breitmann bump.
De pretty liddle cocodettes
Lofe efery dings ish new,
'D'ou vient il donc ce grand M'sieu?
O sacre nom de Dieu!'
In fain dey kicks deir veet on high,
And sky like vlyin geese,
Dey can not kick de hat afay
From Breitmann in Paris.
O vhere vas id der Breitmann life?
Oopon de Rond Point gay,
Vot shdreet lie shoost pehind his house?
La rue de Rabelais.
Aroundt de corner Harper's shtands
Vhere Yankee drinks dey mill,
Vhile shdraight ahet, agross de shdreet,
Der lies de Bal Mabille.
Id's all along de Elysees,
Id's oop de Boulevarce,
He's sampled all de weinshops,
Und he's vinked at efery garce.
Dou schveet plack-silken Gabrielle,
O let me learn from dee,
If 'tis in lofe - or absinthe drunks,
Dat dis wild ghost may pe?
Und dou may'st kneel in Notre Dame,
Und veep away dy sin,
Vhile I go vight at Barriere balls,
Oontil mine poots cave in;
Boot if ve pray, or if ve sin-
Vhile nodings ish refuse,
Tis all de same in Paris here,
So long ash l'on s'amuse.
O life, mein dear, at pest or vorst,
Ish boot a vancy ball,
Its cratest shoy a vild gallop,
Vhere madness goferns all.
Und should dey toorn ids gas-light off,
Und nefer leafe a shbark,
Sdill I'd find my vay to Heafen - or-
Dy lips, lofe, in de dark.
O crown your het mit roses, lofe!
O keep a liddel sprung!
Oonendless wisdom ish but dis:
To go it vhile you're yung!
Und Age vas nefer coom to him,
To him Spring plooms afresh,
Who finds a livin' spirit in
Der Teufel und der Flesh.
poem by Charles Godfrey Leland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grev Joachim Moltke-Bregentved
Tænk kun paa ham hvis Støv er Graven bragt,
Erindring, udfold heel din Blomsterpragt!
Et Smiil sad i hans Øie, om hans Mund,
Det lyste fra den rene Hjerte-Bund.
Husk Julens Glæder, naar han spøgte glad;
Saa rigt og stort er Hjertets Mindeblad.
Hos Eder lykkelig og glad han stod,
For Danmarks Sag, han Hjemmets Hjem forlod.
Den vaade Jord og Nattens kolde Vind,
Skjød Dødens Kugle i hans Hjerte ind.
Sit unge Liv han glad for Danmark gav.
De Runer vil' vi riste paa hans Grav!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hr. Mickel i Odense
Et fremmed Navn det hjelper strax,
Saa kjendes man af Flere,
Han var for os en dansk Hans Sachs,
Ja næstendeel lidt mere.
Hans Rosenkrands er nu lagt hen,
Men ægte Guldet er i den.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fru Bournonville
Hvem Gud har kjær gav han Geniets Flamme,
I tusind Farver kvæger det vort Syn,
Men ham, som fik det, bittre Smerter ramme,
Han halvfortæres af sit Guddoms Lyn;
Tidt gaaer han ene — lyser, som en Kjerte,
Og lysende fortæres han som den,
Men elsker Gud ham, vil et trofast Hjerte
Sig slutte til ham, kalde ham sin Ven.
En Skytsaand følger ham, en ædel Qvinde,
Hun styrker ham paa Stridens tunge Dag,
Hans Sorg hun lukker i sit Hjerte inde,
Og mere kraftigt er hans Vingeslag.
Du er en saadan Skytsaand god og stærk,
Hans Navn, hans Lykke, blev dit Hjertes Værk.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
R. Frankenau
Glemt staaer hans Grav bag Kloster-Kirkens Muur,
Endt er hans Drøm om Glæde og om Smerte;
Han var en Digter-Blomst i Guds Natur,
Hvis friske Duft har qvæget mangt et Hjerte.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Med Freiligraths Digte
Ved Islands Geyser staaer hans Sommertelt,
Han rider paa den afrikanske Løve,
Han, Poesiens unge, tydske Helt,
Med ham det nok er værdt en Dyst at prøve;
Han har en riig Provinds i Kunstens Stat.
Her kommer han, — hans Navn er Freiligrath.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Leapin' Lizards or How to Get the Most Out Your Geico (so easy a caveman can do it)
Hans Kurt Kubus,58, had a 'thing' for lizards.
This German knows his insurance policies,
- and he is no Neanderthal man who likes gizzards.
Kubus, No, not the video game cubis, attached 44 lizards to his body,
He attempted to smuggle them out of New Zealand, Scott free.
Hans had the geckos and skinks within his underwear,
I don't why men put things in there underwear,
I cannot believe they don't care.
Hans did not attempt to light his britches on fire.
As the Muslim terrorist tried to do as he and others flew to Detroit,
The situation was, at the time, dire.
But Hans was caught, he was not as smart as a caveman,
A caveman in New Zealend.
Hans was arrested and sentenced to two weeks in prison and fined $3,450
-before he was deported back to Germany.
Hans Kurt Kubus might try an asp or viper next time around,
-he will probably take pass.
Hans Kurt Kubus is not as smart as New Zealand caveman, -he is a real dumb a$$.
1-31-10
poem by Joe Rosochacki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
De fattige Børn paa Gaden
Barn Jesus i en Krybbe laae,
Skjøndt Himlen var hans Eie;
Hans Pude her blev Hø og Straa,
Mørk var det om hans Leie!
Men Stjernen over Huset stod,
Og Oxen kyssed' Barnets Fod,
Halleluja, Barn Jesus!
Hver sorgfuld Sjæl, bliv karsk og glad,
Ryst af din tunge Smerte,
Et Barn er født i Davids Stad,
Til Trøst for hvert et Hjerte;
Til Barnet vil vi stige ind,
Og blive Børn i Sjæl og Sind.
Halleluja, Barn Jesus!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Barn Jesus i en Krybbe laae
Barn Jesus i en Krybbe laae,
Skjøndt Himlen var hans Eie;
Hans Pude her blev Hø og Straa,
Mørkt var det om hans Leie!
Men Stjernen over Huset stod,
Og Oxen kyssed' Barnets Fod,
Halleluja, Barn Jesus!
Hver sorgfuld Sjæl, bliv karsk og glad,
Ryst af din tunge Smerte,
Et Barn er født i Davids Stad,
Til Trøst for hvert et Hjerte;
Til Barnet vil vi stige ind,
Og blive Børn i Sjæl og Sind.
Halleluja, Barn Jesus!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Med en Hund
Her er en Hund, og den er stor,
En Hund var hans Faer, en Hund hans Moer.
See, hvor han gloer!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Christian Wulff
Den vide Verden Faae kun nævne kan,
Der var opoffrende og god, som han;
Den skjønne Guds Natur han havde kjær,
Og paa hans Bryst faldt Dødens Draabe der;
Een Smerte kun ham fyldte, stor og heel,
Forladt og i en anden Verdens Deel
Sin stakkels syge Søster han forlod.
Et Suk — hans Hjerte brast — hos Gud han stod.
Det danske Flag man ham om Kisten gav,
Hans Kjærlighed ham fulgte i hans Grav;
Et Egetræ strøer gyldent Løv paa den;
Sov sødt, sov vel, Du tro, Du kjære Ven!
Flyv lille Svale, Vindens Vei derhen,
Bring Hilsen ham, som kommer ei igjen,
Hvis blaa og milde Øine vi først see
Der, hvor ei meer er Død og Hjertevee!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oberst Læssøe
Paa Valpladsen faldt Du for Danmarks Sag,
Der brast Dit ildfulde Hjerte.
Din Aand var klar som den lyse Dag,
Med „fremad!" den steg i det blodige Slag,
Saae Danskens Seier og — Smerte.
Græd stakkels Moder, nedbøiet tungt.
„Hans Liv var saa ungt!" — men evig ungt
Staaer ogsaa hans Eftermæle!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Med H. C. Andersens Eventyr
Her har Du Nøglen, om jeg saa tør sige,
Der aabner Dig Slots-Haven i hans Rige.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What little Hans didn't learn, big Hans doesn't know.
Hans and Fritz
Hans and Fritz were two Deutschers who lived side by side,
Remote from the world, its deceit and its pride:
With their pretzels and beer the spare moments were spent,
And the fruits of their labor were peace and content.
Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one day,
And, lacking a part of the Geld, — as they say, —
Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan
To help him to pay for his beautiful roan.
Fritz kindly consented the money to lend,
And gave the required amount to his friend;
Remarking,—his own simple language to quote,—
"Berhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note."
The note was drawn up in their primitive way, —
"I, Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars to-day;"
When the question arose, the note being made,
"Vich von holds dot baper until it vas baid?"
"You geeps dot," says Fritz, "und den you vill know
You owes me dot money." Says Hans, "Dot ish so:
Dot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay,
Und I prings you der note und der money some day."
A month had expired, when Hans, as agreed,
Paid back the amount, and from debt he was freed.
Says Fritz, " Now dot settles us." Hans replies,
"Yaw: Now who dakes dot baper accordings by law ?"
"I geeps dot now, aind't it?" says Fritz ; " den, you see,
I alvays remempers you baid dot to me."
Says Hans, "Dot ish so: it vas now shust so blain,
Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows again."
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Den stille Uge
Den stille Uges Sørgetid
En Skat af Tanker bærer hid:
Christ gav sig hen for os, vi veed,
For Sandheden han Døden led,
Korsfæstet blev Uskyldighed.
Paa Tornekronen Blodet sad,
Mens han for sine Fjender bad.
Hvo ligner ham og gaaer hans Spor?
I den just Livets Rose groer,
Og Den er salig, som ret troer.
Du stille Uge smerteriig,
Fryd straaler fra din Sørgeflig!
Med ydmygt Sind vi knæle ned:
Et Intet i Guds Herlighed,
Og dog stor i hans Kjærlighed.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A. Bording
Den muntre Skjald i Muld er gjemt,
Hans Strængeleeg staaer reent forglemt;
Gjør den igjen for Støvet fri,
Endnu er' Tonerne deri.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dutchman's Call
They had seized the only longboat
When the 'Gelderland' veered round,
As the flames leapt the topgallant,
And then brought the rigging down,
There was panic on the foredeck,
There was panic at the bridge,
When the Royal Charles raked salvoes
She began to roll and pitch.
While the shrapnel from the cannons
Shrieked and tore good men apart,
There were those not so heroic
Who were thinking to desert,
They were Dutch from West Terschelling
Who had never learnt to shoot,
Until the English came to call
On Hans, and Jan de Groot.
They'd left not empty-handed for
The cook, Hans Vandeveer
Had already made provision
For them sailing, free and clear,
With a gallon cask of Advocaat,
Another one of rum,
He called the gunner, Jan de Groot
And said - 'Ve vill be gone! '
They launched the heavy longboat
In the mighty, storm-tossed bay
While the 'Gelderland' went down
With every hand aboard that day,
And they set the only sail to take
Them home to Terschelling,
But Robert Holmes had got there as
The storm was lessening.
The fire ships were many, and
They spread their flames about,
One hundred thirty merchantmen
Went down, without a shout,
The English sacked the little town
The island they called home,
While fleeing, they rowed out to sea
With nowhere left to roam.
The town they'd always called naar huis
Was burning to the ground,
They watched the hated Engelsman
And said: 'Ve'll do zem down! '
They watched their houses burning
As they drifted from the shore,
And pledged 'Ve'll haf our Dutch ravanche
If nuzzing else, I swore! '
For days they drifted aimlessly
Just praying for respite,
When on the second evening
They saw a warning light.
They thought it might be France ahead,
The coast, it could be Spain's,
The morning saw them rowing up
The sluggish River Thames.
The mighty docks and warehouses
Were all deserted then,
The plague had taken everyone,
Or laid them in the ground,
'Vair is ze people? ' said de Groot,
'Zis silence iss bizar....'
Hans Vandeveer just shook his head,
And swigged the Advocaat.
They tied the boat up to a wharf
And then set out on foot,
They roamed the empty, dirty streets,
'Iz not Spain! ' said de Groot;
'Iz not Spain - it iz London! ' said
Hans Vandeveer, 'Look zat! '
For there was stately London bridge,
He hid beneath his hat.
'Zo! London... of ze Engelsman, '
He took a swig of rum,
They both began to chuckle then,
Well zen, let uss haf fun!
They came upon a house that bore
A huge red painted cross,
With 'Please have Mercy on us Lord'
'Vot sez zat? ' Jan looked lost.
They neither of them read a word
Of English or of Dutch,
They'd gone to sea as children, so
Their learning wasn't much,
They beat upon the wooden door,
And heard some cries within,
So thinking there was murder there,
They kicked the old door in.
Two women and a man were there,
A pretty sorry sight,
Dead drunk, dishevelled, tangled hair,
They looked at them in fright,
'Ve come to mak you be all right, '
Said Hans, confused and red,
He offered them the Advocaat,
They gave him gin instead.
'I'm Lady Bubo, ' said the one,
With bright red flaming hair,
And I am Mrs. Onic, ' laughed
The other, who was fair,
The man, who lay flat on his back,
Then raised his head, and swore,
'I'm known as Jack the Rat, my friends,
Bubonic is my whore! '
They laughed and fell about the room
Embracing Jan de Groot,
Who swigged his rum, Hans Vandeveer
Just shrugged, and followed suit,
They hadn't had a woman then
Since back in Terschelling,
But: 'Be my guest, ' said Jack the Rat,
There was no second telling.
The revelry went on all night,
They drank and fell about,
'We want some food, ' said Onic then,
The larder's all cleaned out,
They finally, by making signs
Got Jan to understand,
'Ve go and find zum vittals, zen
Ve come back ven ve can! '
They headed up to Pudding Lane,
A baker's light shone bright,
The smell of new baked bread hung there
So tempting in the night,
They beat and beat upon the door
But no one answered then,
So Hans, he clambered up a pipe
To find the baker's oven.
The coals spilled out, he seized four loaves,
Then turned and ran downstairs,
He jumped out through a window,
Said: 'Ve'd better mak uz scarce! '
They ran the length of Pudding lane
Before they turned about,
To see the smoke, the roaring flames
Burst out the Baker's house.
The rest is history, my friends,
The fire spread more and more,
And London burned to ashes like
Terschelling had before,
The Dutchmen found their friends were dead,
And they would not get home,
For soon they found that tell-tale sign,
The swelling in the groin.
2 September,2008
(The 342nd Anniversary of the
Great Fire of London, on 2 September 1666) .
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cid lod kalde tvende Jøder
Cid lod kalde tvende Jøder
Og med mange Ceremonier
Gav dem Plads hos sig ved Taflet.
Tusind Stykker Guld han ønsked',
Og til Sikkerhed for disse
Gav han dem to store Kister,
Der var fyldt med alt hans Sølvtøi."
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!