THE SWISS DESERTER

At Strassburg in the fort
All woe began for me
The Alpine bugle's call enticed me o'er,
I had to swim to my dear country's shore;
That should not be.

One hour 'twas in the night,
They took me in my plight,
And led me straightway to the captain's door.
O God, they caught me in the stream--what more?
Now all is o'er.

Tomorrow morn at ten
The regiment I'll have to face;
They'll lead me there to beg for grace.
I'll have my just reward, I know.
It must be so.

Ye brothers, all ye men,
Ye'll never see me here again;
The shepherd boy, I say, began it all,
And I accuse the Alpine bugle-call
Of this my fall.

I pray ye, brothers three,
Come on and shoot at me;
Fear not my tender life to hurt,
Shoot on and let the red blood spurt--
Come on, I say!

O Lord of heaven, on high!
Take my poor erring soul
Unto its heavenly goal;
There let it stay forever--
Forget me never!

* * * * *

THE TAILOR IN HELL

A tailor 'gan to wander
One Monday morning fair,
And then he met the devil,
Whose feet and legs were bare:
Hallo, thou tailor-fellow,
Come now with me to hell--oh,
And measure clothes for us to wear,
For what we will, is well, oh!

The tailor measured, then he took
His scissors long, and clipped
The devils' little tails all off,
And to and fro they skipped.
Hallo, thou tailor-fellow,
Now hie thee out of hell--oh,
We do not need this clipping, sir,
For what we will, is well, oh!

The tailor took his iron out,
And tossed it in the fire;
The devils' wrinkles then he pressed;
Their screams were something dire.
Hallo, thou tailor-fellow,
Begone now from our hell--oh,
We do not need this pressing,
For what we will, is well, oh!

"Keep still!" he said and pierced their heads
With a bodkin from his sack.
"This way we put the buttons on,
For that's our tailor's knack!
Hallo, thou tailor-fellow,
Now get thee out of hell--oh,
We do not need this dressing,
For what we will, is well, oh!

With thimble and with needle then
His stitching he began,
And closed the devils' nostrils up
As tight as e'er one can.

Hallo, thou tailor-fellow,
Now his thee out of hell--oh,
We cannot use our noses,
Do what we will for smell, oh!

Then he began to cut away--
It must have made them smart;
With all his migh