"Happy can I go to Hades,
As my works are my memorial.
In the history of this Rhine-land
A new epoch of the fine arts
Will begin with Fludribus."

'Twas the wish of Margaretta
To inaugurate with music
This so beautified pavilion.
Ha! how Werner's heart was beating,
When he heard the maid's desire.
He directly went to Basel
To select the new productions
Of the musical composers;
And he brought the scores back with him
Of the great Venetian master,
Claudio di Monteverde,
Whose sweet pastoral composition
Carried off the prize in music.
Then there was a noisy bustle
'Mongst the artists of the city;
And a most increasing practice
In the frequent long rehearsals,
All unnoticed by the Baron.

Now, at last, the long-expected
Day had come, the Baron's birthday.
At the table he was chatting
With his friend and pleasant neighbour,
The good prelate of St. Blasien,
Who had driven hither early,
To express his heartfelt wishes.
Meanwhile many hands were busy
Decorating the pavilion
With fresh garlands, and were placing
Rows of music-desks in order.

By degrees there came now gliding
Through the side-gate by the river
All the musical performers.
First, the youthful burgomaster
Bending under the unwieldy
Contra-bass, whose sounds sonorous
Often from his thoughts did banish
All the cares of his high office,
And the council's stupid blunders.
Next there came the bloated chaplain
Who played finely on the violin,
Drawing from it such shrill wailings,
As if wishing to give utterance
To his lonely bachelor's heart.
With his horn beneath his arm came
The receiver's clerk, who often,
A great bore to his superior,
With his playing did enliven
All the dry accounts he summed up,
And the dulness of subtraction.
There came also stepping slowly,
Dressed in black, but shabby looking,
With a hat the worse for usage,
He the lank assistant-teacher,
Who by Art consoled himself for
What was wanting in his income,
And instead of wine and roast beef
Lived upon his flute's sweet music.
Then came--Who can count, however,
All these instrumental players?