Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/119

THE BALLAD OF LAGER BIER Ah, no! she shakes her southern tresses,

As half in doubt and more in fear;

Perhaps the elvish creature guesses

We've had too much of Lager Bier.

There moves, full-bodiced, ripe, and human,

With merry smiles to all who come,

Karl Schaeffer's wife,—the very woman

Whom Rubens drew his Venus from!

But what a host of tricksome graces

Play round our fairy Undine here,

Who pouts at all the bearded faces,

And, laughing, brings the Lager Bier.

You're tied to Yankee cities still!"

I hear you, but so much the rather

Should Fancy travel where she will.

Yet let the dim ideals scatter;

One puff, and lo! they disappear;

The comet, next, or some such matter,

We'll talk above our Lager Bier.

Now, then, your eyes begin to brighten,

And marvellous theories to flow;

A philosophic theme you light on,

And, spurred and booted, off you go!

If e'er—to drive Apollo's phaeton—

I need an earthly charioteer,

This tall-browed genius I will wait on,

And prime him first with Lager Bier.

But higher yet, in middle Heaven,

Your steed seems taking flight, my friend;

You read the secret of the Seven,

And on through trackless regions wend! 89