Page:Tyrolean Elegies (c 1932).pdf/11



Shine fair moon-beam, shine but lightly Through the cloudy height; Tell me, how do you like Brixen? Why so mean tonight?

Do not hurry; pause a little; Don’t go yet to rest, Let me talk with you a little, Listen to my quest.

That I am not local, moon-beam, You know by my speech; Not a “true and upright” native, List to what I preach.

I am from a land of music, Where I played the horn, And my music, in Vienna, Woke the masters’ scorn.

And since, when their work was over, They wanted to rest, One dark night they sent for me A carriage with their best.

It was two hours past midnight, Edging on to three, When a gendarme at my bedstead Said “good-day” to me.

And with him the whole ensemble, A court in full parade, Gold upon their rigid collars, ’round their waists gold-braid.

“Mister editor, awaken, Entertain no fear, Though ’tis night, we are no robbers; This what brings us here.