The good their gifts in dream enjoy,
How did it fare with thee?
Scarce feeling it, you’ve got a boy,
Poor virgin Germany!
This boy an urchin frolicsome
Ere long shall we behold;
A first-rate archer he’ll become,
As Cupid was of old.
He’ll pierce the soaring eagle through;
And, proudly though he fly,
The double-headed eagle too
Struck by his bolt, shall die.
But that blind heathen God of love
Will he resemble not
In wearing neither clothes nor glove,
Nor be a sans-culotte.
The seasons in our land combine
With morals and police
To make both old and young incline
To wear their clothes in peace.