The Parents' Review

A Monthly Magazine of Home-Training and Culture

"Der Bucherbund."

[Elizabeth Henrietta Keeling, 1857-1935, was Irish, but after her father was imprisoned, she moved with her mother and three sisters to Germany. She later moved to England, opened a school, changed her name to Elsa D'Esterre-Keeling, translated German books into English, and adopted twelve children, though she never married. "Der Bücherbund" translates literally as "The Book Association."]

VIII. Volkslied.

The "Volkslied," or folksong, is defined by Germans as that species of song which originated among their journeymen, miners and huntsmen, and which flourished between the fourteenth and seventeenth century. The Volkslied is, above everything else, simple, and deals with feelings rather than with thoughts. Much praise is due to Herder in connection with this branch of German literature. He it was who, more than any other of the great poets of his country, pointed out the beauty of the Volkslied. Other poets, among them Goethe, knew of it, revelled in it, and sometimes did not hesitate, I almost dare to say, to plagiarise from it. "Das Heidenroslein"* is no pure inspiration of Goethe's any more than is "Kleine Blumen, kleine Blatter." Both these poems are merely variants of old Volkslieder. To English people the best known of Germany's folksongs is "Annchen von Tharau," probably only adapted by Simon Dach, who is commonly called its author. Longfellow's translation of this is very happy. Perhaps as pretty as any among the many charming folksongs contained in Herder's famous collection is "Das Lied vom jungen Grafen" (the Song of the Young Count). "I stood," the unknown poet tells us, "on a high hill, and looked adorn into the deep valley; then saw I a little ship sailing, wherein sat three counts. The youngest of these three sitting in the little ship bade his love drink out of a Venetian glass. (According to the tradition, this was a glass which poisons its contents.) 'Why hold you the glass so long to my lips, why pour you out so freely? I will now go to a nunnery; I will now be God's servant.' 'And if thou wilt go to a nunnery, and if thou wilt be God's servant, quotha, go i'God's name; there are maids a many like thee.' Oh, and then midnight came, and the young count had a heavy dream; him dreamt that his heart's dearest had gone into a nunnery. 'Up, knave, get up, and bestir thee; saddle our horses both. Be it night, be it day, we'll ride amain; my love is worth a ride.' And when they came to that nunnery and stood beneath its high gates he bade them give news of the youngest nun that was in the nunnery." And--alack!

Das Nonnlein kam gegangren
In einem schneeweissen Kleid;
Ihr Haarl war abgeschnitten,
Ihr rother Mund war bleich.

Der Knab, er setzt' sich nieder,
Er sass auf einem Stein;
Er weint' die hellen Thranen,
Brach ihm sein Herz entzwei.

The little nun came walking,
All in a snowy veil;
And shorn were all her tresses,
And her red lips were pale.

Upon a stone was sitting
The lad, and sad he grew;
His tears fell fast and faster,
His heart it brake in two.

Poor "young count"! One cannot help feeling sorry for him, sitting upon that stone, but--he should not have been so confident!

*I have published an English translation of this, which has met with great praise in Germany, in my work called "In Thoughtland and in Dreamland" (Fisher Unwin: London).

This is sentimental. The Volkslied is, however, sometimes sarcastic, often humorous. In proof of this may be quoted "Der Kukuk und die Nachtigall." The nightingale and the cuckoo sing for a wager; and the donkey, because of his fair large ears, is chosen umpire. He listens solemnly. Impossible to make head or tail of that "lieblich" thing that the nightingale sings. But now the cuckoo bursts into song: coo-coo! coo-coo!--one, two!--one, two! This is simple as the tongs and the bones, and he of the excellent good ear in music (Bottom's own brother) delivers sentence forthwith:--

Hast wohl gesungen, Nachtigall!
Aber Kukuk singt gut Choral
Und halt den Takt fein innen.
Das sprech ich nach meinem hohen Verstand,
Und ob es gilt ein ganzes Land,
So lass ich's dich genuinen.*

Now, nightingale, all praise to thee!
But cuckoo's chant more pleases me;
He better time keeps in it.
This say I from my lofty brain.
Albe a kingdom were the gain,
I choose that he shall win it.

*He turns presumably to the Cuckoo.

Among the Kinderlieder--children's song or nursery rimes--there are many pretty Volkslieder. The following New Year's Carol seems to me very typical:--

Wir wunschen dem Herrn einen goldenen Hut,
Er trink keinen Wein, er sei denn gut.
Dess freuet sich die englische Schar,
Wir wunschen euch allen ein gluckselig Neu Jahr.*
Wir wunschen den Herrn einen goldenene Tisch,
Auf jeder Eck einen gebackenen Fisch.
Wir wunschen dem herrn einen silbernen Wagen.
Damit er soll in's Himmelreich fahren.
Wir wunschen der Frau einen golden Rock,
Sie geht daher als wie eine Dock;
Wir wunschen der Frau eine goldene Wiegen,
Darin soll sie ihr Kindlein wiegen.
Wir wunschem dem Sohn eine Feder in die Hand,
Damit soll er schreiben durch's ganze Land.
Wir wunschen der Tochter ein Radelein,
Damit soll sie spinnen ein Fadelein.
Wir wunschen der Magd einen Besen in die Hand,
Damit soll sie kehren die Spinnen von der Wand.
Wir wunschem dem Knecht eine Peitsche in die Hand,
Damit soll er fahren durch's ganze Land.
Wir wunschen euch allen ein gluckselig Neu Jahr.

We wish the master a golden hat,
No wine may he ever drink that's flat.
The angels in Heaven are making good cheer,
We wish all good people a Happy New Year.
We wish the master a golden dish,
On every corner of it a fish.
A silver wagon we wish the master,
That he may get to Heaven the faster.
We wish the lady a golden frock,
She goes about like any dock;
We wish the lady a cradle of gold,
Her little baby to rock and hold.
We wish the son a pen in his hand,
That he may go writing through all the land.
We wish the daughter a spinning-wheel,
That fine-spun cotton she may reel.
We sweep the cobwebs from off the wall.
We wish the coachman a whip in his hand,
That he may go riding through all the land.
The angels in Heaven are making good cheer,
We wish all good people a Happy New Year.

*Repeated after every two line.

The above is a poem surely that a little English child might learn.

The Fatherland is, of course, often the theme of the Volkslied, a fatherland which is not Germany, but one or other German land. The day had not yet come in which a poet could sing, in answer to the question "Was its des Deutschen Vaterland?" ("What is the German's Fatherland?") "Dasganze Deutschland" ("All Germany").* The following are some stanzas from "Der Schwab' in der Fremde" (The Suabian away from Home):--

I han durch Deutschland uf und a
Schon lang und viel mein Bündel tra;
Es bleibt derbei: in mei'm Verstand,
Giebt's no an einzig Schwobabland.
Wone ma kommt, sind d'Menscha gut,
Wenn unser eis sei Sach recht thut;
Blau ist der Himmel, grün sind d' Baum:
Und doch ist's nirgends wie daheim.
'Sist lustig in der weite Welt,
I mach mer au mei Stuckle Geld.
Was ist mer denn mei Herz so schwer?
Wenn I no in der Heimat war'!

I through all Germany have gone,
With my good stick and knapsack on;
And this I'll say, in yours my hand,
There's no land like our Suabian land.
Go where you will, you'll find folks kind,
If you'll but do things to their mind;
Green are the fields and blue's the sky,
But there's no land like home, say I.
In all the world I can be gay,
I make some money, and pay my way;
But, O, why is my heart so sore?
Were I but in my home once more!

The dialect is here most pretty; and he who knows that pretty garden, Suabia, will understand the Suabian's heartache.

A Volkslied both wise and witty is, I think, that called "Der Fuhrknecht und der Pfalzgraf" (the Farrier and the Count):--

Es fuhr ein Fuhrknecht uber'n Rhein,
Der kehrt beim jungen Pfalzgraf ein.
Er fuhr ein schones Fass voll Wein;
Der Pfalzgraf schenkt ihm selber ein.
Es leb' der Furst, es leb' der Knecht;
Ein Jeder thu' das Seine recht!
So trank der Furst, so trank der Knecht,
Und Wein und Treue waren echt.

A farrier once fare o'er the Rhine,
To visit the Count Palatine.
A vat of wine he took with him,
The Count his glass filled to the brim,
"Long live the farrier, long the Prince,
To honest men nought fortune stints!"
The prince and farrier glasses clink'd;
Good wine and fealty here were link'd.

*"Das deutsche Vaterland," by Arndt.

"Es, es, es und es" (It, it, it and it) takes us to Goethe's birthplace, busy, blustering Frankfurt. A stuttering 'prentice-lad is leaving his Frankfurt master, and his parting words have all the Frankfurt pertness:--

Es, es, es und es, es ist ein harter Schluss,
Weil, weil, weil und weil, weil ich aus Frankfurt muss!
So schlag ich Frankfurt aus dem Sinn,
Und wende mich, Gott weiss wohin;
Ich will mein Gluck probiren, Marschiren!
Er, er, er und er, Herr Meister, leb er wohl,
Er, er, . . . *
Ich sag's ihm grad frie in's Gesicht,
Seine Arbeit, die gefallt mir nicht.
Ich will . . . *
Sie, sie, sie und sie, Frau Meisterin, leb sie wohl,
Sie,sie, . . . *
Ich sag's ihr grad frei in's Gesicht:
Ihr Speck und Kraut, das schmeckt mir nicht.
Ich will . . . *

It, it, it and it, 'tis very hard, is it,
I, I, I and I Frankfurt now must quit.
for Frankfurt I no more will care,
My steps I'll bend now God knows where;
I'm off my fortune searching, A-marching!
You, you, you and you, my master fare you well,
You . . . *
I this will tell you to your face,
I hate your work and hate your place,
I'm off . . . *
You, you, you and you, my mistress, fare you well,
You, you . . . *
I this will say without ado,
I hate your bacon and cabbage too.
I'm off . . . .*

He next gives the cook a taste of his impudence, after which he sauces the maids, expressing an ironical hope that they will survive the loss of him; he then takes leave most pathetically from his fellow 'prentices ("If ever I did harm to you, I beg your pardon, I do, I do!") after which he goes off, his fortune searching, a-marching. Not a bad sort of "Bursch" in the main!

Pert, gay Volkslieder like this are not uncommon, but the prevailing note is sad. The following, from a lament for a dead love, is an exquisite little bit of wistfulness:--

I hab' ein artiges Blumeli g'seh,
A Blumeli roth und weiss,
Selbs Blumeli she i nimma meh,
Und das thut mir im Herzen so weh,
O Blumeli mi, O Blumeli mi,
I mocht' gern bi der si!

A little flower I once did see,
Part red, part white it was; ah, me!
That little flower I see no more;
'Tis hard to bear, my heart is sore!
O flower of me, O flower of me,
I would I were by thee!

*Same as before.

A sulky young girl is described in three perfect stanzas in Suabian dialect:--

Mei Mutter mag mi net,
Und kei Schatz hab' i net,
Ei, warum sterb' i net!
Was thu i da?
Gestern ist Kirwe g'weh,
Mi hat mer gewiss nit g'seh,
Denn mer ist gar so weh,
I taz, jo net.
Lass die drei Rodle stehn,
Die an dem Kreuzle bluhn!
Hant ihr das Madle kennt,
Die drunter leit.

My mother loves me not,
No sweetheart I have got;
Why in this world am I?
Why don't I die?
The dance went merrily,
But no one saw poor me;
I sat and watched the show;
I dance? Oh, no!
Let the three roses blow,
That by the cross do grow,
Knew ye the sad young maid
That there is laid?

The well-known Volkslied of which the following the first stanza has been set to beautiful music by Mendelssohn:--

Est is bestimmt in Gottes Rath
Dass man vom Liebsten, was man hat
Muss scheiden, ja scheiden.
Wie wohl doch nichts im Lauf der Welt
Dem Herzen ach! so sauer fallt,
ls Scheiden, ja Scheiden.

'Tis God's high will, though man it grieve,
That they who closest here do cleave
Must sever, aye, sever.
Al-be of all the words we hear
None so forlorn is, none so drear,
As "sever," aye, "sever."

"Madele, ruck, ruck, ruck" is another pretty Volkslied. Here is the first stanza of it:--

Madele, ruck, ruck, rcuk
An meine grüne Seite;
I hab' di gar so gern,
I kann di leide.

Maiden sweet! come, come here!
Look up above you!
I do so like you, dear;
I've grown to loe you.

An idea girl sings as follows:--

Mein Schatzerl is hubsch,
Aber reich is es nit.
Was nutzt mir der Reichtum
Das Geld kuss' I nit!

My sweetheart is poor,
But handsome, I wis.
What care I for money?
I money can't kiss!

A merry Suabian lass sings:--

Mei Schatz ischt e Reiter,
E Reiter muess sein;
Das Ross ischt dem Konig,
Der Reiter ischt mein.
Mei Schatz ischt e Schreiber,
E Schrieber muess sein;
Er schreibt mir ja all' Tag,
Sei Herzla sei mein.

My lover's a rider,
A rider so fine;
The horse is the king's, but--
The rider is mine.
My lover's a penman,
A penman so fine;
In letters he tell me
His heart is all mine.

p 607
Mei Schatz ischt e Gartner,
E Gartner muess sein;
Der setzt mir die schönsten
Vergissmeinnicht ein.
Mei Schatz isct e Schneider,
E Schneider muess sein;
Der macht mir'n Mieder,
So nett und so fein.
Mei Schatz ischt kein Zucker,
Was bin i so froh,
Sonst hatt' en schon gesse
Jetzt ha en doch no.
Mei Schatz ischt so geschmeidig,
Mei Schatz ischt so nett,
Und d'Leut' sind so neidig
Und gonnen mir'n net.

My lover's a gardener,
A gardener so fine;
He forget-me-nots sows now,
And they are all mine.
My lover's a tailor,
A tailor so fine;
He's making a bodice,
And it's to be mine.
My lover's not sugar,
Of that I'm so glad;
I had eaten him long else,
I'm certain I had.
My lover's so zealous,
And all to please me;
The folks are all jealous
As jealous can be!

In the poem called "Bestellung" (The Message) we have a funny lover:--

Wenn du bei mein Schatzel kommst,
Sag': ich liess sie grussen.
Wen sie fraget: Wie's mir geht?
Sag': auf beiden Fussen.

Wenn sie fraget: ob ich krank?
Sag': ich sei gestorben.
Wenn sie au zu weinen fangt,
Sag': ich kame morgen.

If my girl you chance to see,
Say, Hans does you greet, ma'am.
If she ask then, How goes he?
Say, Upon his feet, ma'am.

If she ask you, Is he ill?
Say, He's dead of sorrow.
If she then a tear do spill,
Say, He'll come tomorrow.

This should be compared with our pretty ballad called "Whittingham Fair."*

The hero of "Liebessorgen" (Love's Sorrow's) always carries stationery about with him:--

Meine Augen sind die Federn,
Meine Wangen das Papier,
Meine Thranen sind die Tinte,
Wann ich schreiben will zu dir.

My two eyes the pens are, dearest,
And my cheeks the paper white,
And my tears the ink are, dearest,
When I letters do indite.

The following, in dialogue, is called "Der rechte Trost" (The Right Consolation). First the huntsman speaks, then the girl, and then both together:--

Jager. Wie kommt's, dass du so traurig bist,
Und garnicht einmal lachst?
Ich seh' dir's an den Augen an,
Dass du geweinet hast.

Huntsman. How comes it, maid, thou art so sad,
And turnest thus away?
I see it in thine eye indeed
That thou has wept to-day.

*See "Border Ballads," published by Walter Scott.

Schaferin. Und wenn ich auch geweinet hab',
Was geht es dich denn an!
Ich wein', dass du es weisst, um Frued',
Die mir nicht werden kann.

Mein Schatz ein wack'rer Jager ist,
Er tragt ein grune Kleid;
Er hat ein zart roth Mundelien,
Das mir mein Herz erfreut.

Juger. Mein Schatz ein' holde Schaf'rin ist,
Sie tragt ein weisses Kleid;
Sie hat zwei zarte Brustelein,
Die mir mein Herz eerfreun.

Beide. So bin ich's wohl, so bist du's wohl,
Feins Lieb, schon's Engelskind!
So ist uns allen Beiden wohl,
Da wir beisammen sind.

Shepherdess. And if indeed I've wept to-day,
What is it, lad, to thee?
I've wept, this much I'll truly say,
For joy that may not be.

My loves a huntsman brave and tall,
He wears a dress of green.
his mouth is rosy-red and small,
The sweetest mouth I've seen.

Huntsman. My girl's a shepherdess and fair,
She wears a dress of white;
The sun shines on her golden hair,
And she's my heart's delight.

Both. Then it is I, and it is thou;
Dear love, dear heart of me!
How happy we are both made now,
That thou has me, I thee!

These pretty words are sung to a Thuringian melody. Thuringian also are the words of the well-known Wolkslied, "Ach, wie ist's moglich dann," set to tender music by Kucken:--

Ach, wie ist's moglich dann,
Dass ich dich lassen kann!
Hab' dich von Herzen lieb,
Das glaube mir!
Du has das Herze mein,
So gaz genommen ein,
Dass ich kein' andre lieb',
Als dich allein.

Ah, dearest, can it be,
That I can part from thee,
Thee loved all else above,
All that I own!
Thou hast this heart of mine
Made so completely thine,
That I none other love
But thee alone.

There is, now and again, a strange tone, half waggish, half wistful, in the Volkslieder. The following is an instance of it:--

Wenn ich ein Woglein war'
Und auch zwei Fluglein hatt'
Flog ich zu dir;
Weil's aber nicht sein kann,
Bleib' ich allheir.

Were I a bird to-day,
Quickly I'd fly away,
Straight to my dear;
But, as it cannot be,
Why, I stay here.

The Volkslied called "Liebesprobe" (Love's Test), or "Sieben Jahr" (Seven Years), is one of the best ballads I know. The test is a mild form of that made my certain "marks" in the case of one Griseldis. The ballad reminds one of the Nut-Brown Maid:--

Es stand ein Lind' im tiefen Thai,
War oben breit und unten schmal.
Darunter zwei Verliebte sassen,
Vor Liebe all ihr Leid vergassen.
"Fein's Liebchen, wir müssen von einander;
Ich muss noch sieben Jahre wandern."
"Musst du noch sieben Jahre wandern,
Nehm' ich mir keinen Andern."
Und als die sieben Jahr um war'n,
Meint sie irh Liebchen kame bald.
Da ging sie in den Garten,
Ihr Feinslieb zu erwarten.
Sie ging wohl in ein grünte Holz,
Da kam ein Reiter geritten stolz.
"Gott gruss dich, Madchen feine,
Was machst du da alleine?"
Gestern war es drei Wochen und sieben Jahr,
Dass mein Feinslieb geschieden war.
"Gestern bin ich geritten durch eine Stadt,
Wo dein Feinslieb grad Hochzeit hatt.'
Was thust du ihm denn wunschenan,
Dass er sein Treu'nicht gehalten hat."
"Ich wunsch'ihm als das Beste,
So viel der Baum hat Aeste.
Ich wunsch'ihm so viel Glucke fein,
So viel wie Stern' am Himmel sein.
Ich wunsch'ihm so viel gute Zeit,
So viel wie Sand am Meere breit."
Was zog er von dem Finger sein?
Ein feines, goldnes Ringelein.
Er warf den Ring in ihren Schos,
Sie weint, dass ihr der Ring gar floss.
Was zog er aus der Taschen?
Ein Tuch schneeweiss gewaschen.

A linden once in a valley did grow.
'Twas broad above and narrow below.
Beneath it two true lovers sate,
Their grief was little, their love so great.
"To-day must sever me from my dear,
And I must travel for seven year."
"And if you must travel and leave your dear,
She'll never wed other for seven year."
The seven years were over and gone,
And her lover's return she thought upon.
So into her garden she took her way,
"Mayhap my lover will come this way."
And unto a bower all green went she,
And a gallant rider she soon did see.
"God save you, maiden fair,
And what are you doing there?"
"Weeks three and seven long years have pass'd,
Since my true love, sir, I saw last."
"I rode through a town but yesterday,
Where your lover was having a wedding most gay.
Say what good wishes you send him now,
That he has broken his trysting vow."
"I wish him all good things that be
As many as boughs on yonder tree.
I wish him gifts of joy and love,
As many as stars in heaven above.
I wish him prosperous days in store,
As many as sands along the shore."
--What draws he from his finger now?
A little golden ring, I vow.
The ring into her lap throws he,
A-weeping falls the maid for glee.
What from his pocket takes the knight?
A handkerchief, I wis, most white.

VOL. II.--NO 8. RR

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Trockn'ab, trockn'ab, dein Aeugelein,
Du scollst furwahr mein eigen sein.
Ich wollte dich nur versuchen,
Ob du wurdst schworen oder fluchen.
Hatt'st du einen Schwur oder Fluch getan,
Von Stund an war ich geritten davon.

"Dry up, dry up your pretty syne,
Sweet love, I swear you shall be mine
I wanted, sweetheart, but to see
If you a shrew had grown to be.
Had one hard word you dared to say
I straight had ridden right away."

A lord of creation this, indeed, and the poor little maid does not seem to have even been the possessor of a pocket-handkerchief!

Heine has stolen words from the pathetic ballad called "Die Konigskinder" (Prince and Princess):--

Es waren zwei Konigskinder,
Die hatten einander so lieb;
Sie konnten beisammen nicht kommen,
Das Wasser war viel zu tief.

It was a prince and a princess,
Each love for the other did keep;
But they never could come together,
The water was much too deep.

The prince once tried to swim the distance, but a cruel nun put out the light that was his beacon the Prince was drowned, and the Princess drowned herself. The deep water flows on:--

Da hort man Glocken lauten,
Da hort man Jammer und Noth,
Da liegen zwei Konigskinder,
Die sind alle beide todt.

You bells will hear sometimes there ringing,
Most dreary their sound is and dread;
The Prince and Princess there are lying,
And both of them long are dead.

"Grossmutter Schlangenkochin" (Granny Witch) is a Volkslied which shows that the imagination of the people is not always healthy. A sad and bad song it is--one that used to set the eyes of German's children starting out of their heads. In substance it is the same as the weird border ballad "The Wee Croodlen Doo."* "Die Mordwirthin" (Mine Hostess, the Murderess) is another ballad dreadful of the olden days.+ The following dainty thing comes from the Frankfurt district. It is called "Anne Mariechen":--

"Anne Mariechen,
Wo willst du hin?"
"Immer nach Sachsen' nein.
Wo die Husaren sein."
"Ei, ei, ei!
Lumperei,
Anne Marei!"

"Anna Maria,
Where off are you?"
"I'm off to Saxony
To the hussars," said she.
"Dear, dear, dear,
Better stay here,
Anna, my dear!"

*"Border Ballads," published by Walter Scott.
+Both these strange ballads will be found in the "Liederbuch des Deutschen Volkes" (Breitkopf, Leipzig).

The editor of a charming collection of ballads,* to which I have referred more than once in this paper, treats Volkslied as falling into four categories--the supernatural Volkslied, the historical Volkslied, the humorous Volkslied, and the nursery rime. Among our supernatural folk-songs the prettiest is, perhaps, Lord Lovel. "Die Konigskinder" belongs to this category in German. There is no German historical folk-song that will bear comparison with our "Chevy Chase," but there are some stirring songs in praise of Hermann, the olden liberator, among them one which hails from Westphalia, and begins:--

Hermann, schlag' Larm an!
Hermann, bestir, man!

A German version of the Scotch ballad, "Get up and bar the door," passes for an original poem by Goethe.+ The best thing in humorous folk-song which the Germans possess is "The Nightingale and the Cuckoo." In lullabies they are very rich. The drift of these is not always quite clear, but they satisfy baby bunting, and that is the chief thing, after all, in the case of a lullaby. Here is one of them:--

Eia, popeia!
Was raschelt im Stroh!
Die Ganslein gehn varfuss
Und haben keine Schuh.
Der Schuster hat's Leder,
Kein' Leisten dazu
Kann er den Ganslein
Auch machen kein' Schuh.

Bye, bye, my baby!
What moves in the straw?
The geese they go barefoot
With no shoes at all.
The cobbler's got leather,
But last has got none,
So he can't make the geese shoes
For them to put on.

Every German baby maintains that this is pure rime and pure reason.

*"Border Ballads," published by Walter Scott.
+"Gutmann und Gutweib."

Books of Interest in Connection with Volkslied:--

Herder's "Stimmen der Volker" (Reclam, Leipzig, price one mark.)

"Liederbuch des Deutschen Volkes" (Breitkopf, Leipzig).

The "Liederbuch" is invaluable, containing words and tunes. It is probably not dear.

Questions for Club Students.

First Class Paper:--
1. Turn into German the prose paraphrase (beginning "I stood") of the "Song of the Young Count."
2. Turn the song, "Der Schwab in der Fremde," into modern German prose, retaining the words and word-order of the original where possible.
3. Expand the statement, "The Volkslied called 'Liebesprobe" to "Nut-Brown Maid," into a German composition not less than one page in length and not more than two pages.

Second Class Paper:--
1. Question 3 above. (In English.)
2. In "Anne Mariechen" comment on the words "'neon," "seine," "Lumperei," "Marei."
3. Point out how different phases of the German character are illustrated in the above "Volkslieder."

Typed October 2013