Category Archives: Prince Eugene of Savoy

Ballad: “Prince Eugene “

Excerpt, “German Ballads, Songs, etc., comprising translations from Schiller, Uhland, Burger, Goethe, Korner, Becker,  Fouque, Chamisso, etc., etc.” London:  Edward Lumley. 1900

Prince Eugene


Prince Eugene


Prince Eugene once in Swabia paid visits far and wide,

And ‘mong the rest to Reutlingen this favour did betide.

Now, what a stir the hero made my verses scarce can tell.

Or how the honour to express that to the mayor fell,

As he a council gathered quick to signify the same,

And by some act to shew his sense of Eugene’s mighty name.


Much argued they what best to do, or what was best to say ;

Whether with shouts and cheers to hail the hero on his way.

With feast and dance to bid him speed, and tell his great renown,

Or with the victor’s golden wreath his honoured brows to crown.


Long the debate and eloquent that hatched the bright design,

To pledge him in a flowing cup of famed Reutlingen wine.

And now unto the prince they brought a bowl with quantum suff.

Of this true wine of Reutlingen—right sour and nauseous stuff!


With heart of grace Prince Eugene quick despatched the potion down,

Though sorely rued he on such terms to gratify the town.

“Ay,” thought the cits, to see him so imbibe their griping wine,

“That beaker had the genuine smack, by such a potent sign ;

Haste, bring another, quick as thought, a bowl both large and wide.


That now the prince our famous wine may quaff in flowing tide !”

Alas, poor prince, how ached thy jaws to hear so dire a speech !

As if his latest hour were come, he gravely did beseech

To taste no more in hall or bower of such a nauseous stuff.

Of which I wot he felt right well his skin had quantum suff.

With thanks and bows Prince Eugene then addressed the mayor’s train :


“Much rather, honoured councillors, I’d storm Belgrade again.

Than face another such a draught of sour Reutlingen wine.

Take my advice, if stuff like this you swallow when you dine.

Drink it, and welcome, but to ask your luckless guests refrain ;

For rather, through the smoke and flame, I’d storm Belgrade again.”



Gottlieb Conrad Pfeffel: “The Tobacco-Pipe”

This distinguished author was born in 1736, at Colmarin Alsatia.In his fifteenth year, he commenced the study of law in Halle, but his studies were interrupted by a disease in the eyes which terminated in 1757 in total blindness.He married in 1759, and the next year published his first attempts.In 1763, he became a court councilor at Darmstadt.In 1773, he established a school in Colmarwhich continued until it was overthrown by the French Revolution.In 1803, he was made President of the Protestant Consistory at Colmar.He died the 1st of May, 1809.
As a poet, he was distinguished in fable and poetical narrative.He wrote also epistles, didactic poems, ballads, lyrical poems, and pieces for the stage.His poetical works were published inTübingenandStuttgart, in ten parts, 1803-10.A selection from his fables and poetical narratives were published by Hauff,StuttgartandTübingen, in two volumes, 1840.


Prince Eugene of Savoy during the Battle of Belgrade 1717
Johann Gottfried Auerbach (1697-1753)


The Tobacco-Pipe


“Old man, God bless you!

Does your pipe taste sweetly?

A beauty, by my soul!

A red clay flower-pot,

Rimmed with gold so neatly!

What ask you for the bowl?”


“O Sir, that bowl for worlds I would not part with;

A brave man gave it me,

Who won it – now what think you? – of a bashaw,

At Belgrade’s victory.


“There, Sir, ah! There was booty worth the showing, –

Long life to Prince Eugene!

Like after-grass you might have seen us mowing

The Turkish ranks down clean.”


“Another time I’ll hear your story:

Come, old man, be no fool;

Take these two ducats, – gold for glory, –

And let me have the bowl!”


“I’m a poor churl, as you may say, Sir;

My pension’s all I’m worth:

Yet I’d not give that bowl away, Sir,

For all the gold on earth.


“Just hear now!  Once, as we hussars, all merry,

Hard on the foe’s rear pressed,

A blundering rascal of a janizary

Shot through our captain’s breast.


“At once across my horse I hove him, –

The same would he have done, –

And from the smoke and tumult drove him

Safe to a nobleman.


“I nursed him; and, before his end, bequeathing

His money and this bowl

To me, he pressed my hand, just ceased his breathing,

And so he died, brave soul!


“The money thou must give mine host, – so

Thought I, –

Three plunderings suffered he:

And, in remembrance of my old friend, brought I

The pipe away with me.


“Henceforth in all campaigns with me I bore it,

In flight or in pursuit;

It was a holy thing, Sir, and I wore it

Safe-sheltered in my boot.


“This very limb, I lost it by a shot, Sir,

Under the walls of Prague:

First at my precious pipe, be sure, I caught, Sir,

And then picked up my leg.”


“You move me even to tears, old Sire:

What was the brave man’s name?

Tell me, that I, too, may admire

And venerate his fame.”


“They called him only the brave Walter;

His fame lay near the Rhine.”

“God bless your old eyes! ‘t was my father,

And that same farm is mine.


“Come, friend, you’ve seen some stormy weather;

With me is now your bed;

We’ll drink of Walter’s grapes together,

And eat of Walter’s bread.”


“Now – done!  I march in, then, tomorrow:

You’re his true heir, I see;

And when I die, your thanks, kind master,

The Turkish pipe shall be.”