By the clear green Lake of Nemi
A young musician lies,
He hums a song, while many
Tears glisten in his eyes.

On the clear green Lake of Nemi
The waves so gently flow;
The maple and musician
Their own minds do not know.

By the clear green Lake of Nemi
Is the best inn of the land;
Praiseworthy macaroni,
And wine of famous brand.

The maple and musician
Are crazy both, I think;
Else they would go there yonder,
Grow sane by honest drink.

X.

My heart is filled with rancour,
The storm howls all around;
Thou art the man I want now,
Thou false Italian hound.

Thy dagger's thrust I parried;
Now, worthy friend, beware
How from a German sword's stroke
Thy Italian skull will fare.

The sun's last rays had vanished
Far from the Vatican;
It rose to shine next morning
Upon a lifeless man.

XI.

Oh Ponte Molle, thou bridge of renown,
Near thee many draughts have I swallowed down,
From bottles in wicker-work braided.
Oh Ponte Molle, what is the cause
That I between my glasses now pause,
Can hardly to drink be persuaded?

Oh Ponte Molle, 'tis strange in truth,
That the lovely days of my vanished youth
And love's old dream are recurring.
Through the land the hot sirocco blows,
And within my heart the old flame glows,
Sweet music within me is stirring.

Oh Tiber-stream, oh St. Peter's dome,
Oh thou all-powerful ancient Rome,
Naught care I for all thou containest.
Where'er in my restless wanderings I rove,
My gentle and lovely Schwarzwald-love,
The fairest on earth thou remainest!

Oh Ponte Molle, how lovely was she!
And if I thousands of girls should see,
To love but the one I am willing.
And if ever thy solid pile should bear
The weight of her footsteps, I will swear,
Even thy cold frame would be thrilling.

But useless the longing and useless the woe,
The sun is too ardent so far to go,
And flying is not yet invented.
Padrone, another bottle of wine!
This Orvieto so pearly and fine
Makes even a sad heart contented.

Oh Ponte Molle, thou b