A.Oppman - Cechmistrz M. Halabarda.docx

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                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Cechmistrz Melchior Halabarda                                                                                                                                                    I                                                                                                                                                                                W swej budzie, co bez szwanku                                                                                                                                                Od wieków stoi harda,                                                                                                                                          Ma kuźnię po pradziadach                                                                                                                                                                                                        Pan Melchior Halabarda.                                                                                                                                                                                                     Gra w krzepkich jego żyłach                                                                                                                                         Mieszczańska krew najczystsza,                                                                                                                           Wnet powie: „To personat!” ,                                                                                                                                               Kto spojrzy na cechmistrza.                                                                                                                                                              Sławetnym wzorem dziadków,                                                                                                                                Co śpią już pod mogiłą,                                                                                                                                              Jak wielkie Stare Miasto                                                                                                                                                 On turzą słynie siłą.                                                                                                                                                                          Wspomina nieraz cechmistrz                                                                                                                                                    Gnąc w garści bretnal twardy,                                                                                                                                Jak cenił August Mocny                                                                                                                                                                                                     Pradziada Halabardy!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            II                                                                                                                                                                                                   Znać dumę z twarzy mistrza,                                                                                                                                 Z spojrzenia i z uśmiechu;                                                                                                                                            Potentat i familiant,                                                                                                                                                                                                           Jest starszym swego cechu                                                                                                                                                    Ma złoto w krzepkim puzdrze,                                                                                                                                                                                           Ma srebro w szafie z Gdańska;                                                                                                                                                                              Melchiora Halabardę                                                                                                                                                                       Poważa brać mieszczańska.                                                                                                                                                                                                    Z respektem o nim gada                                                                                                                                   Mąż, dziecko i niewiasta:                                                                                                                                                        „Wszech mieszczan to ozdoba,                                                                                                                      To larme wszego miasta1”                                                                                                                                                            Najwięksi nawet cenią                                                                                                                                              Cechmistrza stare imię:                                                                                                                                                                                           Ksiądz Janek, proboszcz z Fary,                                                                                                                                                         Ma w wielkiej go estymie!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    III                                                                                                                                                                          Rodzina Halabardy                                                                                                                                                    Przoduje Halabardy                                                                                                                                              Przoduje innym śmiele,                                                                                                                                  Ma zacne koligacje                                                                                                                                                 I świetne parentele!                                                                                                                                                                                     Świadectwo ich splendoru                                                                                                                             Z archiwów miejskich bierzem:                                                                                                                   Walenty Halabarda                                                                                                                                                                              Królewskim był płatnerzem!                                                                                                                                                                         Uprzejmie Król Jegomość                                                                                                                                      W pamięci swej go chował;                                                                                    963                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Nikt miecza tak nie wykuł,                                                                                                                                           Tak zbroi nie szmelcował!                                                                                                                                                                                                                   A brat był w tych zbroicach  !                                                                                                                                                                 I stal w nich była  przednia!                                                                                                                                                                                             Warszawską karabelą                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Król Turków gnał spod Wiednia!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           IV                                                                                                                                                                                   W Melchiora kuźni starej                                                                                                                                   Od świtu idzie praca,                                                                                                                                                 Blask ognia, brudne mury                                                                                                                                    To krwawi, to ozłaca.                                                                                                                                                             Dmuchają wielkie miechy,                                                                                                                                     Huk młotów kuźnią wstrząsa ,                                                                                                                                                    Sam cechmistrz rej tu wiedzie,                                                                                                                         Siwego kręcąc wąsa.                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Z podziwu nieraz czeladź                                                                                                                               Aż oczy wybałuszy:                                                                                                                                                                    Gdzie majster grube szyny,                                                                                                                                Podkowy krzepkie kruszy.                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Żelazne ma muskuły,                                                                                                                                                         Niedźwiedzie ma on bary,                                                                                                                                 Jak pradziad z saskich czasów,                                                                                                                       Co w garści miął  talary!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           V                                                                                                                                                                                            W swym domie Halabarda                                                                                                                                            Na górnym mieszka piętrze,                                                                                                                        Tam w wąskim alkierzyku                                                                                                                                Klejnoty ma najświętsze.                                                                                                                                                                     Na zydlu staroświeckim,                                                                                                                              Przy blasku żółtej świecy,                                                                                                                                     Siadywać lubi majster                                                                                                                                                   W  mieszczańskiej swej skarbnicy.                                                                                                                                                                 Dwa wieki, pięć pokoleń                                                                                                                             ...

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