_Translated in the Quarterly Review._
We are not at present breathing the air either of Christ Church meadow
or Trinity gardens; and if our version of a piece of mere pleasantry,
which involves nothing in it beyond a moment's laugh, should be so happy
as to satisfy the 'general reader,' we shall affect 'for the nonce,' to
know nothing of the objections which more scientific persons, the
students of the brilliant Hermann, and acute Reisigius, might be
supposed to make to our arrangement of this little extravaganza.
_Scene, the Acherusian Lake. BACCHUS at the oar in Charon's Boat;
CHARON;--CHORUS OF FROGS; in the background a view of Bacchus's Temple
or Theatre, from which are heard the sound of a scenical
entertainment._
_Semi-chorus_. Croak, croak, croak.
_Semi-chorus_. Croak, croak, croak.
(_In answer, and with the music an octave lower._)
_Full Chorus_. Croak, croak, croak.
LEADER _of the Chorus_. When[1] flagons were foaming,
And roisterers were roaming,
And bards flung about them their gibe and their joke;
The holiest song
Still was found to belong
To the sons of the marsh, with their
_Full Chorus_ Croak, croak.
LEADER. Shall we pause in our strain,
Now the months bring again
The pipe and the minstrel to gladden the folk?
Rather strike on the ear
With a note strong and clear,
A chant corresponding of--
_Chorus_. Croak, croak.
BACCHUS (_mimicking_.) Croak, croak, by the gods I shall choke,
If you pester and bore my ears any more
With your croak, croak, croak.
LEADER. Rude companion and vain,
Thus to carp at my strain;
(_To Chor_) But keep in the vein,
And attack him again
With a croak, croak, croak.
_Chorus (crescendo.)_ Croak, croak, croak.
BACCHUS (_mimicking._) Croak, croak, vapour and smoke,
Never think it, old Huff,
That I care for such stuff,
As your croak, croak, croak.
_Chorus (fortissimo.)_ Croak, croak, croak.
BACCHUS. Now fires light on thee,
And waters soak;
And March winds catch thee
Without any cloak.
For within and without,
From the tail to the snout,
Thou'rt nothing but croak, croak, croak.
LEADER. And what else, captious Newcomer, say, should I be?
But you know not to whom you are talking, I see:
(_With dignity_) I'm the friend of the Muses, and Pan with his pipe,
Holds me dearer by far than a cherry that's ripe:
For the reed and the cane which his music supply,
Who gives them their tone and their moisture but I?
And therefore for ever I'll utter my cry
Of--
_Chorus._ Croak, croak, croak.