LA MOUCHE.(Béranger.)
Amid our frolic laughter's sound,
'Mid tinkling cups and music gay,
What murmuring insect hovers round
Returning when 'tis chased away?
Some Power, I think, who hovers near,
Jealous of bliss it can't annoy;
Permit it not to murmur here,
To murmur at our joy!
'Mid tinkling cups and music gay,
What murmuring insect hovers round
Returning when 'tis chased away?
Some Power, I think, who hovers near,
Jealous of bliss it can't annoy;
Permit it not to murmur here,
To murmur at our joy!
Transformed into a hideous fly,
My friends, it is—I know the guest—
Reason, that scolding deity,
Enraged at such a joyous feast!
The thunder sounds, the storm draws near,
Her dark frown threatens to destroy;
Permit her not to murmur here,
To murmur at our joy!
My friends, it is—I know the guest—
Reason, that scolding deity,
Enraged at such a joyous feast!
The thunder sounds, the storm draws near,
Her dark frown threatens to destroy;
Permit her not to murmur here,
To murmur at our joy!
'Tis Reason, whispering low to me;
'Thy years should calmer pleasures bring;
'Thy years should calmer pleasures bring;
