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52
FRANCIS KAZINCZI.
THE FROGS.
Brekeke,
Brekeke, brekeke!
Koax, too-oo!
Brekeke, koax—brekeke, too-oo!
Brekeke, brekeke, brekeke,
Brekeke, brekeke, brekeke, brekeke;
Koax, koax—too-oo, too-oo;
Brekeke, too-oo!
'Tis the dawn of delight to the sons of the pond;
From its green bed they look to the bright moon beyond.
Brekeke, brekeke,
Koax, too-oo;
Koax, koax—too-oo, too-oo!
The thunderer made us the favorites of Heaven;
'Neath the green-vaulted wave how we thrive and have thriven!
All honor and praise to his wisdom be given.
Brekeke, brekeke, brekeke;
Koax, koax—too-oo, too-oo!
In ages departed,
Our home was the sky;
But hot Phoebus darted
His rays from on high;
