All their praise, on elf-wings sped,
Rives me like an icy blast!
Oh, to be enfolded fast
In oblivion, hide my head
In a wild beast's hole at last!
The Mayor.
[Enters in full uniform, radiant with
satisfaction, and greets him.]
Here is the great day come at last,
The Sabbath to the toiling six;
Now we can strike our sail, and fix
Our Sunday pennon to the mast,
Glide softly with the gliding flood
And find that all is very good.
Bravo!—great, noble man, whose fame
Will soon be far and wide related.
Bravo!—I'm moved, yet all the same
Most inexpressibly elated!
But you appear?
Brand.
I'm suffocated
The Mayor.
Pooh, a mere momentary whim!
Preach you now, till it roars again!—
Fill the folks' bushel to the brim.
Not one his wonder can contain,
The resonance is so full and plain.
Brand.
Indeed?
The Mayor.
The Dean himself is warm
In admiration and delight.
