Poems (Terry, 1861)/La mouche
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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;
Cease drinking, laughter, jollity,
No longer love, no longer sing!"
Her belfry rings its peal of fear
At every flame of sweet alloy;
Permit her not to murmur here,
To murmur at our joy!
'Thy years should calmer pleasures bring;
Cease drinking, laughter, jollity,
No longer love, no longer sing!"
Her belfry rings its peal of fear
At every flame of sweet alloy;
Permit her not to murmur here,
To murmur at our joy!
'Tis Reason! ah! beware, Lisette!
On thee she longs her sting to prove:
Ye powers! in that fair neck 'tis set—
The red blood springs, haste every Love!
Pursue the wretch's flight of fear,
And with your blows her life destroy;
Permit her not to murmur here,
To murmur at our joy!
On thee she longs her sting to prove:
Ye powers! in that fair neck 'tis set—
The red blood springs, haste every Love!
Pursue the wretch's flight of fear,
And with your blows her life destroy;
Permit her not to murmur here,
To murmur at our joy!
Triumph! I see her drowning gasp
Deep in the cup Lisette hath poured,—
Triumph! to Pleasure's rightful grasp
Now let the sceptre be restored!
A zephyr shakes her crown with fear,
A fly can all our peace destroy,—
But fear no more its murmurs here,
Its murmurs at our joy!
Deep in the cup Lisette hath poured,—
Triumph! to Pleasure's rightful grasp
Now let the sceptre be restored!
A zephyr shakes her crown with fear,
A fly can all our peace destroy,—
But fear no more its murmurs here,
Its murmurs at our joy!
THE END.