The Nightingale
—And make of both a Villanelle!
The Toads
We welter in malignity!
The Nightingale
The while they fume beneath my tree I fill with song the enchanted dell—
The Toads
The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we! [And the Villanelle proceeds, sung by the alternate voices, one of which, ever higher and more enraptured, carries the song proper, and the others, ever angrier and lower, the burden of the song.]
The Nightingale and The Toads, alternately I sing! for Wind, that harper free,
And music bubbling from the well—
—We welter in malignity!—
And fragrance floating from the lea,
Of meadow-sweet and pimpernel—
—The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!—
And Luna showering ecstasy,
All weave so wonderful a spell—
—We welter in malignity!—
Its melting magic moveth me
The secret of my heart to tell!
—The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!—
Within my heart all sympathy,
Within mine eye all visions dwell—
—We welter in malignity!—
Life, Death, I turn to rhapsody,
Who am the deathless Philomel!
—The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we,
Who welter in malignity!
Chantecler
Beside those heavenly pipes, ah, me! my voice is Punchinello’s squeak! Sing on! Sing on! The Croakers are in retreat.
The Toads
[Retreating, overcome by the conquering song.] Croak! croak!
Chantecler
Their fate to seethe in the cauldron of a witch! But you, the creatures of the forest come to slake the thirst of their hearts at your song. See them creeping to the lure—
The Toads
[From the underbrush.] Croak! croak!
Chantecler
A doe, look! tiptoeing on delicate hoofs, followed by a wolf who has forgotten to be a wolf—