(Chorus of Frogs.)
The water is better,
But also much wetter
Than ’tis in the air,
And merrily there
We love to gaze
On the sun’s bright rays.
(Chorus of Moles.)
How foolish people are to chatter
Of beams and sunny rays bewitching
With us, they but produce an itching
We scratch it and so end the matter.
(A Glow-worm speaks.)
How boastingly the sun displays
His very fleeting daily rays!
But I’m not so immodest quite,
And yet I’m an important light,—
I mean by night, I mean by night!
6. THE EVIL STAR.
The star, after beaming so brightly,
From the sky fell, a vision unsightly,
What is the love by poets sung?
A star amid a heap of dung.
Like a poor mangy dog, when he’s dying,
Beneath all this filth it is lying;
Shrill crows the cock, loud grunts the sow,
And wallows in the fearful slough.
In the garden O had I descended,
By fair flowerets lovingly tended,
Where I oft yearn’d to find my doom,
A virgin death, a fragrant tomb!