Twelve dancers are dancing, and taking no rest,
And closely their hands together are press’d;
And soon as a dance has come to a close,
Another begins, and each merrily goes.
And the music they dance to thus sounds in my ear:
“The happiest of hours will ne’er reappear,
“The whole of thy life was only a dream,
“And this hour of pleasure a dream within dream.”
The dream is over, the sun is up,
I eagerly peep in the rose’s cup.
Alas! in the place of the glimmering light,
A nasty insect meets my sight.
THE LESSON.
Mother tells little bee,
Yonder wax taper flee;
But for his mother’s prayers
Little bee little cares.
Round the light hovers he,
Humming all merrily;
Mother’s cry hears not he,
Little bee! Little bee!
Youthful one! Foolish one!
Poor little simpleton!
In the flame rusheth he,
Little bee! Little bee!
Now the flame flickers high,
In the flame he must die:
’Ware of the maidens, then,
Sons of men! Sons of men!