When the maid is stirring batter.
O’er the music comes a change,
Every tone is wild and strange;
Listen to the lofty tumbling,
Hear the mumbling, fumbling, jumbling,
Like the rumbling and the grumbling
Of the thunder from its slumbering
Just awaking. Now it’s taking
To the quaking, like a fever-and-ague shaking;
Heads are aching, something’s breaking—