Leader of the Chorus. When flagons were foaming,
And roysterers roaming,
And bards flung about them their gibe and their joke;
The holiest song
Still was found to belong
To the Sons of the Marsh with their—
Full Chorus.Croak! croak!
Leader.Shall we pause in our strain,
Now the months bring again
The pipe and the minstrel to gladden the folk?