LA SYLPHIDE.(Béranger.)
E'en reason is not always wise,
Her torch-light is not always clear,
For your existence she denies,
Sylphs! charming people of the air!
Thrusting her æis dull aside,
That rested on my curious eyes,
Lately I saw a sylphide glide.
Gay sylphs, be my divinities!
Her torch-light is not always clear,
For your existence she denies,
Sylphs! charming people of the air!
Thrusting her æis dull aside,
That rested on my curious eyes,
Lately I saw a sylphide glide.
Gay sylphs, be my divinities!
Your cradles are the roses' breasts,
Of Zephyr and Aurora born;
And in your brilliant changes rests
The secret light of pleasure's morn.
Our tears ye dry with gentle breath,
Ye keep unstained the azure skies,
My sylphide's charms demand my faith,
Gay sylphs, be my divinities!
Of Zephyr and Aurora born;
And in your brilliant changes rests
The secret light of pleasure's morn.
Our tears ye dry with gentle breath,
Ye keep unstained the azure skies,
My sylphide's charms demand my faith,
Gay sylphs, be my divinities!
Ah! well I knew her dwelling-place,
When, at the ball, or at the feast,
When, at the ball, or at the feast,
