Poems (Terry, 1861)/La mouche
LA MOUCHE.(Béranger.)
Amid our frolic laughter's sound, 'Mid tinkling cups and music gay,What murmuring insect hovers round Returning when 'tis chased away?Some Power, I think, who hovers near, Jealous of bliss it can't annoy;Permit it not to murmur here, To murmur at our joy!
Transformed into a hideous fly, My friends, it is—I know the guest—Reason, that scolding deity, Enraged at such a joyous feast!The thunder sounds, the storm draws near, Her dark frown threatens to destroy;Permit her not to murmur here, To murmur at our joy!
'Tis Reason, whispering low to me; 'Thy years should calmer pleasures bring; Cease drinking, laughter, jollity, No longer love, no longer sing!"Her belfry rings its peal of fear At every flame of sweet alloy;Permit her not to murmur here, To murmur at our joy!
'Tis Reason! ah! beware, Lisette! On thee she longs her sting to prove:Ye powers! in that fair neck 'tis set— The red blood springs, haste every Love!Pursue the wretch's flight of fear, And with your blows her life destroy;Permit her not to murmur here, To murmur at our joy!
Triumph! I see her drowning gasp Deep in the cup Lisette hath poured,—Triumph! to Pleasure's rightful grasp Now let the sceptre be restored!A zephyr shakes her crown with fear, A fly can all our peace destroy,—But fear no more its murmurs here, Its murmurs at our joy!
THE END.