* * * * *

So naught do we own, from pride left free,
From statutes vain,
From heavy chain;
So naught do we own, from pride left free,—­
Cradle nor house nor coffin have we.

But credit our jollity none the less,
Noble or priest, or
Servant or master;
But credit our jollity none the less.—­
Liberty always means happiness.

THE GAD-FLY

(LA MOUCHE)

In the midst of our laughter and singing,
’Mid the clink of our glasses so gay,
What gad-fly is over us winging,
That returns when we drive him away? 
’Tis some god.  Yes, I have a suspicion
Of our happiness jealous, he’s come: 
Let us drive him away to perdition,
That he bore us no more with his hum.

     Transformed to a gad-fly unseemly,
       I am certain that we must have here
     Old Reason, the grumbler, extremely
       Annoyed by our joy and our cheer. 
     He tells us in tones of monition
       Of the clouds and the tempests to come: 
     Let us drive him away to perdition,
       That he bore us no more with his hum.

     It is Reason who comes to me, quaffing,
       And says, “It is time to retire: 
     At your age one stops drinking and laughing,
       Stops loving, nor sings with such fire;”—­
     An alarm that sounds ever its mission
       When the sweetest of flames overcome: 
     Let us drive him away to perdition,
       That he bore us no more with his hum.

     It is Reason!  Look out there for Lizzie! 
       His dart is a menace alway. 
     He has touched her, she swoons—­she is dizzy: 
       Come, Cupid, and drive him away. 
     Pursue him; compel his submission,
       Until under your strokes he succumb. 
     Let us drive him away to perdition,
       That he bore us no more with his hum.

     Hurrah, Victory!  See, he is drowning
       In the wine that Lizzetta has poured. 
     Come, the head of Joy let us be crowning,
       That again he may reign at our board. 
     He was threatened just now with dismission,
       And a fly made us all rather glum: 
     But we’ve sent him away to perdition;
       He will bore us no more with his hum.

     Translation of Walter Learned.

     DRAW IT MILD

     (LES PETITS COUPS)

     Let’s learn to temper our desires,
       Not harshly to constrain;
     And since excess makes pleasure less,
       Why, so much more refrain. 
     Small table—­cozy corner—­here
       We well may be beguiled;
     Our worthy host old wine can boast: 
       Drink, drink—­but draw it mild!

     He who would many an evil shun
       Will find my plan the best—­
     To trim the sail as shifts the gale,
       And half-seas over rest. 
     Enjoyment is an art—­disgust
       Is bred of joy run wild;
     Too deep a drain upsets the brain: 
       Drink, drink—­but draw it mild!