Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 482, March 26, 1831», sayfa 5

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TRUTH

Friend, Truth is best of all. It is the bed
Where Virtue e'er must spring, till blast of doom;
Where every bright and budding thought is bred,
Where Hope doth gain its strength, and Love its bloom.

As white as Chastity is single Truth,
Like Wisdom calm, like Honour without end;
And Love doth lean on it, in age and youth,
And Courage is twice arm'd with Truth its friend.

Oh! who would face the blame of just men's eyes,
And bear the fame of falsehood all his days,
And wear out scorned life with useless lies,
Which still the shifting, quivering look betrays?

For what is Hope, if Truth be not its stay?
And what were Love, if Truth forsook it quite?
And what were all the Sky,—if Falsehood gray
Behind it like a Dream of Darkness lay,
Ready to quench its stars in endless, endless night?

New Monthly Magazine.

SCENE FROM "THE FROGS OF ARISTOPHANES"

Translated in the Quarterly Review

We are not at present breathing the air either of Christ Church meadow or Trinity gardens; and if our version of a piece of mere pleasantry, which involves nothing in it beyond a moment's laugh, should be so happy as to satisfy the 'general reader,' we shall affect 'for the nonce,' to know nothing of the objections which more scientific persons, the students of the brilliant Hermann, and acute Reisigius, might be supposed to make to our arrangement of this little extravaganza.

Scene, the Acherusian Lake. BACCHUS at the oar in Charon's Boat; CHARON;—CHORUS OF FROGS; in the background a view of Bacchus's Temple or Theatre, from which are heard the sound of a scenical entertainment.

Semi-chorus. Croak, croak, croak.
Semi-chorus. Croak, croak, croak.

(In answer, and with the music an octave lower.)

Full Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.

LEADER of the Chorus. When¹ flagons were foaming,
And roisterers were 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?
Rather strike on the ear
With a note strong and clear,
A chant corresponding of—

Chorus. Croak, croak.

BACCHUS (mimicking.) Croak, croak, by the gods I shall choke,
If you pester and bore my ears any more
With your croak, croak, croak.

LEADER. Rude companion and vain,
Thus to carp at my strain;
(To Chor) But keep in the vein,
And attack him again
With a croak, croak, croak.

Chorus (crescendo.) Croak, croak, croak.

BACCHUS (mimicking.) Croak, croak, vapour and smoke,
Never think it, old Huff,
That I care for such stuff,
As your croak, croak, croak.

Chorus (fortissimo.) Croak, croak, croak.

BACCHUS. Now fires light on thee,
And waters soak;
And March winds catch thee
Without any cloak.
For within and without,
From the tail to the snout,
Thou'rt nothing but croak, croak, croak.

LEADER. And what else, captious Newcomer, say, should I be?
But you know not to whom you are talking, I see:
(With dignity) I'm the friend of the Muses, and Pan with his pipe,
Holds me dearer by far than a cherry that's ripe:
For the reed and the cane which his music supply,
Who gives them their tone and their moisture but I?
And therefore for ever I'll utter my cry
Of—

Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.

BACCHUS. I'm blister'd, I'm fluster'd, I'm sick, I'm ill—

Chorus. Croak, croak.

BACCHUS. My dear little bull-frog, do prithee be still.
'Tis a sorry vocation—that reiteration,
(I speak on, my honour, most musical nation,)
Of croak, croak.

LEADER (maestoso.) When the sun rides in glory and makes a bright day,
Mid lilies and plants of the water I stray;
Or when the sky darkens with tempest and rain,
I sink like a pearl in my watery domain:
Yet, sinking or swimming. I lift up a song,
Or I drive a gay dance with my eloquent throng,
Then hey bubble, bubble—
For a knave's petty trouble,
Shall I my high charter and birth-right revoke?
Nay, my efforts I'll double,
And drive him like stubbie
Before me, with—

Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.

BACCHUS. I'm ribs of steel, I'm heart of oak,
Let us see if a note
May be found in this throat
To answer their croak, croak, croak.

(Croaks loudly.)

LEADER. Poor vanity's son—
And dost think me outdone,
With a clamour no bigger
Than a maiden's first snigger?
(To Chorus) But strike up a tune,
He shall not forget soon

(Chorus.) Of our croak, croak, croak,

(Croak, with a discordant crash of music.)

BACCHUS. I'm cinder, I'm coke,
I have had my death-stroke;
O, that ever I woke
To be gall'd by the yoke
Of this croak, croak, croak, croak.

LEADER. Friend, friend, I may not be still:
My destinies high I must needs fulfil,
And the march of creation—despite reprobation
Must proceed with—(To Chor.) my lads, must I make application
For a—

Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.

BACCHUS (in a minor key.) Nay, nay—take your own way,
I've said out my say,
And care naught, by my fai',
For your croak, croak, croak.

LEADER. Care or care not, 'tis the same thing to me,
My voice is my own and my actions are free;
I have but one note, and I'll chant it with glee,
And from morning to night that note it shall be—

Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.

BACCHUS. Nay then, old rebel, but I'll stop your treble,
With a poke, poke, poke:
Take this from my rudder—(dashing at the frogs)—and that from my oar,
And now let us see if you'll trouble us more
With your croak, croak, croak.

LEADER. You may batter and bore,
You may thunder and roar,
Yet I'll never give o'er
Till I'm hard at death's door,
—(This rib's plaguy sore)—

Semi-chorus With my croak, croak, croak.

Semi-chorus (diminuendo.) With my croak, croak, croak.

Full Chorus (in a dying cadence.) With my
croak—croak—croak.

(The Frogs disappear)

BACCHUS (looking over the boat's edge.)
Spoke, spoke, spoke.
(To Charon.) Pull away, my old friend,
For at last there's an end
To their croak, croak, croak.

(Bacchus pays his two obols, and is landed)

NOTES OF A READER

LAYING A GHOST

In the Memoirs of J.F. Oberlin, Pastor of a poor Protestant flock, in one of the wildest parts of France, we find the following pleasant recipe for laying a ghost:—

An honest tradesman, relying on the power of his faith, came to him one day, and after a long introduction, informed him, that a ghost, habited in the dress of an ancient knight, frequently presented itself before him, and awakened hopes of a treasure buried in his cellar; he had often, he said, followed it, but had always been so much alarmed by a fearful noise, and a dog which he fancied he saw, that the effort had proved fruitless, and he had returned as he went. This alarm on the one hand, and the hope of acquiring riches on the other, so entirely absorbed his mind, that he could no longer apply to his trade with his former industry, and had, in consequence, lost nearly all his custom. He therefore urgently begged Oberlin would go to his house, and conjure the ghost, for the purpose of either putting him in possession of the treasure, or of discontinuing its visits. Oberlin replied, that he did not trouble himself with the conjuration of ghosts, and endeavoured to weaken the notion of an apparition in the man's mind, exhorting him at the same time to seek for worldly wealth by application to his business, prayer, and industry. Observing, however, that his efforts were unavailing, he promised to comply with the man's request. On arriving at midnight at the tradesman's house, he found him in company with his wife and several female relations, who still affirmed that they had seen the apparition. They were seated in a circle in the middle of the apartment. Suddenly the whole company turned pale, and the man exclaimed, "Do you see, sir, the count is standing opposite to you?"

"I see nothing."

"Now, sir," exclaimed another terrified voice, "he is advancing towards you?"

"I still do not see him."

"Now he is standing just behind your chair."

"And yet I cannot see him; but, as you say he is so near me, I will speak to him." And then rising from his seat, and turning towards the corner where they said that he stood, he continued, "Sir Count, they tell me you are standing before me, although I cannot see you; but this shall not prevent me from informing you that it is scandalous conduct on your part, by the fruitless promise of a hidden treasure, to lead an honest man, who has hitherto faithfully followed his calling, into ruin—to induce him to neglect his business—and to bring misery upon his wife and children, by rendering him improvident and idle. Begone! and delude them no longer with such vain hopes."

Upon this the people assured him that the ghost vanished at once. Oberlin went home, and the poor man, taking the hint which in his address to the count he had intended to convey, applied to business with his former alacrity, and never again complained of his nocturnal visiter.

No ghost was ever more easily laid; but supposing the story to be accurately related, Oberlin's presence of mind is not more remarkable, than that the whole company should have concurred in affirming that they saw an apparition which was invisible to him.

1.The comic performances of the Athenians were usually brought out at a festival of Bacchus, which lasted for three days. The first of these was devoted to the tapping of their wine-casks; the second to boundless jollity (Plato specifies a town, but not Athens, every single inhabitant of which was found in a state of intoxication on one of these festivals,) and the third to theatrical exhibitions in the temple of the patron of the feast. In this state of excitement it will be easily imagined that some coarser ingredients were required by the clever but licentious rabble of Athens, to whom these representations were more particularly addressed, besides the better commodities of rich poetry and wit; and hence the deformities which have been so much complained of in the writings of Aristophanes.