VADIUS.

Just so;

"Twas read at a party a few nights ago.

Dear sir, I am sorry to differ from you:
But I hold that its merit must every one strike.

VADIUS.

May Heaven preserve me from making the like!

TRISSOTIN.

I maintain that a better the world cannot show;
For I am the author

You?

yes, I, you must know.

Well, I can't think how this came to pass.

TRISSOTIN.

I had the bad luck not to please you, alas!

VADIUS.

No doubt there was something distracted my head,
Or else the man spoiled it, so badly he read;
But here is my ballad, concerning which — Í —

TRISSOTIN.

I

The days of the ballad, methinks, are gone by; 'Tis very old-fashioned and out of date quite.

VADIUS.

Yet, even now, many in ballads delight.

TRISSOTIN.

No matter; I think them decidedly flat.

VADIUS.

You think them! Perhaps they're no worse, sir, for that.

TRISSOTIN.

For pedants, indeed, they have charms beyond measure.

VADIUS.

And yet we perceive that they give you no pleasure.

TRISSOTIN.

You give others qualities found but in you.

(They all rise.)

VADIUS.

You call others names that are justly your due.

TRISSOTIN.

Go, blotter of foolscap

contemptible creature!

VADIUS.

Go, scribbler of sonnets, and butcher of metre !

Good Lord, sirs, what are you about?

TRISSOTIN.

Go, go, strip your writings of each borrowed plume; Let the Greeks and the Latins their beauties resume.

VADIUS.

Go, you, and ask pardon of Venus and Bacchus
For your lame imitations of jolly old Flaccus.

TRISSOTIN.

Remember your book's insignificant sale.

VADIUS.

Remember your bookseller driven to jail.

TRISSOTIN.

My fame is established; you slander in vain.

VADIUS.

Yes, go to the author of satires again.

Go, yourself.

TRISSOTIN,

VADIUS.

With the greatest of pleasure I'd go.

He treats me with honor, as all people know.
He mentions me once, in the course of his sport,
As one of some authors in favor at court.

But he never once leaves you alone in his verses:
You are always the butt upon which he rehearses.

Exactly

TRISSOTIN.

then I am more honored by far. He puts you in the crowd, like a wretch, as you are; He thinks by one blow you are easily slain, Nor does you the honor to strike you again; But he seeks me alone, as an enemy rare, 'Gainst whom he must bring every effort to bear: And his blows, still repeated, convincingly show He is never quite sure to have vanquished his foe.

VADIUS.

My pen shall soon prove me

-

TRISSOTIN.

to your great disaster.

And mine shall soon let you know who is your master.

I defy you in verse,

VADIUS.

prose, Latin, and Greek!

TRISSOTIN.

You shall hear from me, sir, in the course of the week. (Exit Vadius.)

THE CONTRABANDIST.

From George Sand, Knickerbooker, 1840.
Scene: A banquet in a garden.

CHORUS OF REVELLERS.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Let us strike the full goblets again and again,
Till their roseate lips shall be shattered in twain;
Come, wind of the evening, from balm-breathing bowers,
And strew on our foreheads the sweet orange flowers;
Let us drink to the day that unites us once more,
At the time-honored home of our sires of yore!
Brothers and friends, rejoice!

CASTELLAN.

Come, friend of my childhood, come servitor mine,
And fill me a goblet of generous wine!

Those hands that have guided my steps when a child,
Must support me again, ere this night shall be o'er;
And when I am stammering, wine-overcome,

I shall then seem thy master no more; And to me thou wilt say, as thou often hast said, 'My child, it is time to retire to thy bed.'

CHORUS OF REVELLERS.

Fill up, fill up the merry wassail cup!
Free, free be the red wine poured!
For the servant good who so long hath stood
By the side of his noble lord!

Let his wrinkled brow grow joyous now!
Let him yield his spirit up

To the power divine of the god of wine,
Who smiles in the mantling cup!

'Tis Bacchus fair that lurketh there,
The fairest of gods is he:

Yes, even Cupid is a sluggard stupid,
Compared with the wine-god free.

Drink, drink old man, till thy gray-haired age
Hath vanished and fled away,

And thou art as young as the youngest page,
Who now doth thy word obey.

That thy lord may be, when deprived of thee,
Unable his couch to find,

And with us may stay, till the dawn of day,
Like a generous host, and kind.

A GUEST.

And why dost thou, my charming fair,
Refuse our revelry to share?

Why dost thou take such scanty sips

As hardly wet thy rosy lips?

Come, fill thy goblet brimming high!
For if thou dost not drink as I,

In truth I shall begin to fear

I am to thee no longer dear;

And that thou shun'st the red wine's flow,
Lest it should make thee tell me so!

CHORUS OF REVELLERS.

Drink, wives and sisters, drink with us,
And join us in our lay.

For Bacchus only those betrays,
Who would all else betray.
'Tis he unveils the hearts of men,

Like the trump of the judgment day:
The liar's words he falsifies,

And the truth of the true makes clear;
So ye who have no wicked thoughts,
Unmeet for friends to hear,

Let fall your words confidingly,
Without a shade of fear;

As the crystal drops in early spring,
At Sol's all-powerful will,

Start forth adown the ice-bound cliffs,
In many a limpid rill.

CHORUS OF WOMEN.

Yes, we will drink and sing with you,
Nor shun the red wine flowing;
For we have nothing in our hearts,
That we should fear your knowing;
And if we say too much to-night,
"Twill be no cause of sorrow;
For well we know that none of you
Will think of it to-morrow!

OMNES.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Let us strike the full goblet again and again,
Till their roseate lips shall be shattered in twain:
Come, wind of the evening, from balm-breathing bowers,
And strew on our foreheads the sweet orange flowers!
This, this is the day that unites us once more,
At the time-honored home of our sires of yore:

Let one and all rejoice!

A GUEST.

I fear that the uproar of all our voices together, may intoxicate us sooner than the wine. Let us suffer the jolly god to take possession of us slowly, and gradually to infuse into our veins his genial influence. Let the youngest of us sing some popular air, and we will repeat the chorus only.