HOOPOE Through the leafy curls of the woodbine sweet The pure sound mounts to the heavenly seat, And Phoebus, lord of the golden hair, As he lists to thy wild plaint echoing there, Draws answering strains from his ivoried lyre, Till he stirs the dance of the heavenly choir, And calls from the blessed lips on high Of immortal Gods, a divine reply To the tones of thy witching melody. The sound of a flute is heard within, imitating the nightingale’s song.
EUELPIDES O Zeus and King, the little birdie’s voice! O how its sweetness honied all the copse!
PEISTHETAERUS Hi!
EUELPIDES Well?
PEISTHETAERUS Keep quiet.
EUELPIDES Why?
PEISTHETAERUS The Hoopoe here Is going to favour us with another song.
HOOPOE (The Bird-call by the Hoopoe and Nightingale conjointly; the Nightingale’s song being imitated, as before, by the flute.)
HOOPOE Whoop-ho! Whoop-ho! Whoop-hoop-hoop-hoop-hoop-ho! Hoi! Hoi! Hoi! Come, come, come, come, come! (The land-birds.) Come hither any bird with plumage like my own; Come hither ye that batten on the acres newly sown, On the acres by the farmer neatly sown; And the myriad tribes that feed on the barley and the seed, The tribes that lightly fly, giving out a gentle cry; And ye who round the clod, in the furrow-riven sod, With voices sweet and low, twitter flitter to and fro, Singing, tío, tio, tío, tiotinx; And ye who in the gardens a pleasant harvest glean, Lurking in the branches of the ivy ever green; And ye who top the mountains with gay and airy flight; And ye who in the olive and the arbutus delight; Come hither one and all, come flying to our call, Triotó, triotó, totobrinx. (The marsh-birds.) Ye that snap up the gnats, shrilly voiced, Mid the deep water-glens of the fens, Or on Marathon’s expanse haunt the lea, fair to see, Or career o’er the swamps, dewy-moist,
HOOPOE And the bird with the gay mottled plumes, come away, Francolin! Francolin! come away! (The sea-birds.) Ye with the halcyons flitting delightedly Over the surge of the infinite Sea, Come to the great Revolution awaiting us, Hither, come hither, come hither to me. Hither, to listen to wonderful words, Hither we summon the taper-necked birds. - For hither has come a shrewd old file, Such a deep old file, such a sharp old file, His thoughts are new, new deeds he’ll do, Come here, and confer with this shrewd old file. Come hither! Come hither! Come hither! Toro-toro-toro-torotinx! Kikkabau, Kikkabau! Toro-toro-toro-toro-lililinx!
PEISTHETAERUS See any bird?
EUELPIDES By Apollo no, not I, Though up I gaze with mouth and eyes wide open.
PEISTHETAERUS Methinks the Hoopoe played the lapwing’s trick,
Cite This Text