XXXIII

3 0 00

XXXIII

From the moist cork the bottle freed

With loud explosion, the bright wine

Hissed forth. With serious air indeed,

Long tortured by his lay divine,

Triquet arose, and for the bard

The company deep silence guard.

Tania well nigh expired when he

Turned to her and discordantly

Intoned it, manuscript in hand.

Voices and hands applaud, and she

Must bow in common courtesy;

The poet, modest though so grand,

Drank to her health in the first place,

Then handed her the song with grace.