THE TOADS [All together, at the base of the tree to which they form a crawling, writhing girdle.] The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!

THE NIGHTINGALE
—­And make of both a Villanelle!

THE TOADS
We welter in malignity!

THE NIGHTINGALE
The while they fume beneath my tree I fill with song the enchanted dell—­

THE TOADS The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we! [And the Villanelle proceeds, sung by the alternate voices, one of which, ever higher and more enraptured, carries the song proper, and the others, ever angrier and lower, the burden of the song.]

THE NIGHTINGALE and THE TOADS, alternately
  I sing! for Wind, that harper free,
  And music bubbling from the well—­
  —­We welter in malignity!—­

  And fragrance floating from the lea,
  Of meadow-sweet and pimpernel—­
  —­The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!—­

  And Luna showering ecstasy,
  All weave so wonderful a spell—­
  —­We welter in malignity!—­

  Its melting magic moveth me
  The secret of my heart to tell! 
  —­The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we!—­

  Within my heart all sympathy,
  Within mine eye all visions dwell—­
  —­We welter in malignity!—­

  Life, Death, I turn to rhapsody,
  Who am the deathless Philomel! 
  —­The Toads, croak! croak! the Toads are we,
  Who welter in malignity!

CHANTECLER
Beside those heavenly pipes, ah, me! my voice is Punchinello’s squeak! 
Sing on!  Sing on!  The Croakers are in retreat.

THE TOADS
[Retreating, overcome by the conquering song.] Croak! croak!

CHANTECLER Their fate to seethe in the cauldron of a witch!  But you, the creatures of the forest come to slake the thirst of their hearts at your song.  See them creeping to the lure—­

THE TOADS
[From the underbrush.] Croak! croak!

CHANTECLER
A doe, look! tiptoeing on delicate hoofs, followed by a wolf who has
forgotten to be a wolf—­

THE TOADS
[Lost among the grass.] Croak!

CHANTECLER
The squirrel steals down from the lofty tree-tops.  The whole vast forest
is stirred by a thrill of brotherliness.

THE TOADS
[Out of sight.]—­roak!

CHANTECLER
The echo alone now repeats—­

FAINT DISTANT VOICE
—­oak!

CHANTECLER
Gone!  Gone are the Toads!

[Music holds the night:  a song without words, delicate volleys of rapturous notes.]

CHANTECLER The Glow-worms have lighted their small, green lamps.  All that is good comes forth, while hate shrinks back to its lair.  Now they that shall be eaten lay themselves down in the grass by the side of them that shall eat them.  The Star of a sudden looks nearer to earth, and forsaking her web the Spider draws herself up toward your song, climbing by her own silken thread.