Le grillon.

Beside the hearth, the embers stirring,
Dreams vaguely to my mind recurring,
Sing with me, little Cricket—Time
Steals o'er me, yet I still would rhyme.
 Nay, little Cricket, nay, never fear;
 Let not the world trouble us here!

There's nought between our lives to choose:
Thy voice can infancy amuse;
Mine charm at eve the full-grown man,
The soldier, peasant, artisan
 Nay, little Cricket, nay, never fear;
 Let not the world trouble us here!

But, hidden in thy form so strange,
Doth not a spirit this way range,
Who's spying if some darling sin
Here the old hermit dare let in?
 Nay, little Cricket, nay, never fear;
 Let not the world trouble us here!

Or dost thou not perchance obey,
As sylph or page, some gentle Fay,
Who bids thee learn, observing me,
If hearts grown old of use can be?
 Nay, little Cricket, nay, never fear;
 Let not the world trouble us here!

No? then in thee to life I'd raise
Some author, who in by-gone days
Watching in garret to behold
One ray of glory, starved with cold
 Nay, little Cricket, nay, never fear;
 Let not the world trouble us here!

Professors, tribunes, men of sects—
And authors chiefly—each expects
To shine—God help them each in turn—
For glory these poor insects burn!
 Nay, little Cricket, nay, never fear;
 Let not the world trouble us here!

Glory! they're fools who think they need it—
The sage won't condescend to heed it:
In snug retreat, 'tis bliss indeed,
To hoard our love, our lyre, our creed.
 Nay, little Cricket, nay, never fear;
 Let not the world trouble us here!

There Envy leers, in threats abounding;
Death to the name she hears resounding!
So small, in short, the world is grown,
We need therein small space alone.
 Nay, little Cricket, nay, never fear;
 Let not the world trouble us here!

Ah! then, if right in my surmise,
Laugh at the lot thou once couldst prize:
What in celebrity we gain,
Unshackled, we can scarce retain
 Nay, little Cricket, nay, never fear;
 Let not the world trouble us here!

In chimney corner, at our ease,
Each cheering each with songs like these,
To live forgotten be our prayer,
Thou in thy hole, I on my chair!
 Nay, little Cricket, nay, never fear;
 Let not the world trouble us here!