The sweet sparkling river
Comes rolling to meet them;
They'll treat the musicians
More handsomely, far,
Than their masters of old.

It is not the rushing
Of furious whirlwinds,
Not Mother Earth shaking-- 480
'Tis shouting and singing
And swearing and fighting
And falling and kissing--
The people's carouse!
It seems to the peasants
That all in the village
Was reeling around them!
That even the church
With the very tall, steeple
Had swayed once or twice! 490

When things are in this state,
A man who is sober
Feels nearly as awkward
As one who is naked....

The peasants recrossing
The market-place, quitted
The turbulent village
At evening's approach.