Gustav Holst

(Rig Veda, 8, 103)

Throughout the summer they were lying,

Their skins were scorching in the sun,

Now the rain hath wakened their voices,

Their singing hath begun,

And welcoming each other,

They rise and quench their thirst.

And one repeats another’s greeting,

In courtly words polite and mild,

As a scholar learning a lesson,

A father teaching his child.

With eloquence and wisdom

They swell and seem to burst.

“Brothers rise and join the throng

Our throats are moist and ripe for song.

So pray you bellow like a cow,

Or bleat like goat, or grunt like sow.”

Like Brahmans sitting round the altar,

Who loudly talk of holy rite,

Round the pool the frogs are ranging

With speech and song and fight.

Their year-long vow of silence

Hath ended with the Rain.

The joyous earth is now reviving,

The trees and flowers now arise,

And our hearts go forth in gladness

To greet the noisy cries.

The singing of the Frogs

Hath brought wealth to us again.

“Brothers rise and join the throng

Our throats are moist and ripe for song.

So pray you bellow like a cow,

Or bleat like goat, or grunt like sow.”