Page:Poetry of the Magyars.djvu/158

52 THE FROGS.

Brekeke, brekeke!

Koax, too-oo!

Brekeke, koax—brekeke, too-oo!

Brekeke, brekeke, brekeke,

Brekeke, brekeke, brekeke, brekeke;

Koax, koax—too-oo, too-oo;

Brekeke, too-oo!

Brekeke, brekeke!

'Tis the dawn of delight to the sons of the pond;

From its green bed they look to the bright moon beyond.

Brekeke, brekeke,

Koax, too-oo;

Koax, koax—too-oo, too-oo! The thunderer made us the favorites of Heaven;

'Neath the green-vaulted wave how we thrive and have thriven!

All honor and praise to his wisdom be given.

Brekeke, brekeke, brekeke;

Koax, koax—too-oo, too-oo!

In ages departed,

Our home was the sky;

But hot Phoebus darted

His rays from on high;