Illustration]

CANTO II

When the dusky Moorish Prince
Sung by poet Freiligrath
Beat upon his mighty drum
Till the drumskin crashed and broke--

Thrilling must that crash have been--
Likewise hard upon the ear--
But just fancy when a bear
Breaks away from captive chains!

Swift the laughter and the pipes
Cease. What yells of fear arise!
From the square the people rush
And the gentle dames grow pale.

Yea, from all his slavish bonds
Atta Troll has torn him free.
Suddenly! With mighty leaps
Through the narrow streets he runs.

Room enough is his, I trow!
Up the jagged cliffs he climbs,
Flings down one contemptuous look,
Then is lost within the hills.

Lone within the market-place
Mumma and her master stand--
Raging, now he grasps his hat,
Cursing, casts it on the earth,

Tramples on it, kicks and flouts
The Madonnas, tears the cloak
Off his foul and naked back,
Yells and blasphemes horribly

'Gainst the base ingratitude
Of the race of sable bears.
Had he not been kind to Troll?
Taught him dancing free of charge?

Everything this monster owed him,
Even life. For some had bid,
All in vain! three hundred marks
For the hide of Atta Troll.

Like some carven form of grief
There the poor black Mumma stands
On her hind feet, with her paws
Pleading with the raging clown.

But on her the raging clown
Looses now his twofold wrath;
Beats her; calls her Queen Christine,
Dame Munoz--Putana too....

All this happened on a fair
Sunny summer afternoon.
And the night which followed, ah!
Was superb and wonderful.

Of that night a part I spent
On a small white balcony;
Juliet was at my side
And we viewed the passing stars.

"Fairer far," she sighed, "the stars
Which in Paris I have seen,
When upon a winter's night
In the muddy streets they shine."

[Illustration]

CANTO III

Dream of summer nights! How vain
Is my fond fantastic song.
Quite as vain as Love and Life,
And Creator and Creation.

Subject to his own sweet will,
Now in gallop, now in flight,
So my Pegasus, my darling,
Revels through the realms of myth.

Ah, no plodding car