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heir sire In the twilight dim and cool. Gladly there the father bear Tells them stories of the world, Of strange cities and their folk, And of all he suffered too, Suffered like Ulysses great-- Differing slightly from this brave Since his black Penelope Never parted from his side. Loudly too prates Atta Troll Of the mighty meed of praise Which by practice of his art He had wrung from humankind. Young and old, so runs his tale, Cheered in wonder and in joy, When in market-squares he danced To the bag-pipe's pleasant skirl. And the ladies most of all-- Ah, what gentle connoisseurs!-- Rendered him their mad applause And full many a tender glance. Artists' vanity! Alas, Pensively the dancing-bear Thinks upon those happy hours When his talents pleased the crowd. Seized with rapture self-inspired, He would prove his words by deeds, Prove himself no boaster vain But a master in the art. Swiftly from the ground he springs, Stands on hinder paws erect, Dances then his favourite dance As of old--the great Gavotte. Dumb, with open jaws the cubs Gaze upon their father there As he makes his wondrous leaps In the moonshine to and fro. [Illustration] CANTO V In his cavern by his young, Atta Troll in moody wise Lies upon his back and sucks Fiercely at his paws, and growls: "Mumma, Mumma, dusky pearl That from out the sea of life I had gathered, in that sea I have lost thee once again! "Shall I never see thee more? Shall it be beyond the grave Where from earthly travail free Thy bright spirit spreads its wings? "Ah, if I might once again Lick my darling Mumma's snout-- Lovely snout as dear to me As if smeared with honey-dew. "Might I only sniff once more That aroma sweet and rare Of my dear and dusky mate-- Scent as sweet as roses' breath! "But, alas! my Mumma lies In the bondage of that tribe Which believes itself Creation's Lords and bears the name of Man! "Death! Damnation! that these men-- Cursed arch-aristocrats! Should with haughty insolence Look upon the world of beasts! "They who steal our wives and young, Cha
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