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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