Chapter XXV: Canto XXIII

From this eerie witch-menage
To the valley down we went,
And once more our feet took hold
On the good and solid Earth.

Spectres hence! Hence, gibbering masks!
Shapes of air and fever-dreams!--
Once again, most sensibly
Let us deal with Atta Troll.

In the cavern with his young
Bruin lies in slumber wrapt,
Snoring like an honest soul,
Then he stretches, yawns and wakes.

And young One-Ear crouches down
At his side, his head he rakes
Like a poet seeking rhymes,
And upon his paws he scans.

Close beside the father lie
Atta Troll's belovèd girls,
Pure, four-footed lilies they,
Stretched in dreams upon their backs.

Ah, what tender thoughts must glow
In the budding souls of these
Snow-white virgin bearesses
With their soft and dewy eyes?

And the youngest of them all
Seems most deeply stirred. Her heart,
Smitten by Dan Cupid's shaft,
Quivers with a blissful throe.

Yea, this godling's arrow pierced
Through and through her furry pelt
When she saw him first--Oh, heavens!
'Tis a mortal man she loves!

Man it is--Schnapphahnski named,
Who one day in mad retreat
Passed her as she wandered through
The dim passes of the hills.

Woes of heroes move the fair,
And within our hero's face,
Quite as usual, sorrow lowered,
Pallid care and money-need.

Spent were all his funds of war!
Two-and-twenty silver groats
Taken unto Spain by him
Espartero seized as spoil.

Aye, his very watch was gone!
This in Pampeluna's pawnshop
Lay in bondage. 'Twas a rich
Heirloom all of silver made.

Little thought he as he ran
On his long legs through the woods,
He had won a greater thing
Than a fight--a loving heart!

Yes, she loves him--him the born
Enemy of bears she loves!
Hapless maid! If but your sire
Knew it--oh! what rage were his!

Just like Odoardo old
Who in honest burgess-pride
Stabbed Emilia Galotti--
Even so would Atta Troll

Rather slay his darling lass,
Slay her with his proper paws,
Than that she should ever sink
Even into princely arms!

Yet in this same moment he
Is as softly moved--"no rose
Would he pluck before the storm
Reft it of its petals fair."

Atta Troll in saddest mood
Lies within his rocky cave.
Like Death's warning o'er him creeps
Hunger for infinity.

"Children!" then he sobs, the tears
Burst from out his mournful eyes,--
"Children! soon my earthly days
Shall be ended--we must part.

"Unto me this very noon
Came a dream of import vast,
And my soul drank in the sweet
Sense of early death-to-be.

"Superstitious am I not,
Nor fantastic--ah, and yet
More things lie 'twixt Earth and Heaven
Than philosophy may dream.

"Pondering on the world and fate,
Yawning I had dropped asleep,
And I dreamed that I was lying
Stretched beneath a mighty tree.

"From the branches of this tree
White celestial honey dripped
Straight into my open jaws,
Filling me with wondrous bliss.

"Peering happily aloft
Soon I spied within the leaves
Seven pretty little bears
Gliding up and down the boughs.

"Delicate and dainty things,
All with pelts of rosy hue,
And their heavenly voices rang
Like a melody of flutes!

"As they sang an icy chill
Seized my flesh, although my soul
Like a flame went soaring straight
Gleaming into highest Heaven."

Thus with soft and quivering grunts,
Spake our Atta Troll, then grew
Silent in his wistful grief.
Suddenly his ears he raised,

And in strangest wise they twitched!
Then from up his couch he sprang
Trembling, bellowing with joy:
"Children! do you hear that voice!

"Are not those the dulcet tones
Of your mother? Do I not
My dear Mumma's grumbles know?--
Mumma! Mumma! precious mate!"

Like a madman with these words
From the cave rushed Atta Troll
Swift to his destruction--oh!
To his ruin straight he plunged.