Chapter XXVIII: Canto XXVI

What of Mumma? Mumma, ah!
Is a woman. Frailty
Is her name! Alas, that women
Should be frail as porcelain!

Now when Fate had parted her
From her great and noble mate,
Did she perish of her woe,
Sinking into hopeless gloom?

Nay, contrarywise, she lived
Merrily as ever--danced
For the public as before,
Eager for their plaudits too.

And at last a splendid place
And support for all her days
Was procured for her in Paris
At the old Jardin-des-Plantes.

There, last Sunday as I strolled
Through that place with Juliet,
Baring Nature's realms to her--
Animal and vegetable,--

Tall giraffes, and cedars brought
Out of Lebanon, the huge
Dromedary, golden pheasants,
And the zebra;--chatting thus,--

We at last stood still and leaned
O'er the rampart of that pit
Where the bears are safely penned--
Heavens! what a sight we saw!

There a huge bear from the wastes
Of Siberia, snowy-white,
Dallied in a love-feast sweet
With a she-bear small and dark.

This was Mumma! This, alas,
Was the mate of Atta Troll!
Well I knew her by the soft
Glances of her dewy eye.

It was she! the daughter dark
Of the Southland! Mumma lives
With a Russian now; she lives
With this savage of the North!

Smirking spake a negro then,
Coming up with stealthy pace:
"Could there be a fairer sight
Than a pair of lovers, say?"

Then I answered him: "Pray, who
Honours me by this address?"
Whereupon he cried amazed:
"Have you quite forgotten me?

"Why I am that Moorish prince
Who beat drums in Freiligrath--
Times were bad--in Germany
I was lonely and forlorn.

"Now as keeper I'm employed
In this garden,--here I find
All the flowers of my native
Tropics,--lions, tigers, too.

"Here I feel content and gay,
Better than at German fairs,
Where each day I beat the drum
And was fed but scantily.

"Late in wedlock was I bound
To a blonde Alsatian cook,
And within her arms I feel
All my native joys again!

"And her feet remind me ever
Of my blessèd elephants,
And her French has quite the ring
Of my sable mother-tongue.

"When she coughs, the rattle fierce
Moves me of that famous drum
Which, bedecked with human skulls,
Drove the snakes and lions far.

"But when moonlight charms her mood,
Like a crocodile she weeps,
Which from out some luke-warm stream
Lifts to gape in cooler air.

"And she cooks me dainty bits.
See, I thrive! I feed again
As upon the Niger I
Fed with gusto African!

"Mark the nicely rounded paunch
I possess! Behold it peeps
From my shirt like some black moon
Stealing forth from whitest clouds."