Do not wrong my virtue, pray!

"'Other bards may boast of soul, Others phantasy--and some Of their pa.s.sion--Swabians have Nothing but their innocence.

"'Nothing else do we possess!

Do not rob me of my pure, Most religious beggar's cloak,-- Naked else my soul must go!'

"Thus I spoke, whereat the hag Smiled with hideous irony, Seized a switch of mistletoe, Smote me over brow and cheek.

"Chilly spasms seized me then Just as if a goose's skin Crept across my limbs--but oh!

This was worse than goose's-skin!

"It was nothing more nor less Than a dog-pelt! Since that hour, That accursed hour, I've lived Changed into a lumpy pug!"

Luckless wight! his piteous sobs Now denied him further speech, And so bitterly he wept That he half dissolved in tears.

"Hark!" I spoke in pity then, "Tell me how you might be freed From this dog-skin. How may I Give you back to muse and man?"

In despair, disconsolate, Then he raised his paws in air, And with sobs and groans at length Thus his mournful plaint he made:

"Not before the Judgment Day Shall I shed this horrid form, If no n.o.ble virgin come To absolve me of the curse.

"None can free me save a maid, Pure, untouched by any man, And she must fulfil a pact Most inexorable--thus:

"Such unspotted maiden must In Sylvester's holy night Read the verse of Gustav Pfizer, Read it and not fall asleep!

"If her chaste eyes do not close At the reading--then, O bliss!

I shall disenchanted be, Breathe as man--unpugged at last!"

"In that case, alas," said I, "Never may I undertake Your salvation, for you see, First I am no spotless maid,

"And, still more impossible, Secondly, I ne'er could read Any one of Pfizer's poems And not fall asleep at once."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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 beloved 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 G.o.dling'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 Pa.s.sed her as she wandered through The dim pa.s.ses 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 p.a.w.nshop 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 la.s.s, 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.

"Superst.i.tious 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.