Classic Poem

CAPUTX

Pushing forward on all fours,
Savage, fierce, a pair of figures
Force a pathway, pioneering
Through the forest-depths at midnight.

It is Atta Troll, the father,
With his youngest son, Sir One-Ear.
Where the moonlight glimmers faintly
By the stone of blood they halt.

" Once this stone, " growls Atta Troll,
" Was the altar where the Druids
In an age of superstition
Offered human sacrifices.

" Oh, the ghastly, gruesome horror!
Why, my hair, uprising, bristles
On my back to think that ever
God was glorified by murder!

" Grown toward a clearer vision.
It is true that men no longer
Slay each other, fiercely zealous
In the interests of heaven.

" 'Tis no more a dream fantastic,
Foolish frenzy, fond delusion:
'Tis the love of self constrains them
Now to homicide and slaughter.

" After worldly wealth and treasure
Now they strive as for a wager,
Each purloining and amassing
In an endless brawl and scuffle.

" Yes, the earth we all inherit
Has been seized by private plunder.
And the thief discourses blandly
On the rights of private owners.

" Rights of property, forsooth!
Oh, the robbers and the liars!
None but man could have invented
Craft and folly so compounded.

" 'Twas no paltry private owner
Made the earth that we inhabit;
Never yet was mortal born
With a pocket in his skin.

" None was ever born provided
With a little bag at birth
In his body's outer garment,
For concealing what he pilfered.

" Only man, the smooth, the furless,
Who so artfully has clothed him
In the wool of other creatures,
Had the art to plan a pocket.

" As unnatural are pockets
As the ownership they further:
As the right to stolen treasure —
Man's a pocket-picking knave.

" Oh, my hate is deep and burning!
I bequeath to thee my hatred.
Oh, my son, upon this altar
Swear eternal hate to man!

" Be the mortal foe, I charge thee:
Foe implacable and deadly:
Of the wicked, vile oppressors.
Swear it, swear it, O my son! "

So, like Hannibal, the stripling
Swore the oath. The moon shone yellow
On the grisly stone of slaughter
And the misanthropic couple.

How the youthful bear unbroken
Kept his solemn oath we'll tell you,
To his praise another epic
On our lyre anon entuning.

As for Atta Troll, him also
We will turn from now, that later
We may find him all the surer
With the death-bestowing bullet.

Thou hast come to the conclusion
Of thy brief against the glory
Of humanity; to-morrow
As a traitor thou shalt perish.