Classic Poem

CAPUTXXIV

In the Vale of Roncesvalles,
On the spot where once the nephew
Of King Charlemagne in battle
Fell and yielded up his spirit;

Fell and perished Atta Troll:
Fell by treason, as that other
Fell by Ganelon of Mainz
Who gave Chivalry its Judas.

What, alas! in bears is noblest —
Faithful conjugal affection —
Was the snare by which Uraka
Lured our hero to perdition.

With such mastery she mimicked
Swarthy Mumma's growl and bellow,
That poor Atta Troll was tempted
From the safety of his cavern.

Borne along on wings of yearning,
To a rock below he hurried;
Stood with puzzled tender snuffing;
Fancied Mumma was behind it —

'Twas, alas! Lascaro hidden
With the gun; who aimed and shot him
Through the heart that beat so gladly —
Forth the crimson blood came streaming.

Once or twice his head he waggled;
Then he sank with piteous groaning;
Gave a last convulsive quiver;
And his latest sigh was, " Mumma! "

So the noble hero fell.
So he died. But from his ashes
He will rise, and live for ever
In the bard's immortal numbers.

He will rise again in song,
And his fame will be colossal.
On four-footed trochees proudly
He will stride across the world.

And a monument King Louis
Will erect him in Walhalla,
And inscribe it with this legend
In his lapidary manner:

" Atta Troll, a bear of bias;
Good, religious; loving husband;
Sans-culotte of sylvan breeding,
With the age's folly tainted;

" Wretched dancer; stern convictions
In his shaggy bosom nursing;
Stinking badly on occasion;
Talents nil; a character! "