So the moon from out the gloomy
Clouds of heaven advanced. Afar off
Cataracts are roaring, sleepless
And morosely through the night.
Atta Troll upon the summit
Of his fav’rite rock stands lonely,
Lonely, and to the abyss
Downward howls he in the nightwind:
“Yes, I am a bear, I am so,—
“Him ye christen shaggy bear,
“Growler, Isegrim, and Bruin,
“And heav’n knows how many others.
“Yes, I am a bear, I am so,
“The uncouth and boorish creature,
“I’m the awkward dromedary
“Of your scorn and cruel laughter.
“I’m the butt of all your wit,
“I’m the bugbear, with whose terrors
“Ye at night your children frighten,
“Human children, when they’re naughty.
“I’m the joke of all your idle
“Nurs’ry stories, well I know it,
“And I now proclaim it loudly
“To man’s paltry world below.
“Hear it, hear; a bear am I,
“My descent I’m not ashamed of,
“But am proud of it, as though I
“Sprang from Moses Mendelssohn!”
CAPUT X.
Two dark figures, wild and surly,
And upon their all-fours gliding,
Force their way across the gloomy
Grove of firs at midnight’s hour.
This is Atta Troll, the father,
And his son, young master one-ear.
Where the wood grows somewhat lighter
By the stone of blood they halted.