But at length with joyous uproar
Crash’d the trumpets and the cymbals,
And the kettle-drums loud thunder’d,
And there came the gallopade.
To the end of this I dreamt not,—
For a stupid clumsy bear
Trod upon my corns, and made me
Cry aloud, and so awoke me.
CAPUT XXII.
Phœbus in his sunny droschka
Lash’d his flaming horses onwards,
And had half his course already
Through the spacious heavens completed,
Whilst I still in slumber lay,
And of bears and spirits, strangely
Intertwining with each other
In quaint arabesque, was dreaming.
Midday ’twas ere I awaken’d,
And I found myself alone;
Both my hostess and Lascaro
For the chase had started early.
In the hut the pug-dog only
Still remain’d. Beside the hearth he
Stood upright before the kettle,
While his paws a spoon were holding.
Admirably had they taught him
Whensoe’er the broth boil’d over
Hastily to stir it round,
And to skim away the bubbles.
But am I myself bewitch’d?
Or still blazes there the fever
In my head? I scarce can credit
My own ears—the pug-dog’s talking!