Yes, that little god’s sharp arrow
Through her thick skin penetrated
When she saw Him—O, good heavens
Him she loves, a living man is!
Is a man, yclept Schnapphahnski;—
Whilst before his foes retreating
He arrived by chance one morning
At the mountain in his flight.
Woes of heroes touch all women,
And within our hero’s features
Were depicted want of money,
Pale distress and gloomy sorrow.
All his military chest,
Two-and-twenty silver groschen,
Which he had when Spain he enter’d,
Was the prey of Espartero.
E’en his watch was not preserved him,
But remain’d at Pampeluna
In a pawn-shop. ’Twas an heirloom,
Costly and of genuine silver.
And with long legs swiftly ran he,
But unconsciously whilst running
Won he something that’s far better
Than the best of fights,—a heart!
Yes, she loves him, him, the archfoe!
O thou most unhappy bearess!
If thy father knew the secret,
He would growl in frightful fashion.
As the aged Odoardo[36]
Stabb’d Emilia Galotti
In his pride of citizenship,
So would also Atta Troll
Sooner have destroy’d his daughter,
Yes, with his own paws destroy’d her
Than permitted her to tumble
In the arms of any monarch
Yet he at this very moment
Is of tender disposition,
With no wish to crush a rosebud
Ere the hurricane has stripp’d it.[37]