of thought;
It destroys both flesh and soul,
For amongst all mankind never
Shalt thou find one worthy man.
"E'en the Germans, once the best,
Even Tuiskion's sons,
Our dear cousins primitive,
Even they have grown effete.
"Godless, faithless have they grown;
Atheism now they preach.
Child, my child, oh, guard thee 'gainst
Feuerbach and Bauer too!
"Never be an atheist!
Monster void of reverence!
For a great Creator reared
All the mighty Universe!
"And the sun and moon on high,
And the stars—the stars with tails
Even as the tailless ones—
Are reflections of His power.
"In the depths of sea and land
Ring the echoes of His fame,
And each creature yields Him praise
For His glory and His might.
"E'en the tiny silver louse
Which within some pilgrim's beard
Shares his earthly pilgrimage,
Sings to Him a song of praise!
"High upon his golden throne
In yon splendid tent of stars,
Clad in cosmic majesty,
Sits a titan polar bear.
"Spotless, gleaming white as snow
Is his fur; his head is decked
With a crown of diamonds
Blazing through the central vault.
"In his face bide harmony
And the silent deeds of thought,
And obedient to his sceptre
All the planets chime and sing.
"At his feet sit holy bears,
Saints who suffered on the Earth,
Meekly. In their paws they hold
Splendid palms of martyrdom.
"Ever and anon they leap
To their feet as though aroused
By the Holy Ghost, and lo!
In a festal dance they join!
"'Tis a dance where saintly gifts
Cover up defects of style,—
Dance in which the very soul
Seeks to leap from out its skin!
"I, unworthy Troll, shall I
Ever such salvation share?
Shall I ever from this drear
Vale of tears ascend to joy?
"Shall I, drunk with Heaven's draught,
In that tent of stars above,
Dance before the Master's throne
With a halo and a palm?"
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CANTO IX
As the noble negro king
Of our Freiligrath protrudes
From his dusky mouth his long
Scarlet tongue in scorn and rage,—
Even so the moon now peers
Out of darkling clouds. The sad,
Sleepless waterfalls forever
Roar into the brooding night.
Atta Troll upon the crest
Of his well-beloved cliff
Stands alone, and now he howls
Down the wind and the abyss:
"Yea, a bear am I—even he,
Even he whom you have named
Bruin, growler, shag-coat too,
And such other titles vile.
"Yea, a bear am I—that same
Boorish animal you know;
That gross, trampling brute am I
Of your sly and crafty smiles!
"Of your wit am I the mark;
I'm the bugbear—him with whom
Every wicked child you frighten
In the silence of the night.
"Yea, I am that clumsy butt
Of your nursery tales—aloud
Will I shout that name forever
Through the scurvy world of men.
"Oyez! Oyez! I'm a bear
Unashamed of my descent,
Just as proud as if my forbear
Had been Moses Mendelsohn."
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CANTO X
Lo, two figures, wild and sullen,
Gliding, sliding on all fours,
Break a path at dead of night
Through a wood of gloomy pines.
It is Atta Troll the Sire,
One-Ear too, his youngest son,
And they halt within a clearing
By a stone of bloody rites.
"This same stone," growled Atta Troll,
"Is a shrine where Druids once
Slaughtered wretched human wights
In dark Superstition's days.
"Oh! what frightful horrors these!
When I think of them, my fur
Lifts along my back! To praise
God they drenched the soil in blood!
"Certes, men have now become
More enlightened. Now no more
Do they slaughter in their zeal
For celestial interests.
"'Tis no longer holy rage,
Ecstasy nor madness sheer,
But self-love alone that urges
Them to slaughter and to crime.
"Now for worldly goods they strive,
Day by day and year by year.
It is one eternal war;
Each goes robbing for himself.
"When the common goods of all
Fall into the hands of one,
Straight of Rights of Property
He will prate and Ownership.
"Property! Just Ownership?
Property is theft! O lies!
Craft and folly!—such a mixture
Man alone would dare invent.
"Never yet did Nature make
Properties, for pocketless
We are born into the world—
Who hath pockets in his pelt?
"None of us was ever born
With such little sacks devised
In our outer hides and skins
To enable us to steal!
"Only man, that creature smooth
Who in alien wool is garbed
Artfully, in artful wise
Made himself such pockets too.
"Pockets! as unnatural
As is property
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