From a third hand Juliet Then received it. Now it lies As a rug before her bed In the city by the Seine. Oh, how many nights I've stood Barefoot on the earthly husk Of my hero great and true, On the hide of Atta Troll! Then by sorrow deeply touched Would I think of Schiller's words: "That which song would make eternal First must perish from the Earth." [Illustration] CANTO XXVI What of Mumma? Mumma, ah! Is a woman. Frailty Is her name! Alas, that women Should be frail as porcelain! Now when Fate had parted her From her great and noble mate, Did she perish of her woe, Sinking into hopeless gloom? Nay, contrarywise, she lived Merrily as ever--danced For the public as before, Eager for their plaudits too. And at last a splendid place And support for all her days Was procured for her in Paris At the old Jardin-des-Plantes. There, last Sunday as I strolled Through that place with Juliet, Baring Nature's realms to her-- Animal and vegetable,-- Tall giraffes, and cedars brought Out of Lebanon, the huge Dromedary, golden pheasants, And the zebra;--chatting thus,-- We at last stood still and leaned O'er the rampart of that pit Where the bears are safely penned-- Heavens! what a sight we saw! There a huge bear from the wastes Of Siberia, snowy-white, Dallied in a love-feast sweet With a she-bear small and dark. This was Mumma! This, alas, Was the mate of Atta Troll! Well I knew her by the soft Glances of her dewy eye. It was she! the daughter dark Of the Southland! Mumma lives With a Russian now; she lives With this savage of the North! Smirking spake a negro then, Coming up with stealthy pace: "Could there be a fairer sight Than a pair of lovers, say?" Then I answered him: "Pray, who Honours me by this address?" Whereupon he cried amazed: "Have you quite forgotten me? "Why I am that Moorish prince Who beat drums in Freiligrath-- Times were bad--in Germany I was lonely and forlorn. "Now as keeper I'm employed In this garden,--here I find All the flowers of my native Tropics,--lions, tigers, too. "Here I feel content and gay, Better than at German fairs, Where each day I beat the drum And was fed but scantily. "Late in wedlock was I bound To a blonde Alsatian cook, And within her arms I feel All my native joys again! "And her feet remind me ever Of my blessèd elephants, And her French has quite the ring Of my sable mother-tongue. "When she coughs, the rattle fierce Moves me of that famous drum Which, bedecked with human skulls, Drove the snakes and lions far.