Such black bear’s ingratitude! For he constantly had treated Atta Troll in friendly fashion, And instructed him in dancing. All he had to him was owing, E’en his very life. In vain they Offer’d him a hundred dollars For the skin of Atta Troll! Then upon the poor black Mumma, Who, a form of silent sorrow, On her hinder paws imploring, Stood before the much enraged one, Fell the much enraged one’s fury With redoubled strength. He beats her, Calls her even Queen Christina, Madame Muñoz and Putana.-- All this happen’d in a beauteous Sultry summer afternoon, And the night which then succeeded To that day was quite superb. Almost half that night consumed I On the house’s balcony; Juliet was beside me standing, Gazing on the stars above us. Sighing said she: “Ah, in Paris “Fairest are the stars of all, “When they on a winter evening “In the street mud are reflected!” CAPUT III. Summer-night’s dream! All-fantastic, Aimless is my song. Yes, aimless As our love and as our living, As Creator and creation! His own will alone obeying, Galloping along or flying, Revels in the realms of fable My belovèd Pegasus. He’s no serviceable, virtuous Carthorse of the citizens, Nor a battle-steed of party, With pathetic neighs and stamping! Golden-mounted are the hoofs all Of my white and wingèd charger, Cords of pearls the guiding reins are, And at will I let him wander. Bear me whereso’er thou wouldest! Over steep and merry hill-paths, Where cascades with mournful shrieking Warn ’gainst madness’s abysses! Bear me on through silent valleys, Where the solemn oaks are standing, While primeval sweet traditions From their knotted roots have birth! Let me drink there, while I moisten My dim eyes,--ah, now I languish For the sparkling wondrous water That imparts both sight and knowledge! All my blindness goes! my gaze Pierces to the deepest rock-cleft, To the cave of Atta Troll, And I understand his language! Strange ’tis how familiar to me This bear-language now appeareth! In my dear home have I never Heard those sounds in earlier days? CAPUT IV. Ronceval, thou noble valley! Whensoe’er I hear thy name, That blue flower so long departed O’er my bosom sheds its fragrance! Then the glitt’ring dream-world rises Which for thousand years had faded, And the mighty spirit-eyes Gaze upon me, till I’m awe-struck! Rattling sounds awake. There struggle Saracen and Frankish knight; As though bleeding and despairing Ring Orlando’s bugle-notes In the vale of Ronceval, Hard beside Orlando’s gap-- Christen’d thus, because the hero, Seeking how to force a passage,