In the Vale of Roncesvalles,
On that very spot where erst
Charlemagne's great nephew fell,
Gasping forth his warrior soul,
Fell and perished Atta Troll,
Fell through ambush, even as he
Whom that Judas of the Knights,
Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed.
Oh! that noblest trait in bears--
Conjugal affection--love--
Formed a pitfall which Uraka
In her evil craft prepared.
For so truly mimicked she
Coal-black Mumma's tender growls,
That poor Atta Troll was lured
From the safety of his lair.
On desire's wings he ran
Through the valley, halting oft
By a rock with tender sniff,
Thinking Mumma there lay hid.
There Lascaro lay, alas,
With his rifle. Swift he shot
Through that gladsome heart a ball,
And a crimson stream welled forth.
Twice or thrice he shakes his head
To and fro, at last he sinks
Groaning, seized with ghastly shudders;--
"Mumma!" is his final sob!
Thus our noble hero fell--
Perished thus. Immortal he
Yet shall live in strains of bards,
Resurrected after death.
He shall rise again in song,
And his wide renown shall stalk
In this blunt trochaic verse
O'er the round and living Earth.
In Valhalla's Hall a shaft
Shall King Ludwig build for him,--
In Bavarian lapidary
Style these words be there inscribed:
ATTA TROLL, REFORMER, PURE,
PIOUS: HUSBAND WARM AND TRUE,
BY THE ZEIT-GEIST LED ASTRAY--
WOOD-ENGENDERED SANS-CULOTTE:
DANCING BADLY: YET IDEALS
BEARING IN HIS SHAGGY BREAST:
OFTTIMES STINKING VERY STRONGLY,
TALENT NONE: BUT CHARACTER.
[Illustration]