In the vale of Ronceval On the very spot where whilome Charlemagne’s unhappy nephew To the foe his life surrender’d,
There, too, fell poor Atta Troll, And he fell by cunning, like him Whom the base equestrian Judas, Ganelon of Mainz, betrayed.
Ah! that noblest bear’s-emotion, Namely his uxorious feelings, Was a snare which old Uraca Cunningly avail’d herself of.
She the growl of swarthy Mumma Copied with such great perfection, That poor Atta Troll was tempted Out of his secure bear’s-cavern.
On the wings of yearning ran he Through the vale,--oft stood he, gently Snuffing at a rock in silence, Thinking Mumma was conceal’d there.
Ah! conceal’d there was Lascaro With his musket, and he shot him Through the middle of his heart, whence Gush’d a ruddy stream of blood.
Once or twice his head he waggled, But at last with heavy groaning Fell he down, and wildly gasp’d he, And his latest sigh was--“Mumma.”
Thus the noble hero fell; Thus he died. And yet immortal Will he in the poet’s numbers After death arise in glory.
Yes, he’ll rise again in numbers, And his glory, grown colossal, On four-footed solemn trochees O’er the face of earth stride proudly.
And his tomb Bavaria’s monarch Will erect in the Walhalla, Writing on it this inscription, In true lapidary style:
“Atta Troll; a bear of impulse; “Devotee; a loving husband; “Full of sans-culottic notions, “Thanks to the prevailing fashion.
“Wretched dancer; strong opinions “Bearing in his shaggy bosom; “Often stinking very badly; “Talentless; a character!”
Three-and-thirty aged women, Wearing on their heads the scarlet Old Biscayan caps we read of, Stood around the village entrance.
One, like Deborah, amongst them Beat the tambourine, and danced too, And she sang a song of triumph O’er Lascaro, the bear-slayer.
Four strong men upon their shoulders Bore the vanquish’d bear in triumph; Upright sat he on the seat, Like a sickly bathing patient.
And behind, as if related To the dead bear, went Lascaro With Uraca; right and left she Bow’d her thanks, though much embarrass’d.
And the Mayor’s Assistant gave them Quite a speech before the town hall, When the grand procession got there, And he spoke on many subjects,--
As, for instance, on the increase Of the navy, on the press, On the weighty beetroot question, On the curse of party spirit.