As the aged Odoardo[36] Stabb’d Emilia Galotti In his pride of citizenship, So would also Atta Troll
Sooner have destroy’d his daughter, Yes, with his own paws destroy’d her Than permitted her to tumble In the arms of any monarch
Yet he at this very moment Is of tender disposition, With no wish to crush a rosebud Ere the hurricane has stripp’d it.[37]
Tenderly lies Atta Troll In the cavern, by his young ones. O’er him creep, like death’s forebodings, Mournful yearnings for the future.
“Children,” sigh’d he, as his great eyes “Suddenly ’gan dripping, “children, “All my earthly pilgrimage “Is accomplish’d, we must part now.
“For to-day at noon whilst sleeping “Came a vision full of meaning, “And my soul enjoy’d the blissful “Foretaste of an early death.
“Now, I’m far from superstitious, “I’m no giddy bear,--yet are there “Certain things ’twixt earth and heaven “Unaccountable to thinkers.
“Over world and fate whilst poring, “Fell I fast asleep, with yawning, “And I dreamt that I was lying “Underneath a mighty tree.
“From the branches of this tree there “Trickled down some whitish honey, “Gliding in my open muzzle, “And I felt a sweet enjoyment.
“As I blissfully peer’d upwards, “Saw I on the very tree-top “Seven tiny little bears “Sliding up and down the branches.
“Tender, pretty little creatures, “With a skin of rose-red colour, “While, like silk, from their dear shoulders “Hung a something, like two pinions.
“Yes, those rose-red little bears “Were adorn’d with silken pinions, “And with sweet celestial voices, “Sounding like a flute’s notes, sang they!
“As they sang, my skin turn’d ice-cold, “And from out my skin there mounted, “Like a soaring flame, my spirit, “Radiantly to heaven ascending.”--
Thus spake Atta Troll in quivering Tender grunting tones; a moment Paused he, full of melancholy-- But his ears with sudden impulse
Prick’d he up, and strangely shook they, Whilst from off his couch upsprang he, Trembling, bellowing with rapture: “Do ye hear that sound, my children?
“Is it not the darling accents “Of your mother? O, well know I, “’Tis the roaring of my Mumma! “Mumma! Yes, my swarthy Mumma!”
Atta Troll, these words pronouncing, Hasten’d, like a crazy being, From the cavern to destruction! Ah, he rush’d to meet his doom!