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CANTO I Ringed about by mountains dark, Rising peak on sullen peak, And by furious waterfalls Lulled to slumber, like a dream White within the valley lies Cauterets. Each villa neat Sports a balcony whereon Lovely ladies stand and laugh. Heartily they laugh and look Down upon the crowded square Where unto a bagpipe's drone He- and she-bear strut and dance. Atta Troll is dancing there With his Mumma, dusky mate, While in wonderment the Basques Shout aloud and clap their hands. Stiff with pride and gravity Dances noble Atta Troll, Though his shaggy partner knows Neither dignity nor shame. I am even fain to think She is verging on the can-can, For her shameless wagging hints Of the gay Grande Chaumiere Even he, the showman brave, Holding her with loosened chain, Marks the immorality Of her most immodest dance. So at times he lays the lash Straight across her inky back, Till the mountains wake and shout Echoes to her frenzied howls On the showman's pointed hat Six Madonnas made of lead Shield him from the foeman's balls Or invasions of the louse. And a gaudy altar-cloth From his shoulders hanging down, Makes a proper sort of cloak, Hiding pistol and a knife. In his youth a monk was he, Then became a robber chief ; Later, in Don Carlos' ranks, He combined the other two. When Don Carlos, forced to flee, Bade his Table Round farewell, All his Paladins resolved Straight to learn an honest trade. Herr Schnapphahnski turned a scribe, And our staunch Crusader here Just a showman, with his bears Trudging up and down the land. And in every market-place For the people's pence they dance— In the square at Cauterets Atta Troll is dancing now ! Atta Troll, the Forest King, ...
