CAPUT IX.

Like the tongue as red as scarlet, Which a swarthy Freiligrathian Moorish prince with scornful fury From his sullen mouth protruded,

So the moon from out the gloomy Clouds of heaven advanced. Afar off Cataracts are roaring, sleepless And morosely through the night.

Atta Troll upon the summit Of his fav’rite rock stands lonely, Lonely, and to the abyss Downward howls he in the nightwind:

“Yes, I am a bear, I am so,-- “Him ye christen shaggy bear, “Growler, Isegrim, and Bruin, “And heav’n knows how many others.

“Yes, I am a bear, I am so, “The uncouth and boorish creature, “I’m the awkward dromedary “Of your scorn and cruel laughter.

“I’m the butt of all your wit, “I’m the bugbear, with whose terrors “Ye at night your children frighten, “Human children, when they’re naughty.

“I’m the joke of all your idle “Nurs’ry stories, well I know it, “And I now proclaim it loudly “To man’s paltry world below.

“Hear it, hear; a bear am I, “My descent I’m not ashamed of, “But am proud of it, as though I “Sprang from Moses Mendelssohn!”