Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ATTA TROLL; A SUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM: CAPUT 12, by HEINRICH HEINE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ATTA TROLL; A SUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM: CAPUT 12, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: How they rave, the race of poets
Last Line: "giants, to the watery heaven!"
Subject(s): Poetry & Poets


HOW they rave, the race of poets,
E'en the tame ones, singing ever
And exclaiming: "Nature's surely
"The Creator's mighty temple --

"Is a temple all whose glories
"To our Maker's fame bear witness,
"Sun and moon and stars all hanging
"In its cupola as lamps."

Well and good, my worthy people!
Yet confess that in this temple
Are the stairs uncomfortable,
Bad and inconvenient stairs!

All this up-and-down-stairs going,
Mountain-climbing and this jumping
Over rocks is very tiring
To the legs as well as spirit.

Close beside me walk'd Lascaro,
Pale and lanky, like a taper;
Never spoke he, never laugh'd he,
He, the dead son of the sorc'ress.

Yes, 'tis said that he's a dead man,
Dead long since, but yet his mother
Old Uraca's magic science
Kept him living in appearance. --

That accursed temple-staircase!
It exceeds my comprehension
How my neck escaped from breaking,
Stumbling o'er a precipice.

How the cataracts were shrieking!
How the tempest flogg'd the fir-trees
Till they howl'd! The clouds began
Crashing suddenly -- bad weather!

In a little fishing cottage
By the Lac-de-Gobe soon found we
Shelter and some trout for luncheon;
Most delicious were the latter.

In an arm-chair was reclining,
Ill and grey, the ferryman;
On him his two pretty nieces,
Like a pair of angels, waited.

Stoutish angels, rather Flemish,
Seeming from a frame descended
Of a Rubens; gold their tresses,
Full of health their eyes, and liquid.

Their vermilion cheeks were dimpled,
With a secret slyness in them;
Strong their limbs were, and voluptuous,
Giving pleasure to the fancy.

Dear, affectionate young creatures,
Keeping up a sweet discussion,
As to which drink would be relish'd
Most of all by their sick uncle.

If the one the cup should bring him
Full of well-boil'd linden blossoms,
Then the other hastes to feed him
With an elder-flow'r decoction.

"I'll not drink of either of them,"
Cried impatiently the old man;
"Fetch some wine, that I may offer
"To my guests some better drink!"

Whether it was wine they gave me
At the Lac-de-Gobe, I really
Cannot say. Methinks in Brunswick
By the name of Mum they'd call it.

Of the very best black goat-skin
Was the wine-skin, stinking foully;
Yet the old man drank with pleasure,
And he seem'd quite well and joyous.

He recounted the achievements
Of the smugglers and banditti
Merrily and freely living
In the Pyrenean forests.

Many old traditions also
Well he knew; amongst the others
Were the battles of the giants
With the bears in times primeval.

Yes, the bears then and the giants
Struggled fiercely for the mast'ry
Of these mountains and these valleys,
Ere by man they were discover'd.

But when man arrived, the giants
Fled away from out the country
Stupified, for little brains
Are contain'd in heads gigantic.

And 'tis said the silly fellows,
On arriving at the ocean,
And observing how the heavens
In its azure depths were mirror'd,

Cleverly supposed the ocean
To be heaven, and plunged down in it,
Full of godlike confidence,
And were drown'd, the whole together.

As respects the bears, however,
They are gradually being
Kill'd by man, their numbers yearly
In the mountain still decreasing.

"Thus on earth" exclaim'd the old man,
"One gives place unto another,
"And when men are put an end to,
"Then the dwarfs will be the masters.

"Yes, the clever little people,
"Who the mountain's womb inhabit,
"'Mongst the golden mines of riches
"Digging and collecting nimbly.

"How they from their hiding-places
"With their small sly heads keep peeping!
"Oft I've seen them in the moonlight,
"And then trembled at the future;

"At the power their gold will give them;
"Ah, I fear lest our descendants
"Fly for refuge, like the stupid
"Giants, to the watery heaven!"





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