Canto Xxi

Shipless Argonauts are we, Foot loose in the mighty hills, But instead of golden fleece We seek Bruin's shaggy hide.

Naught but sorry devils twain, Heroes of a modern cut, And no classic bard will ever Make us live within his song!

Even though we suffered dire Hardships! What torrential rains Fell upon us at the peak Where was neither tree nor cab!

Cloudbursts! Heaven's dykes were down! And in bucketsful it poured-- Jason, lost on Colchis bleak, Suffered no such shower-bath!

"Six-and-thirty kings I'll give Just for one umbrella now!" So I cried. Umbrella none Was I offered in that flood.

Weary unto death and glum, Wet as drownèd rats, we came Back unto the witch's hut In the middle of the night.

There beside the glowing hearth Sat Uraka with a comb, Toiling o'er her swollen pug;-- Him she quickly flung aside

As we entered. First my couch She prepared, then bent to loose From my feet the espardillos,-- Footgear comfortless and rude!

Helped me to disrobe,--she drew Off my pantaloons which clung To my legs as close and tight As the friendship of a fool.

"Oh, a dressing-gown! I'd give Six-and-thirty kings," I cried, "For a dry one!"--as my shirt, Wringing wet, began to steam.

Shivering, with chattering teeth, There I stood beside the hearth, Till the fire drowsed me quite, Then upon the straw I sank.

Sleepless but with blinking eyes Peered I at the witch who crouched By the fire with her son's Body spread upon her lap.

Upright at her side the pug Stood, and in his clumsy paws, Very cleverly and tight, Held aloft a little jar.

From this did Uraka take Reddish fat and salved therewith Swift Lascaro's ribs and breast With her thin and trembling hands.

And she hummed a lullaby In a high and nasal tone As she rubbed him with the salve 'Midst the crackling of the fire.

Sere and bony like a corpse Lay the son upon the lap Of his mother; opened wide Stared his pale and tragic eyes.

Is he really dead, this man? Kept alive by mother-love? Nightly by the witch-fat potent Salved into a magic life?

Oh, that strange, strange fever-sleep! In which all my limbs grew stiff As if fettered, yet each sense, Overwrought, waked horribly!

How that smell of hellish herbs Plagued me! Musing in my woe, Long I thought where had I once Smelled such odours?--but in vain.

How the wind within the flue Wrought me terror! Like the sobs Of some parchèd soul it rang-- Or some well-remembered voice!

But these stuffed birds standing guard On a board above my head, These grim birds tormented me Far beyond all other things!

Slowly, gruesomely they moved Their accursèd wings and bent Low to me with monstrous bills, Bills like human noses huge.

Where had I such noses seen? Well, mayhap in Hamburg once, Or in Frankfort's ghetto dim; Memory smote me harshly then.

But at last did slumber quite Overcome me and in place Of such waking phantoms crept Wholesome and unbroken dreams.

And within my dream the hut Quickly to a ball-room changed, High on lofty pillars borne And illumed by chandeliers.

There invisible musicians Played from "Robert le Diable" That atrocious dance of nuns As I promenaded there.

But at last the portals wide Open and with stately step Slowly in the hall appear Guests most wonderful and strange.

Every one a bear or spectre! Striding upright every bear Leads an apparition wrapped In a white and gleaming shroud.

Coupled in this wise, each pair Up and down began to waltz Through the hall. O strangest sight! Fit for laughter and for fear!

How those plump old animals Panted in the paces set By those filmy shapes of air Whirling gracefully and light!

Pitiless, the harried beasts Thus were borne along until Their deep panting overdroned Even the orchestral bass!

When betimes the couples crashed In collision, then each bear Gave the pushing spectre straight Hearty kicks upon the rump.

Sometimes in the tumult too When the cerements fell away From each white and muffled head,-- Lo! a grinning skull appeared!

But at last with shattering blare Yelled the horns, the cymbals clashed And the thunder of the drums Brought about the gallopade.

But the end of this, alas, Came not to my dreams. For, lo, One most clumsy bear trod full On my corns--I shrieked and woke!