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The World's Greatest Books [Volumes 1-15, 17-20]

Электронная книга - «The World's Greatest Books [Volumes 1-15, 17-20]». Краткое содержание книги:

Антология содержит:
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 01 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 02 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 03 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 04 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 05 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 06 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 07 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 08 — Fiction от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 09 — Lives and Letters от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 10 — Lives and Letters от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 11 — Ancient and Mediæval History от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 12 — Modern History от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 13 — Religion and Philosophy от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 14 — Philosophy and Economics от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 15 — Science от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 17 — Poetry and Drama от Неизвестный
The world's greatest books от Mee, Arthur, 1875-1943, joint editor & Hammerton, John Alexander, Sir, 1871-1949, joint editor & McClure, S. S. (Samuel Sidney), 1857-1949, joint editor
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 19 — Travel and Adventure от Неизвестный
The World's Greatest Books — Volume 20 — Miscellaneous Literature and Index от Неизвестный
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Competent for highest office;

On the other hand, the lion

Trotting with the corn to grind."

IV

Many an honest, virtuous burgher

Lives on earth in evil odour,

Whilst your princely people reek of

Lavender and ambergris.

Therefore do not make wry faces,

Gentle reader, if the cave of

Atta Troll should not remind you

Of the spices of Arabia.

Tarry with me in the steamy

Confines in the dismal odour,

Where the hero to his youngest

Speaks as if from out a cloud:

"Ever shun men's ways of thinking!

Not a creature that is decent

Can be found among these creatures.

Even Germans, once much better,

"In primeval times our cousins,

These alike are now degen'rate:

Traitors to their creed and godless,

Now they preach e'en atheism!

"Only be no atheist,

Like a non-bear who respects not

His great Maker—Yes, a Maker

Hath this universe created.

"Yonder in the starred pavilion,

On the golden throne of power,

World-controlling and majestic,

Sits a giant Polar bear.

"At his feet are sitting gentle

Sainted bears, who in their life-time

Uncomplaining suffered; in their

Paws the palm of martyrdom.

"Shall I ever, drunk with heaven,

Yonder in the starred pavilion,

With the Glory, with the palm-branch,

Dance before the throne of God?"

V

Figures twain, morose and baleful,

And on all-fours slowly creeping,

Break themselves a gloomy passage

Through the underwood at midnight.

That is Atta Troll, the father,

And his son, young Master One-Ear.

"This old stone"—growls Atta Troll—

"Is the altar, where the Druids

"In the days of superstition

Human sacrifices butchered.

Oh, the overwhelming horror!

Shedding blood to honour God!

"Now indeed far more enlightened

Are these men—they only murder

Now from selfishness and grasping.

Each one plunders for himself!

"Nature never yet created

Owners, no—for void of pockets,

Not a pocket in our fur coats,

We were born, the whole of us.

"Only man, that smooth-skinned being,

Could in borrowed wool, so artful,

Dress himself, or could, so artful,

Thus provide himself with pockets.

"Be the mortal foe of all such

Fierce oppressors, reconcileless,

To the end of thy existence—

Swear it, swear it here, my son!"

And the youngest swore as once did

Hannibal. The moon illumined

With her yellow light the Blood-stone,

And the pair of misanthropes.

VI

I was early one fine morning

With Lascaro setting forward

On the bear-hunt. And at mid-day

We arrived at Pont-d'Espagne.

Evening shades were dark'ning round us

When we reached the wretched hostel,

Where the Ollea-Podrida

Steamed up from the dirty soup-dish.

Corresponding to the kitchen

Was the bed. It swarmed with insects,

Just as if it had been peppered!—

Bugs are man's most mortal foe.

What a raving with these poets,

E'en the tame ones! Why, they never

Cease to sing and say, that Nature

Is the Maker's mighty temple.

Well, so be it, charming people!

But confess that in this temple

All the stairs are slightly awkward.

Miserably bad the stairs!

Close beside me strides Lascaro,

Pale and long, just like a taper;

Never speaking, never smiling,

He, the dead son of a witch.

Yes, 'tis said, he is a dead one,

Long defunct, although his mother,

Old Uraka, by enchantments

Keeps him living to appearance.

In the little fishing cottage,

On the Lac-de-Gobe we met with

Shelter and some trout for dinner;

And they tasted quite delicious.

If the stuff I drank was really

Wine, at this same Lac-de-Gobe,

I know not. I think in Brunswick

They would simply call it swipes.

VII

From the sunny golden background

Smile the violet mountain peaks,

On the ridge there clings a village,

Like a boldly ventured birds'-nest.

Having climbed there, 'twas apparent

That the old ones wing had taken,

And behind were tarrying only

All the young brood, not yet fledged.

Nearly all that day I lingered

With the children, and we chatted

Quite familiar. They were curious

Who I was, what I was doing?

"Germany, dear friends"—so said I—

"Is the land where I was born;

Bears live there in any number,

And I took to hunting bears.

"There I drew the skin for many

Over very bearish ears;

And between them I was sometimes

Roughly by their bear claws handled.

"But with merely unlicked blockheads

Every day to be contending

In my well-loved home, at last I

Found to be too much for me.

"So at last have journeyed hither,

Seeking out some better sport;

I intend to try my prowess

On the mighty Atta Troll."

VIII

Like a narrow street the valley,

And its name is Spectre Hollow;

Rugged crags rise up abruptly

Either side of giddy heights.

On a dizzy, steep projection,

Peeping downwards, like a watch-tower,

Stands Uraka's daring cottage;

Thither I Lascaro followed.

With his mother he took counsel,

Using secret signs as language,

How might Atta Troll be tempted,

How he might be put to death.

For right well had we his traces

Followed up. And now no longer

Dare escape be thought of. Numbered

Are thy days, O Atta Troll!

What Uraka as her lawful

Business followed, that was honest;

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