TWO dark figures, wild and surly, And upon their all-fours gliding, Force their way across the gloomy Grove of firs at midnight's hour. This is Atta Troll, the father, And his son, young master one-ear. Where the wood grows somewhat lighter By the stone of blood they halted. "This old stone" -- growl'd Atta Troll, -- "Is the altar where the Druids "In the days of superstition "Human sacrifices offer'd. "O their cruelty accursed! "All the hair upon my back "Bristles when I think upon it; "Blood was pour'd out to God's honour! "Now these men are more enlighten'd, "And no longer kill each other "Merely in excessive zeal "For the interests of heaven. "'Tis no longer pious fancies, "Madness, nor enthusiasm, "But mere vanity and self-love "Makes them now commit their murders. "On the good things of the earth "Eagerly they're ever seizing; "'Tis an endless round of fighting, "For himself each person stealeth! "Yes! the heritage of all "Is the individual's booty; "Of the rights, then, of possession "Speaks he, thinking of his own! "Of his own! Possession's rights too! "O, the cruel theft, the lying! "None but man could have invented "Such commingled fraud and madness. "Private property was never "Made by Nature; pocketless, "With no pockets in our skins, we "Ev'ry one the world first entered. Not a single one amongst us At his birth had such a pocket 'In his body's outer skin, "Where he might conceal his robb'ries. "Man alone, that smooth-skinn'd being, "Who with foreign wool so nicely "Clothes himself, had e'er the sharpness "To provide himself with pockets. "Pockets! They're as much 'gainst nature "As is private property, "As possession's rights themselves are -- "Men in fact are but pickpockets! "Fiercely hate I them! My hatred "Unto thee, my son, bequeath I; "Here upon this altar shalt thou "Swear to man undying hatred! "Be implacably the death-foe "Of those wicked vile oppressors "To the very end of life, -- "Swear it, swear it here, my son!" And the youngster swore, as once did Hannibal. The moon, all yellow, On the stone of blood look'd wildly, And the pair of misanthropes. By-and-by we'll tell the story How the young bear ever faithful To his oath remain'd. Our lyre shall In another Epic praise him. As respects friend Atta Troll, We will leave him for the present, Presently to come across him, All the surer, with a bullet. All thy stealthy machinations, Traitor 'gainst man's majesty, Now at length are terminated, And thy hour will sound to-morrow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY by ROBERT BROWNING IN A LIBRARY by EMILY DICKINSON SMILE AND NEVER HEED ME by CHARLES SWAIN TO THINK OF TIME by WALT WHITMAN MASSACHUSETTS TO VIRGINIA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE MOUNTAIN TOMB: 1. TO A CHILD DANCING IN THE WIND by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS NOONDAY REST by MATHILDE BLIND |