 | The writings of James Russell Lowell |  |
THE DANCING BEAR
Far over Elf-land poets stretch their sway,And win their dearest crowns beyond the goal
Of their own conscious purpose; they control
With gossamer threads wide-flown our fancy's play,
And so our action. On my walk to-day,
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When straight a vision rose of Atta Troll,
And scenes ideal witched mine eyes away.
“Merci, Mossieu!” the astonished bear-ward cried,
Grateful for thrice his hope to me, the slave
Of partial memory, seeing at his side
A bear immortal. The glad dole I gave
Was none of mine; poor Heine o'er the wide
Atlantic welter stretched it from his grave.
| The writings of James Russell Lowell | |