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I.

 

Oh leave aside some time the lofty gods –

Their loves and carnages – and humbler tale

Attend: one which begins in fulgent dawn,

As all the metal forest of a vale

 

Grows rich with striking rays of aura’s glow:

White shrubs of silver, twigs of copper green,

And golden leaves – this backwoods of a troll,

This twinkling holt owned by a jotun mean,

 

Prison of sad souls, maze for captured wights:

Dense wold of wealth would sate a hundred kings

Domain is of this foe of valiant knights

And all good folk, this brute as foul as sin,

 

Twelve-headed creature – who in cavern cold

High in a mountainside doth dwell, and stalks

Each morn through glimm’ring, winking, marv’lous holt,

Where roots ring out where precious acorns drop,

 

Where oft aluminum fronds clang ’gainst that sword

The ruckus-raising giant beats with glee

Whilst rides he in the gloaming past his swards,

Exulting while his prisoners do weep,

 

Casting harsh clamor down each nook and hole,

As six-legged sorrel stamps through weeds of tin:

Flame-snorting steed devoted to his troll,

Whose whinnying adds panic to the din!

 

Here jewels blow like fruits, or like rich flow’rs:

Full many a ruby or a diamond blooms

From branches that are bronze; and oft doth scour

For gems, adventurer, witless of doom

 

Awaiting those who poach from jotun’s trees!

Through vale oft storms that troll in jealous rage –

And treasure-seeker in his paw he’ll seize,

And sprinkle him with potion, for to change

 

His form to animal’s! So through the wilds,

E’er hopeful that enchantment might expire,

Roams every type of beast, from white lamb mild

To truculent boar and bear, and raging lion.

 

The leopard, deer, and peacock, all once men,

Each morning rouse, and shuffle in the gleam, 

Whilst smallest creatures of the iron glens

Hear far-off sounds, and hide among the weeds.

 

 

II.

 

A weest mouse, a former swain of brawn,

Who once did pluck some pearls from argent ash,

Doth cower while the jotun stalks through lawns –

He knows the fiend toward yonder spire doth dash:

 

That spire where king and daughters twelve do wake

Above green hills, and ’neath a rosy sky.

Each head a tender princess means to take,

And keep for aye as thrall, and love, and wife.

 

From far the wailing shrieks reach mouse’s ears!

Six girls per hand the slav’ring lout hath snatched.

As brute returns, all beasties hide in fear.

The maidens weep, the wicked giant laughs.

 

Thuds shut the cavern’s gate, and creatures sigh:

“Alas! If only we were men once more,

Twelve princesses should not be grieved this night,

For with our strength, we’d batter down that door

 

And knock out cold those dozen noggins cruel!”

Now tears from tiger, stork, and porcupine

Join into rivulets and gath’ring pools

In which the mournful stars weep out their shine.

 

Poor mouse: of all that sad menagerie,

Thou mournest most! Thy heart, a tender harp,

Strums inwardly with pity. “How to free

Sad king’s poor children from that cavern dark?”

 

Thou ponderest amid those magic woods…

Then callest loud: “Who means me to assist

In rescue? All our strength together should

Prove something e’en that stone door can’t resist!”

 

But all those changèd lads do sob, and state

In dolorous tone: “Oh, heavy is the door –

Not even bear or elephant might break

What bars those girls from fleeing rocky tor

 

“Down hillside, through the moonlight… Let us weep

In somber bow’rs, where shame some comfort gets –

And let the shadows cover us like sheets,

For sorrow slumbers only while we rest.”

 

So through dark hours the beasts sigh out, and moan –

But little mouse is resolute to save

Th’abducted daughters: Toward the door of stone

He creeps, a trembling thing – though heart so brave

 

Of passionate youth beats in him! Not a chink

’Neath portal, nor in rocky wall he spies…

But higher up, a little gap doth blink

With flick’ring reddish light – the rodent hies

 

To peer down through that crevice: what a scene

Beholds he! Trolls and gnomes, from deep inside

Black nooks of earth, have joined rejoicing fiend

To celebrate his marriage to his brides.

 

From underworld have hulder-maidens come,

Those comely maids, with fiddles and with bows

To play wild tunes, and tails of theirs they thump

On floor to keep the time! Troll-dames and beaus

 

Dance madly in the fire-shine! Heaps of meats

And foaming flagons cover all the boards,

While dwarfs of sparkling lowest parts do greet

With gifts of coins and gems their cavern’s lord.

 

Upon a throne he sits – each rude head shouts

With merriment, and chortles with his guests,

While maidens twelve, all weepy, scratch their scalps

Which swarm now with fleas, lice, and other pests.

 

Thinks mouse: “Oh, what’s to do? I spy the flask

Upon yon board, holding elixir strange

Which made me turn to mouse from strapping lad,

And likewise caused each youth his brutish change.

 

“By flask rests giant’s sword… and six-hoofed steed

Stamps in the hall, dancing with prancing gnomes.

For now I’ll wait, ’til revelry recedes –

Then spring my plan to bring those damsels home!”

 

 

III.

 

In time, torches are snuffed, and guests to bed

In tipsy torpor creep… Soon only snores

The mouse hears, issuing from giant’s heads,

Along with sobs of poor girls on the floor.

 

Through narrow chink the squeezy rodent slips –

Down wall, up table, crawls that creature brave.

Then unstopped flask he shoves, and tilts, and tips –

It clatters, nearly waking all the cave.

 

Thinks mouse: “If one drop changed me to this state,

Perhaps another shall undo the curse…

Here’s hoping! I’ll lap up a little taste –

I doubt, at least, such dose shall make me worse.”

 

A little spill the mouse pokes with his tongue –

And suddenly, a wee thing now he ain’t,

But swain again! Bold, lusty, strong and young,

Whom maidens view – they gasp, and nearly faint,

 

Then stifle glee, so’s not the troll to rouse.

The youth takes up the fiend’s sword, firm and bright –

And with one swish, the boy, changed back from mouse,

All heads hath shaved from off the luckless wight!

 

Those twelve heads babble, rolling ’cross the floor,

Protesting how in sleep they’ve been detached

From body – which from twelve wounds now doth pour

Great gobs of blood! The corpse leaps, quick to snatch

 

Up scattered noggins! Clamor wakes the horde –

So on reluctant steed jumps nimble youth,

Then many a troll and many a jotun gores

Or knocks out cold with pommel, fist, or boot,

 

’Til back down cavern’s tunnel flees that crowd

Toward flame-lit chambers and their grimy dens –

A yowling, yawping, cursing, cussing rout –

While maddened jotun sets his heads again

 

Upon their necks – some sideways, some reversed.

And so in twelve directions stumbles oaf,

Flailing his arms to thrash the lad he cursed.

But now youth aims the fire from horse’s nose

 

And melts the stony door! “Climb on my steed,

Oh lovely maidens twelve – and to your dad

Who lives in yonder castle, let us speed!”

Rejoice the happy girls, then join the lad

 

Upon his raging mount. Youth not neglects

The flask to grab, then rides with princesses

Into the glitt’ring forest which reflects

Pure starry rays… Soon weeping denizens

 

Appear from ’hind brass ferns, from golden glades,

Alarmed by headlong horse and stumbling fiend –

Pursuit so wild and furious! Now bathes

A different sort of tear each creature’s cheek:

 

The magic droplets, which, once touching fur

Or feathers, former figure do restore

To each and every cursed adventurer,

Besprinkled by the boy, whilst waves he sword

 

At giant closing fast! Full strong with cheer,

Declare the other swains: “The mouse returns,

A mouse no longer! Rescuer sans fear!

Oh, let us not leave hero in the lurch,

 

“But beat that troll with sticks!” And breaking limbs

From every tree, the vig’rous crowd doth pour

’Pon raging giant! Blows and thwacks are grim –

At last, fearing his life shall soon be o’er,

 

That villain far off flies, with all his speed!

So through the rapturous valley cheers that crowd,

Running ’side magic horse bearing thirteen.

The youngest princess clings to hero proud

 

’Til castle court is reached at break of dawn.

Bright clouds like lantern-bearers grace their shine

The joyful king and elder girls upon,

And ’pon the youngest, soon to be the bride

 

Of he who once was small, but e’er kept brave.

So ends our little tale of mouse and troll!

Let courage serve thee, like it did the swain –

Like potion, sword, and horse served valiant soul.

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