Porkopolis

The Silver–fanged Boar

• A prince of the East, with good hunting in love,
• through dark heart of forest was threading his way.
• Although through the thickets ’twas painful to move
• he played on his bone flute and his men he’d pray:
• “Come over, to hunt, in the forests untrodden,
• the wild boar with silvery fangs, deadly fierce,
• its hoof, fur and vitreous eyes, apt to pierce.”
•  
• “Dear Lord,” said his servants and buglemen tame,
• “that wild boar does never to this place repair.
• Let’s rather bring this way the rich–antlered game,
• or reddish–furred fox, or some little field hare…”
•  
• His highness, however, passed on with a smile
• and looked through the trees with an eye for the hues,
• while sparing the sleep of the doe without guile
• and lynxes whose eyes always sparkle with ruse.
•  
• ’Mong hornbeams he trod evil weeds to the ground:
• “Behold! Signs are made in our close neighbourhood!
• The silver boar’s calling, while prowling around.
• Come over, let’s hit him with arrows of wood!”
•  
• “But Lord, it’s just water at play under trees.”
• a beater protested, his shrewd glance a bore.
• Yet turning, his highness replied just “Hush please!…”
• And water kept sparkling like fangs of a boar.
•  
• ’Mong elms he would urge on his scattering train;
• “Just look how the silver–fanged boar, lonley scion,
• is snorting and routing the grass in the plain!
• Come over let’s hit him with arrows of iron!”
•  
• “But Lord, it’s just grass which is rustling ’mong trees,”
• the servant put in with a smile — bold and raw.
• The prince would insist, though, and answer “Hush please!”
• The grass was now sparkling like fangs of a boar,
• ’Mong fir–trees he urged them to climb to the crest:
• “Just look at the fairy–tale boar and admire
• the silver–fanged being’s abode, haunt and nest!”
•  
• “But Lord, it’s the moon that is beaming through trees,”
• the underling laughed and despised him e’en more.
• Yet, turning, his highness replied just “Hush please!”
• The moon was now sparkling like fangs of a boar.
•  
• But woe! As pale luminaries of the vault
• watched over the prince, on him pounced at a thrust
• a huge boar whose fangs, in a savage assault,
• soon dragged the prince down through the reddish–brown dust.
•  
• “What could be the strange beast that stains me with gore,
• thus stopping the chase for my silver–fanged boar?
• What bird in the moon can be weeping so sore?
• What sere leaf keeps flapping at me ever more?”
•  
• “Oh Lord! It’s the silvery boar’s fangs which glisten!
• It’s he that has caught you and grunts under trees.
• You’ll hear now the hounds have at him, if you listen!”
• Yet turning, his highness replied just “Hush please!
• But pick up your horn and with never a stop,
• Sound up to the clear sky until I’ve died, blow!”
•  
• ’Twas then that the moon set behind a hill top.
• Indeed the horn blew, but soon ceased sounding, though.