Page 54 - ELES BOOTUR (2)

His mittens are for funeral ones,
His tie is a lion skin,
His hat is an iron one,
Above his best attire
He put on a shield.
The four-edged iron man
Treading on the warm ground
Till his thigh,
Treading on the stone ground
Till his knee,
Was standing awkwardly.
Eles Bootur the Great
Having seen it, flew into a rage.
His blood was up at once,
He straightened himself
Like a dried direct larch,
Threw back his head, frowned,
Sniffed threatening,
His muscles strained
Like a bow string ready to burst,
His muscles swelled like a pike
Ready to jump out,
His furious face spat sparks,
His eyes flashed fire,
A flame flashed from his temples
And reaching the top of his head
Burst into a fire.
Staring at the devil
With his bloodshot eyes,
Started to speak out and
To insult breathing heavily:

Eles Bootur

“See here! See here!
You, savage beast of
The Low World,
You, black ruffian of
The deepest World,