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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2430-h.zip b/2430-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7b7d7f --- /dev/null +++ b/2430-h.zip diff --git a/2430-h/2430-h.htm b/2430-h/2430-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..047b7b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/2430-h/2430-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4101 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Romantic Ballads</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Romantic Ballads, by George Borrow</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Romantic Ballads, by George Borrow + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Romantic Ballads + translated from the Danish; and Miscellaneous Pieces + + +Author: George Borrow + + + +Release Date: August 31, 2006 [eBook #2430] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANTIC BALLADS*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1913 Jarrold and Sons edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>ROMANTIC BALLADS,<br /> +TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH;<br /> +AND<br /> +MISCELLANEOUS PIECES;</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">GEORGE BORROW.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<blockquote><p>Through gloomy paths unknown—<br /> + Paths which untrodden be,<br /> +From rock to rock I roam<br /> + Along the dashing sea.</p> +<p>BOWRING.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p style="text-align: center">NORWICH:<br /> +<span class="smcap">printed and published by jarrold and +sons</span>.<br /> +1913</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Contents</b>.</p> +<p>Preface</p> +<p>Lines from Allan Cunningham to George Borrow</p> +<p>The Death-raven. From the Danish of +Oehlenslæger</p> +<p>Fridleif and Helga. From the Danish of +Oehlenslæger</p> +<p>Sir Middel. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>Elvir-shades. From the Danish of Oehlenslæger</p> +<p>The Heddybee-spectre. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>Sir John. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>May Asda. From the Danish of Oehlenslæger</p> +<p>Aager and Eliza. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>Saint Oluf. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>The Heroes of Dovrefeld. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>Svend Vonved. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>The Tournament. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>Vidrik Verlandson. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>Elvir Hill. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>Waldemar’s Chase</p> +<p>The Merman. From the Old Danish</p> +<p>The Deceived Merman. From the Old Danish</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><b>Miscellanies</b>.</p> +<p>Cantata</p> +<p>The Hail-storm. From the Norse</p> +<p>The Elder-witch</p> +<p>Ode. From the Gælic</p> +<p>Bear song. From the Danish of Evald</p> +<p>National song. From the Danish of Evald</p> +<p>The Old Oak</p> +<p>Lines to Six-foot Three</p> +<p>Nature’s Temperaments. From the Danish of +Oehlenslæger</p> +<p>The Violet-gatherer. From the Danish of +Oehlenslæger</p> +<p>Ode to a Mountain-torrent. From the German of +Stolberg</p> +<p>Runic Verses</p> +<p>Thoughts on Death. From the Swedish of C. Lohman</p> +<p>Birds of Passage. From the Swedish</p> +<p>The Broken Harp</p> +<p>Scenes</p> +<p>The Suicide’s Grave. From the German</p> +<h2>The Original Title Page.<br /> +200 copies by subscription</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tp1.jpg"> +<img alt="S. Wilkin 1826 title page" src="images/tp1.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>The London (John Taylor) Title Page.<br /> +300 copies including those bearing the imprint of<br /> +Wightman & Cramp.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tp2.jpg"> +<img alt="John Taylor 1826 title page" src="images/tp2.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +<p>The ballads in this volume are translated from the Works of +<span class="smcap">Oehlenslæger</span>, (a poet who is yet +living, and who stands high in the estimation of his countrymen,) +and from the <span class="smcap">Kiæmpé +Viser</span>, a collection of old songs, celebrating the actions +of the ancient heroes of Scandinavia.</p> +<p>The old Danish poets were, for the most part, extremely rude +in their versification. Their stanzas of four or two lines +have not the full rhyme of vowel and consonant, but merely what +the Spaniards call the “assonante,” or vowel rhyme, +and attention seldom seems to have been paid to the number of +<i>feet</i> on which the lines moved along. But, however +defective their poetry may be in point of harmony of numbers, it +describes, in vivid and barbaric language, scenes of barbaric +grandeur, which in these days are never witnessed; and, which, +though the modern muse may imagine, she generally fails in +attempting to pourtray, from the violent desire to be smooth and +tuneful, forgetting that smoothness and tunefulness are nearly +synonymous with tameness and unmeaningness.</p> +<p>I expect shortly to lay before the public a complete +translation of the <span class="smcap">Kiæmpé +Viser</span>, made by me some years ago; and of which, I hope, +the specimens here produced will not give an unfavourable +idea.</p> +<p>It was originally my intention to publish, among the +“Miscellaneous Pieces,” several translations from the +Gælic, formerly the language of the western world; the +noble tongue</p> +<blockquote><p>“A labhair Padric’ nninse Fail na +Riogh.<br /> +‘San faighe caomhsin Colum náomhta’ n +I.”</p> +<p>Which Patrick spoke in Innisfail, to heathen chiefs of old<br +/> +Which Columb, the mild prophet-saint, spoke in his +island-hold—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>but I have retained them, with one exception, till I possess a +sufficient quantity to form an entire volume.</p> +<h2>FROM ALLAN CUNNINGHAM,<br /> +TO GEORGE BORROW,</h2> +<p><i>On his proposing to translate the</i> +‘<i>Kiæpé Viser</i>.’</p> +<p>Sing, sing, my friend; breathe life again<br /> +Through Norway’s song and Denmark’s strain:<br /> +On flowing Thames and Forth, in flood,<br /> +Pour Haco’s war-song, fierce and rude.<br /> +O’er England’s strength, through Scotland’s +cold,<br /> +His warrior minstrels marched of old—<br /> +Called on the wolf and bird of prey<br /> +To feast on Ireland’s shore and bay;<br /> +And France, thy forward knights and bold,<br /> +Rough Rollo’s ravens croaked them cold.<br /> +Sing, sing of earth and ocean’s lords,<br /> +Their songs as conquering as their swords;<br /> +Strains, steeped in many a strange belief,<br /> +Now stern as steel, now soft as grief—<br /> +Wild, witching, warlike, brief, sublime,<br /> +Stamped with the image of their time;<br /> +When chafed—the call is sharp and high<br /> +For carnage, as the eagles cry;<br /> +When pleased—the mood is meek, and mild,<br /> +And gentle, as an unweaned child.<br /> +Sing, sing of haunted shores and shelves,<br /> +St. Oluf and his spiteful elves,<br /> +Of that wise dame, in true love need,<br /> +Who of the clear stream formed the steed—<br /> +How youthful Svend, in sorrow sharp,<br /> +The inspired strings rent from his harp;<br /> +And Sivard, in his cloak of felt,<br /> +Danced with the green oak at his belt—<br /> +Or sing the Sorceress of the wood,<br /> +The amorous Merman of the flood—<br /> +Or elves that, o’er the unfathomed stream,<br /> +Sport thick as motes in morning beam—<br /> +Or bid me sail from Iceland Isle,<br /> +With Rosmer and fair Ellenlyle,<br /> +What time the blood-crow’s flight was south,<br /> +Bearing a man’s leg in its mouth.<br /> +Though rough and rude, those strains are rife<br /> +Of things kin to immortal life,<br /> +Which touch the heart and tinge the cheek,<br /> +As deeply as divinest Greek.<br /> +In simple words and unsought rhyme,<br /> +Give me the songs of olden time.</p> +<h2>THE DEATH-RAVEN.<br /> +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLÆGER.</h2> +<p>The silken sail, which caught the summer breeze,<br /> +Drove the light vessel through the azure seas;<br /> +Upon the lofty deck, Dame Sigrid lay,<br /> +And watch’d the setting of the orb of day:<br /> +Then, all at once, the smiling sky grew dark,<br /> +The breakers rav’d, and sinking seem’d the bark;<br +/> +The wild Death-raven, perch’d upon the mast,<br /> +Scream’d ’mid the tumult, and awoke the blast.</p> +<p>Dame Sigrid saw the demon bird on high,<br /> +And tear-drops started in her beauteous eye;<br /> +Her cheeks, which late like blushing roses bloom’d,<br /> +Had now the pallid hue of fear assum’d:<br /> +“O wild death-raven, calm thy frightful rage,<br /> +Nor war with one who warfare cannot wage.<br /> +Tame yonder billows, make them cease to roar,<br /> +And I will give thee pounds of golden ore.”</p> +<p>“With gold thou must not hope to pay the brave,<br /> +For gold I will not calm a single wave,<br /> +For gold I will not hush the stormy air,<br /> +And yet my heart is mov’d by thy despair;<br /> +Give me the treasure hid beneath thy belt,<br /> +And straight yon clouds in harmless rain shall melt,<br /> +And down I’ll thunder, with my claws of steel.<br /> +Upon the merman clinging to your keel.”</p> +<p>“What I conceal’d beneath my girdle bear,<br /> +Is thine—irrevocably thine—I swear.<br /> +Thou hast refus’d a great and noble prey,<br /> +To get possession of my closet key.<br /> +Lo! here it is, and, when within thy maw,<br /> +May’st thou much comfort from the morsel draw!”<br /> +The polish’d steel upon the deck she cast,<br /> +And off the raven flutter’d from the mast.</p> +<p>Then down at once he plung’d amid the main,<br /> +And clove the merman’s frightful head in twain;<br /> +The foam-clad billows to repose he brought,<br /> +And tam’d the tempest with the speed of thought;<br /> +Then, with a thrice-repeated demon cry,<br /> +He soar’d aloft and vanish’d in the sky:<br /> +A soft wind blew the ship towards the land,<br /> +And soon Dame Sigrid reach’d the wish’d-for +strand.</p> +<p>Once, late at eve, she play’d upon her harp,<br /> +Close by the lake where slowly swam the carp;<br /> +And, as the moon-beam down upon her shone,<br /> +She thought of Norway, and its pine-woods lone.<br /> +“Yet love I Denmark,” said she, “and the +Danes,<br /> +For o’er them Alf, my mighty husband, reigns.”<br /> +Then ’neath her girdle something mov’d and +yearn’d,<br /> +And into terror all her bliss was turn’d.</p> +<p>“Ah! now I know thy meaning, cruel bird . . . ”<br +/> +Long sat she, then, and neither spoke nor stirr’d.<br /> +Faint, through the mist which rob’d the sky in gray,<br /> +The pale stars glimmer’d from the milky way.<br /> +“Ah! now I know thy meaning, cruel bird . . . ”<br /> +She strove in vain to breathe another word.<br /> +Above her head, its leaf the aspen shook—<br /> +Moist as her cheek, and pallid as her look.</p> +<p>Full five months pass’d, ere she, ’mid night and +gloom,<br /> +Brought forth with pain an infant from her womb:<br /> +They baptiz’d it, at midnight’s murky hour,<br /> +Lest it should fall within the demon’s power.<br /> +It was a boy, more lovely than the morn,<br /> +Yet Sigrid’s heart with bitter care was torn.<br /> +Deep in a grot, through which a brook did flow,<br /> +With crystal drops they sprinkled Harrald’s brow.</p> +<p>He grew and grew, till upon Danish ground<br /> +No youth to match the stripling could be found;<br /> +He was at once so graceful and so strong—<br /> +His look was fire, and his speech was song.<br /> +When yet a child, he tam’d the battle steed,<br /> +And only thought of war and daring deed;<br /> +But yet Queen Sigrid nurs’d prophetic fears,<br /> +And when she view’d him, always swam in tears.</p> +<p>One evening late, she lay upon her bed,<br /> +(King Alf, her noble spouse, was long since dead)<br /> +She felt so languid, and her aching breast<br /> +With more than usual sorrow was oppress’d.<br /> +Ah, then she heard a sudden sound that thrill’d<br /> +Her every nerve, and life’s warm current +chill’d:—<br /> +The bird of death had through the casement flown,<br /> +And thus he scream’d to her, in frightful tone:</p> +<p>“The wealthy bird came towering,<br /> +Came scowering,<br /> +O’er hill and stream.<br /> +‘Look here, look here, thou needy bird,<br /> +How gay my feathers gleam.’</p> +<p>“The needy bird came fluttering,<br /> +Came muttering,<br /> +And sadly sang,<br /> +‘Look here, look here, thou wealthy bird,<br /> +How loose my feathers hang.’</p> +<p>“Remember, Queen, the stormy day,<br /> +When cast away<br /> +Thou wast so nigh:—<br /> +Thou wast the needy bird that day,<br /> +And unto me didst cry.</p> +<p>“Death-raven now comes towering,<br /> +Comes scowering,<br /> +O’er hill and stream;<br /> +But when wilt thou, Dame Sigrid fair,<br /> +Thy plighted word redeem.”</p> +<p>A hollow moan from Sigrid’s bosom came,<br /> +While he survey’d her with his eye of flame:<br /> +“Fly,” said she; “demon monster, get thee +hence!<br /> +My humble pray’r shall be my son’s defence.”<br +/> +She cross’d herself, and then the fiend flew out;<br /> +But first, contemptuously he danc’d about,<br /> +And sang, “No pray’r shall save him from my rage;<br +/> +In Christian blood my thirst I will assuage.”</p> +<p>Young Harrald seiz’d his scarlet cap, and cried,<br /> +“I’ll probe the grief my mother fain would +hide;”<br /> +Then, rushing into her apartment fair,<br /> +“O mother,” said he, “wherefore sitt’st +thou there,<br /> +Far from thy family at dead of night,<br /> +With lips so mute, and cheeks so ghastly white?<br /> +Tell me what lies so heavy at thy heart;<br /> +Grief, when confided, loses half its smart.”</p> +<p>“O Harrald,” sigh’d she, yielding to his +pray’r,<br /> +“Creatures are swarming in the earth and air,<br /> +Who, wild with wickedness, and hot with wrath,<br /> +Wage war on those who follow virtue’s path.<br /> +One of those fiends is on the watch for thee,<br /> +Arm’d with a promise wrung by him from me:<br /> +His blood-shot eyes in narrow sockets roll,<br /> +And every night he leaves his mirksome hole.</p> +<p>“He was a kind of God, in former days;<br /> +Kings worshipp’d him, and minstrels sang his praise;<br /> +But when Christ’s doctrine through the dark North +flam’d,<br /> +His, and all evil spirits’ might was tam’d.<br /> +He now is but a raven; yet is still<br /> +Full strong enough to work on thee his will:<br /> +Lost is the wretch who in his power falls—<br /> +Vainly he shrieks, in vain for mercy calls.”</p> +<p>She whisper’d to him then, with bloodless lip,<br /> +What had befallen her on board the ship;<br /> +But youthful Harrald listen’d undismay’d,<br /> +And merely gripp’d the handle of his blade.<br /> +“My son,” she murmur’d, when her tale was +told,<br /> +“Fear withers me, but thou look’st blythe and +bold.”<br /> +The youth uplifted then his sparkling eye,<br /> +And said, whilst gazing on the moon-lit sky,</p> +<p>“Once, my dear mother, at the close of day,<br /> +Among tall flowers in the grove I lay,<br /> +Soft sang the linnets from a thousand trees,<br /> +And, sweetly lull’d, I slumber’d by degrees.<br /> +Then, heaven’s curtain was, methought, undrawn,<br /> +And, clad in hues that deck the brow of morn,<br /> +An angel slowly sank towards the earth,<br /> +Which seem’d to hail him with a smile of mirth.</p> +<p>“He rais’d his hand, and bade me fix my eye<br /> +Upon a chain which, hanging from the sky,<br /> +Embrac’d the world; and, stretching high and low,<br /> +Clink’d, as it mov’d, the notes of joy and wo:<br /> +The links that came in sight were purpled o’er<br /> +Full frequently with what seem’d human gore;<br /> +Of various metals made, it clasp’d the mould,—<br /> +Steel clung to silver, iron clung to gold.</p> +<p>“Then said the angel, with majestic air,—<br /> +‘The chain of destiny thou seest there.<br /> +Accept whate’er it gives, and murmur not;<br /> +For hard necessity has cast each lot.’<br /> +He vanish’d—I awoke with sudden start,<br /> +But that strange dream was graven on my heart.<br /> +I go wherever fate shall please to call,—<br /> +Without God’s leave, no fly to earth can fall.”</p> +<p>It thunders—and from midnight’s mirky cloud,<br /> +Comes peal on peal reverberating loud:<br /> +The froth-clad breakers cast, with sullen roar,<br /> +A Scottish bark upon the whiten’d shore.<br /> +Straight to the royal palace hasten then<br /> +A lovely maid and thirty sea-worn men.<br /> +Minona, Scotland’s princess, Scotland’s boast,<br /> +The storm has driven to the Danish coast.</p> +<p>Oft, while the train hew timber in the groves,<br /> +Minona, arm in arm, with Harrald roves.<br /> +Warm from his lip the words of passion flow;<br /> +Pure in her eyes the flames of passion glow.<br /> +One summer eve, upon a mossy bank,<br /> +Mouth join’d to mouth, and breast to breast, they sank:<br +/> +The moon arose in haste to see their love,<br /> +And wild birds carroll’d from the boughs above.</p> +<p>But now the ship, which seem’d of late a wreck,<br /> +Floats with a mast set proudly on her deck.<br /> +Minona kisses Harrald’s blooming face,<br /> +Whilst he attends her to the parting place.<br /> +His bold young heart beats high against his side—<br /> +She sail’d away—and, like one petrified,<br /> +Full long he stood upon the shore, to view<br /> +The smooth keel slipping through the waters blue.</p> +<p>Months pass, and Sigrid’s sorrow disappears;<br /> +The wild death-raven’s might no more she fears;<br /> +A gentle red bedecks her cheek again,<br /> +And briny drops her eye no longer stain.<br /> +“My Harrald stalks in manly size and strength;<br /> +Swart bird of darkness, I rejoice at length;<br /> +If thy curst claw could hurt my gallant son,<br /> +Long, long, ere this, the deed would have been done.”</p> +<p>But Harrald look’d so moody and forlorn,<br /> +And thus his mother he address’d one morn:<br /> +“Minona’s face is equall’d by her mind;<br /> +Methinks she calls me from her hills of wind?<br /> +Give me a ship with men and gold at need,<br /> +And let me to her father’s kingdom speed;<br /> +I’ll soon return, and back across the tide<br /> +Bring thee a daughter, and myself a bride.”</p> +<p>Dame Sigrid promis’d him an answer soon,<br /> +And went that night, when risen was the moon,<br /> +Deep through the black recesses of the wood,<br /> +To where old Bruno’s shelter’d cabin stood.<br /> +She enter’d—there he sat behind his board,<br /> +His woollen vestment girded by a cord;<br /> +The little lamp, which hung from overhead,<br /> +Gleam’d on the Bible-leaves before him spread.</p> +<p>“Hail to thee, Father!—man of hoary age,<br /> +Thy Queen demands from thee thy counsel sage.<br /> +Young Harrald to a distant land will go,<br /> +And I his destiny would gladly know:<br /> +Thou read’st the stars,—O do the stars portend<br /> +That he shall come to an untimely end?<br /> +Take from his mother’s heart this one last care,<br /> +And she will always name thee in her pray’r.”</p> +<p>The hermit, rising from his lonely nook,<br /> +With naked head, and coldly placid look,<br /> +Went out and gaz’d intently on the sky,<br /> +Whose lights were letters to his ancient eye.<br /> +“The stars,” said he, “in friendly order +stand,<br /> +One only, flashes like an angry brand:—<br /> +Thy Harrald, gentle Queen, will not be slain<br /> +Upon the <i>Earth</i>, nor yet upon the <i>Main</i>.”</p> +<p>While thus the seer prophetically spoke,<br /> +A flush of joy o’er Sigrid’s features broke:<br /> +“He’ll not be slain on ocean or on land,”<br /> +She said, and kiss’d the hermit’s wrinkled hand;<br +/> +“Why then, I’m happy, and my son is free<br /> +To mount his bark, and gallop through the sea:<br /> +Upon the grey stone he will sit as king,<br /> +When, in the grave, my bones are mouldering.”</p> +<p>The painted galley floats now in the creek—<br /> +Flags at her mast, and garlands at her beak;<br /> +High on the yard-arm hoisted is the sail,<br /> +Half spread it flutters in the evening gale.<br /> +The night before he goes, young Harrald stray’d<br /> +Into the wood where first he saw his maid:<br /> +Burning impatience fever’d all his blood,<br /> +He wish’d for wings to bear him o’er the flood.</p> +<p>Then sigh’d the wind among the bushy grounds,<br /> +Far in the distance rose the yell of hounds:<br /> +The flame-wisps, starting from the sedge and grass,<br /> +Hung, ’mid the vapours, over the morass.<br /> +Up to him came a beldame, wildly drest,<br /> +Bearing a closely-folded feather-vest:<br /> +She smil’d upon him with her cheeks so wan,<br /> +Gave him the robe, and was already gone.</p> +<p>Young Harrald, though astonish’d, has no fears;<br /> +The mighty garment in his hand he rears:<br /> +Of wond’rous lovely feathers it was made,<br /> +Which once the roc and ostrich had array’d.<br /> +He wishes much to veil in it his form,<br /> +And speed as rapidly as speeds the storm:<br /> +He puts it on, then seeks the open plain,—<br /> +Takes a short flight, and flutters back again.</p> +<p>“Courage!” he cried, “I will no longer +stay;<br /> +Scotland shall see me, ere the break of day.”<br /> +Then like a dragon in the air he soars,<br /> +Startled from slumber, in his wake it roars.<br /> +His wings across the ocean take their flight;<br /> +Groves, cities, hills, have vanish’d from his +sight,—<br /> +See! there he goes, lone rider of the sky,<br /> +Miles underneath him, black the billows lie.</p> +<p>He hears a clapping on the midnight wind:<br /> +Speed, Harrald, speed! the raven is behind.<br /> +Flames from his swarthy-rolling eye are cast:—<br /> +“Ha! Harrald,” scream’d he, “have we met +at last?”<br /> +For the first time, the youth felt terror’s force;<br /> +Pale grew his cheek, as that of clammy corse,<br /> +Chill was his blood, his nervous arm was faint,<br /> +While thus he stammer’d forth his lowly plaint:</p> +<p>“I see it is in vain to strive with fate;<br /> +Thank God, my soul is far above thy hate;<br /> +But, ere my mortal part thou dost destroy,<br /> +Let me one moment of sweet bliss enjoy:<br /> +The fair unmatch’d Minona is my love,<br /> +For her I travell’d, fool-like, here above:<br /> +Let me fly to her with my last farewell,<br /> +And I am thine, ere morning decks the fell.”</p> +<p>Firmly the raven holding him in air,<br /> +Survey’d his prize with fiercely-rabid glare:<br /> +“Now is the time to wreak on thee my lust;<br /> +Yet thou shalt own that I am good and just.”<br /> +Then from its socket, Harrald’s eye he tore,<br /> +And drank a full half of the hero’s gore:—<br /> +“Since I have mark’d thee, thou art free to go;<br /> +But loiter not when thou art there below.”</p> +<p>Young Harrald sinks with many a sob and tear,<br /> +Down from the sky to nature’s lower sphere:<br /> +He rested long beneath the poplar tall,<br /> +Which grew up, under the red church’s wall.<br /> +Then, rising slow, he feebly stagger’d on,<br /> +Till his Minona’s bower he had won.<br /> +Trembling and sad he stood beside the door—<br /> +Pale as a spectre, and besprent with gore!</p> +<p>“Minona, come, ere Harrald’s youthful heart<br /> +Is burst by love and complicated smart.<br /> +Soon will his figure disappear from earth,<br /> +Yet we shall meet in heaven’s halls of mirth:<br /> +Minona, come and give me one embrace,<br /> +That I may instantly my path retrace.”<br /> +Thus warbles he in passion’s wildest note,<br /> +While death each moment rattles in his throat.</p> +<p>Minona came: “Almighty God!” she cried,<br /> +“My Harrald’s ghost has wander’d o’er the +tide;<br /> +Red clots of blood his yellow tresses streak,<br /> +Drops of the same are running down his cheek.”<br /> +“Minona, love, survey me yet more near,<br /> +It is no shadow which accosts thee here;<br /> +Place thy warm hand upon my heart, and feel<br /> +Whether it beats for thee with slacken’d zeal.”</p> +<p>At once the current of her tears she stopp’d,<br /> +His arm upheld her, or the maid had dropp’d;<br /> +The roses faded from her face away,<br /> +And on her head the raven locks grew gray.<br /> +All he had borne, and what he yet must bear,<br /> +He murmurs to her whilst she trembles there:<br /> +The hero then with dying ardour press’d,<br /> +For the last time, his bosom to her breast.</p> +<p>“Farewell! Minona, all my fears are flown,<br /> +And if I grieve, it is for thee alone:<br /> +Give me a kiss, and give me too a smile,<br /> +And let not tears that parting look defile.<br /> +Now will I drink the bitter draught of death,<br /> +And yield courageously my forfeit breath:—<br /> +Farewell! may heaven take thee in its care,”<br /> +He said, and mounted swiftly in the air.</p> +<p>She gaz’d; but he had vanish’d from her view;<br +/> +She stood forsaken in the damp and dew,<br /> +Then dark emotion quiver’d in her eye,<br /> +And thus she pray’d, with hands uplifted high:<br /> +“Thou who wert vainly tempted in the wild,<br /> +Thou who wert always charitably mild,<br /> +Thou who mad’st Peter walk on billows blue,<br /> +Enable me my Harrald to pursue.”</p> +<p>Sunken already was the morning star,<br /> +The song of nightingales was heard afar,<br /> +The red sun peep’d above the mountain’s brow,<br /> +And flowers scented all the vale below.<br /> +There came a youthful maiden, gaily drest,<br /> +Bearing upon her back a feather-vest;<br /> +Fondly she kiss’d Minona’s features wan,<br /> +Gave her the robe, and then at once was gone.</p> +<p>And straight Minona clothes in it her limbs,<br /> +And soaring upward through the ether swims:<br /> +To moan and sob, her madden’d breast disdains,<br /> +Too big for such low comfort are its pains.<br /> +The fowls that meet her in yon airy fields,<br /> +She clips in pieces with an axe she wields;<br /> +Each clanging pinion ceaselessly she plies,<br /> +But cannot meet the raven or his prize.</p> +<p>She hears a faint shriek in the air below,<br /> +And, swift as eagle pounces on his foe,<br /> +Down, down, she dropp’d, and lighted on the shore,<br /> +Which far and wide was wet with Harrald’s gore.<br /> +She smil’d so ruefully, but still was mute—<br /> +His good right hand was lying at her foot:<br /> +That pledge of truth, in love’s unclouded day,<br /> +Was the sole remnant of the demon’s prey.</p> +<p>Deep in her breast she hid the bloody hand,<br /> +And bade adieu, for ever, to the land:<br /> +Again she scower’d through the airy path,<br /> +Her eyeballs terrible with madden’d wrath:<br /> +The raven-sorcerer at length she spied,<br /> +And soon her steel was with his hot blood dyed:<br /> +The huge black body, piecemeal, found a grave<br /> +Amid the bosom of the briny wave.</p> +<p>The ocean billows fret and foam no more,<br /> +But softly rush towards the pebbled shore,<br /> +On which the lindens stand, in many a group,<br /> +With leafy boughs that o’er the waters droop.<br /> +There floats one single cloudlet in the blue,<br /> +Close where the pale moon shows her face anew:<br /> +It is Minona dying there that flies,—<br /> +She sinks not!—no—she mounts unto the skies.</p> +<h2>FRIDLEIF AND HELGA.<br /> +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLÆGER.</h2> +<p>The woods were in leaf, and they cast a sweet shade;<br /> +Among them walk’d Helga, the beautiful maid.</p> +<p>The water is dashing o’er yon little stones;<br /> +She sat down beside it, and rested her bones.</p> +<p>She sat down, and soon, from a bush that was near,<br /> +Sir Fridleif approach’d her with sword and with spear:</p> +<p>“Ah, pity me, Helga, and fly me not now,<br /> +I live, only live, on the smile of thy brow:</p> +<p>“In thy father’s whole garden is found not a +rose,<br /> +Which bright as thyself, and as beautiful grows.”</p> +<p>“Sir Fridleif, thy words are but meant to deceive,<br /> +Yet tell me what brings thee so late here at eve.”</p> +<p>“I cannot find rest, and I cannot find ease,<br /> +Though sweet sing the linnets among the wild trees;</p> +<p>“If thou wilt but promise, one day to be mine,<br /> +No more shall I sorrow, no more shall I pine.”</p> +<p>She sank in his arms, and her cheeks were as red<br /> +As the sun when he sinks in his watery bed;</p> +<p>But soon she arose from his loving embrace;<br /> +He walk’d by her side, through the wood, for a space.</p> +<p>“Now listen, young Fridleif, the gallant and bold,<br /> +Take off from my finger this ring of red gold,</p> +<p>Take off from my finger this ring of red gold,<br /> +And part with it not, till in death thou art cold.”</p> +<p>Sir Fridleif stood there in a sorrowful plight,<br /> +Salt tears wet his eyeballs, and blinded his sight.</p> +<p>“Go home, and I’ll come to thy father with +speed,<br /> +And claim thee from him, on my mighty grey steed.”</p> +<p>Sir Fridleif, at night, through the thick forest rode,<br /> +He fain would arrive at his lov’d one’s abode;</p> +<p>His harness was clanking, his helm glitter’d sheen,<br +/> +His horse was so swift, and himself was so keen:</p> +<p>He reach’d the proud castle, and jump’d on the +ground,<br /> +His horse to the branch of a linden he bound;</p> +<p>He shoulder’d his mantle of grey otter skin,<br /> +And through the wide door, to Sir Erik went in.</p> +<p>“Here sitt’st thou, Sir Erik, in scarlet +array’d;<br /> +I’ve wedded thy daughter, the beautiful maid.”</p> +<p>“And who art thou, Rider? what feat hast thou done?<br +/> +No nidering coward shall e’er be my son.”</p> +<p>“O far have I wander’d, renown’d is my +name,<br /> +The heroes I conquer’d wherever I came:</p> +<p>“Han Elland, ’t is true, long disputed the +ground,<br /> +But yet he receiv’d from my hand his +death-wound.”</p> +<p>Sir Erik then alter’d his countenance quite,<br /> +And out hurried he, in the gloom of the night.</p> +<p>“Fill high, little Kirstin, my best drinking cup,<br /> +And be the brown liquor with poison mixt up.”</p> +<p>She gave him the draught, and returning with speed,<br /> +“Young gallant,” said he, “thou must taste my +old mead.”</p> +<p>Sir Fridleif unbuckled his helmet and drank;<br /> +Sweat sprung from his forehead—his features grew blank.</p> +<p>“I never have drain’d, since the day I was +born,<br /> +A bitterer draught, from a costlier horn:</p> +<p>“My course is completed, my life is summ’d up,<br +/> +For treason I smell in the dregs of the cup.”</p> +<p>Sir Erik then said, while he stamp’d on the ground,<br +/> +“Young knight, ’t is thy fortune to die like a +hound.</p> +<p>“My best belov’d friend thou didst boast to have +slain,<br /> +And I have aveng’d him by giving thee bane:</p> +<p>“Not Helga, but Hela, <a name="citation1"></a><a +href="#footnote1" class="citation">[1]</a> shall now be thy +bride;<br /> +Dark blue are her cheeks, and she looks stony-eyed.”</p> +<p>“Sir Erik, thy words are both witty and wise,<br /> +And hell, when it has thee, will have a rich prize!</p> +<p>“Convey unto Helga her gold ring so red;<br /> +Be sure to inform her when Fridleif is dead;</p> +<p>“But flame shall give water, and marble shall bleed,<br +/> +Before thou shalt win by this treacherous deed:</p> +<p>“And I will not die like a hound, in the straw,<br /> +But go, like a hero, to Odin and Thor.”</p> +<p>He cut himself thrice, with his keen-cutting glaive,<br /> +And went to Valhalla, <a name="citation2"></a><a +href="#footnote2" class="citation">[2]</a> the way of the +brave.</p> +<p>The knight bade his daughter come into the room:<br /> +“Look here, my sweet child, on thy merry +bridegroom.”</p> +<p>She look’d on the body, and gave a wild start;<br /> +“O father, why hadst thou so cruel a heart?”</p> +<p>She moan’d and lamented, she rav’d and she +curst;<br /> +She look’d on her love, till her very eyes burst.</p> +<p>At midnight, Sir Erik was standing there mute,<br /> +With two pallid corses beside his cold foot:</p> +<p>He stood stiff and still; and when morning-light came,<br /> +He stood, like a post, without life in his frame.</p> +<p>The youth and the maid were together interr’d,<br /> +Sir Erik could not from his posture be stirr’d:</p> +<p>He stood there, as stiffly, for thirty long days,<br /> +And look’d on the earth with a petrified gaze.</p> +<p>’T is said, on the night of the thirtieth long day,<br +/> +To dust and to ashes he moulder’d away.</p> +<h2>SIR MIDDEL.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>So tightly was Swanelil lacing her vest,<br /> +That forth spouted milk, from each lily-white breast;<br /> +That saw the Queen-mother, and thus she begun:<br /> +“What maketh the milk from thy bosom to run?”<br /> +“O this is not milk, my dear mother, I vow;<br /> +It is but the mead I was drinking just now.”<br /> +“Ha! out on thee minion! these eyes have their sight;<br /> +Would’st tell me that mead, in its colour, is +white?”<br /> +“Well, well, since the proofs are so glaring and strong,<br +/> +I own that Sir Middel has done me a wrong.”<br /> +“And was he the miscreant? dear shall he pay,<br /> +For the cloud he has cast on our honour’s bright ray;<br /> +I’ll hang him up; yes, I will hang him with scorn,<br /> +And burn thee to ashes, at breaking of morn.”<br /> +The maiden departed in anguish and wo,<br /> +And straight to Sir Middel it lists her to go;<br /> +Arriv’d at the portal, she sounded the bell,<br /> +“Now wake thee, love, if thou art living and +well.”<br /> +Sir Middel he heard her, and sprang from his bed;<br /> +Not knowing her voice, in confusion he said,<br /> +“Away: for I have neither candle nor light,<br /> +And I swear that no mortal shall enter this night!”<br /> +“Now busk ye, Sir Middel, in Christ’s holy name;<br +/> +I fly from my mother, who knows of my shame;<br /> +She’ll hang thee up; yes, she will hang thee with scorn,<br +/> +And burn me to ashes, at breaking of morn.”<br /> +“Ha! laugh at her threat’nings, so empty and wild;<br +/> +She neither shall hang me, nor burn thee, my child:<br /> +Collect what is precious, in jewels and garb,<br /> +And I’ll to the stable and saddle my barb.”<br /> +He gave her the cloak, that he us’d at his need,<br /> +And he lifted her up, on the broad-bosom’d steed.<br /> +The forest is gain’d, and the city is past,<br /> +When her eyes to the heaven she wistfully cast.<br /> +“What ails thee, dear maid? we had better now stay,<br /> +For thou art fatigu’d by the length of the way.”<br +/> +“I am not fatigu’d by the length of the way;<br /> +But my seat is uneasy, in truth, I must say.”<br /> +He spread, on the cold earth, his mantle so wide;<br /> +“Now rest thee, my love, and I’ll watch by thy +side.”<br /> +“O Jesus, that one of my maidens were near!<br /> +The pains of a mother are on me, I fear.”<br /> +“Thy maidens are now at a distance from thee,<br /> +And thou art alone in the forest with me.”<br /> +“’Twere better to perish, again and again,<br /> +Than thou should’st stand by me, and gaze on my +pain.”<br /> +“Then take off thy kerchief, and cover my head,<br /> +And perhaps I may stand in the wise-woman’s +stead.”<br /> +“O Christ, that I had but a draught of the wave!<br /> +To quench my death-thirst, and my temples to lave.”<br /> +Sir Middel was to her so tender and true,<br /> +And he fetch’d her the drink in her gold-spangled shoe.<br +/> +The fountain was distant, and when he drew near,<br /> +Two nightingales sat there and sang in his ear:<br /> +“Thy love, she is dead, and for ever at rest,<br /> +With two little babes that lie cold on her breast.”<br /> +Such was their song; but he heeded them not,<br /> +And trac’d his way back to the desolate spot;<br /> +But oh, what a spectacle burst on his view!<br /> +For all they had told him was fatally true.<br /> +He dug a deep grave by the side of a tree,<br /> +And buried therein the unfortunate three.<br /> +As he clamp’d the mould down with his iron-heel’d +boot<br /> +He thought that the babies scream’d under his foot:<br /> +Then placing his weapon against a grey stone,<br /> +He cast himself on it, and died with a groan.<br /> +Ye maidens of Norway, henceforward beware!<br /> +For love, when unbridled, will end in despair.</p> +<h2>ELVIR-SHADES.<br /> +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLÆGER.</h2> +<p>A sultry eve pursu’d a sultry day;<br /> +Dark streaks of purple in the sky were seen,<br /> +And shadows half conceal’d the lonely way;</p> +<p>I spurr’d my courser, and more swiftly rode,<br /> +In moody silence, through the forests green,<br /> +Where doves and linnets had their lone abode:</p> +<p>It was my fate to reach a brook, at last,<br /> +Which, by sweet-scented bushes fenc’d around,<br /> +Defiance bade to heat and nipping blast.</p> +<p>Inclin’d to rest, and hear the wild birds’ +song,<br /> +I stretch’d myself upon that brook’s soft bound,<br +/> +And there I fell asleep and slumber’d long;</p> +<p>And only woke, O wonder, to perceive<br /> +A gold-hair’d maiden, as a snowdrop pale,<br /> +Her slender form from out the ground upheave:</p> +<p>Then fear o’ercame me, and this daring heart<br /> +Beat three times audibly against my mail;<br /> +I wish’d to speak, but could no sound impart.</p> +<p>And see! another maid rose up and took<br /> +Some drops of water from the foaming rill,<br /> +And gaz’d upon me with a wistful look.</p> +<p>Said she, “What brings thee to this lonely place?<br /> +But do not fear, for thou shalt meet no ill;<br /> +Thou steel-clad warrior, full of youth and grace.”</p> +<p>“No;” sang the other, in delightful tone,<br /> +“But thou shalt gaze on prodigies which ne’er<br /> +To man’s unhallow’d eye have yet been +shown.”</p> +<p>The brook which lately brawl’d among the trees<br /> +Stood still, the murmur of that song to hear;<br /> +No green leaf stirr’d, and fetter’d seem’d the +breeze.</p> +<p>The thrush, upstarting in the distant dell,<br /> +Shook its brown wing, with golden streaks array’d,<br /> +And ap’d the witch-notes, as they rose and fell.</p> +<p>Bright gleam’d the lake’s broad sheet of liquid +blue,<br /> +Where, with the rabid pike, the troutling play’d;<br /> +The rose unlock’d its folded leaves anew,</p> +<p>And blush’d, besprinkled with the night’s cold +tear.<br /> +Once more the lily rais’d its head and smil’d,<br /> +All ghastly white, as when it decks the bier.</p> +<p>Though sweet she sang, my fears were not the less,<br /> +For in her accents there was something wild,<br /> +Which I can feel, ’t is true, but not express.</p> +<p>“Come with us,” sang she, “deep below the +earth,<br /> +Where sun ne’er burns, and storm-winds never rave;<br /> +Come with us to our halls of princely mirth,</p> +<p>“There thou shalt learn from us the Runic lay;<br /> +But dip thee, first, in yonder crystal wave,<br /> +Which binds thee to the Elfin race for aye:</p> +<p>“Though painted flowers on earth’s breast +abound,<br /> +Yet we have far more lovely ones below;<br /> +Like grass the chrysolites there strew the ground.”</p> +<p>“O come,” the other syren did exclaim,<br /> +“For rubies there more red than roses grow—<br /> +The sapphir’s blue the violet puts to shame.”</p> +<p>I rais’d my eyes to heaven’s starry dome,<br /> +And gripp’d my faulchion with convulsive might,<br /> +Resolv’d no witchcraft should my mind o’ercome.</p> +<p>My lengthen’d silence vex’d the maidens sore:<br +/> +“Wilt thou detain us here the live-long night,<br /> +Or must we, stripling, proffer something more?</p> +<p>“Taught by us, thou shalt bind the rugged +bear,—<br /> +Seize on the mighty dragon’s heap of gold,—<br /> +And slay the cockatrice while in her lair!</p> +<p>“But from thy breast the blood we will suck out,<br /> +Unless thou follow us beneath the mould!<br /> +Decide, decide, nor longer pause in doubt!”</p> +<p>Cold sweat I shed, and as, with trembling hand,<br /> +I strove to whirl my beaming faulchion round,<br /> +It sank, enthrall’d by magic’s potent band.</p> +<p>Each witch drew nigh, with dagger high uprear’d;<br /> +Just then a cock, beyond the wild wood’s bound,<br /> +Crew loud—and in the earth they disappear’d.</p> +<p>I flung myself upon my frighten’d barb,<br /> +Just as the shades began to grow less murk,<br /> +And sun-beams clad the sky in gayer garb.</p> +<p>Let each young warrior from such places fly:<br /> +Disease and death beneath the flowers lurk;<br /> +And elves would suck the warm blood from his eye.</p> +<h2>THE HEDDYBEE-SPECTRE.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>I clomb in haste my dappled steed,<br /> +And gallop’d far o’er mount and mead;<br /> +And when the day drew nigh its close,<br /> +I laid me down to take repose.</p> +<p>I laid me down to take repose,<br /> +And slumbers sweet fell o’er my brows:<br /> +And then, methought, as there I slept,<br /> +From out the ground the dead man leapt.</p> +<p>Said he, “If thou art valiant, Knight,<br /> +My murder soon will see the light;<br /> +For thou wilt ride to Heddybee,<br /> +Where live my youthful brothers three:</p> +<p>“And there, too, thou wilt surely find<br /> +My father dear and mother kind;<br /> +And there sits Kate, my much-loved wife,<br /> +Who with her women took my life.</p> +<p>“They chok’d me, as in bed I lay,<br /> +Then wrapp’d me in a truss of hay;<br /> +And bore me out at dead of night,<br /> +And laid me in this lonely height.</p> +<p>“The Groom, who lately clean’d my stall,<br /> +Now struts and vapours through my hall,—<br /> +Eats gaily with my silver knife,<br /> +And sleeps with Kate, my much-lov’d wife.</p> +<p>“His place is highest at the board;<br /> +But what is most to be deplor’d,<br /> +He gives my babes so little bread,<br /> +And mocks them now their sire is dead.</p> +<p>“Clad in my clothes he proudly stalks<br /> +Along the shady forest-walks;<br /> +And, arm’d with bow and hunting spear,<br /> +He shoots my birds and stabs my deer.</p> +<p>“Were I alive, to meet him now,<br /> +All underneath the linden bough,<br /> +With no one nigh, my wrath to check,<br /> +I’d wring his head from off his neck!</p> +<p>“But hie thee hence to Heddybee,<br /> +Where live my youthful brothers three;<br /> +First tell them all—then stab the groom—<br /> +Allow my wife a milder doom.”</p> +<h2>SIR JOHN.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>Sir Lavé to the island stray’d;<br /> +He wedded there a lovely maid:<br /> +“I’ll have her yet,” said John.</p> +<p>He brought her home across the main,<br /> +With knights and ladies in the train:<br /> +“I’m close behind,” said John.</p> +<p>They plac’d her on the bridal seat;<br /> +Sir Lavé bade them drink and eat:<br /> +“Aye: that we will,” said John.</p> +<p>The servants led her then to bed,<br /> +But could not loose her girdle red!<br /> +“I can, perhaps,” said John.</p> +<p>He shut the door with all his might;<br /> +He lock’d it fast, and quench’d the light:<br /> +“I shall sleep here,” said John.</p> +<p>A servant to Sir Lavé hied;—<br /> +“Sir John is sleeping with the bride:”<br /> +“Aye, that I am,” said John.</p> +<p>Sir Lavé to the chamber flew:<br /> +“Arise, and straight the door undo!”<br /> +“A likely thing!” said John.</p> +<p>He struck with shield, he struck with spear—<br /> +“Come out, thou Dog, and fight me here!”<br /> +“Another time,” said John.</p> +<p>“And since thou with my bride hast lain,<br /> +To our good king I will complain.”<br /> +“That thou canst do,” said John.</p> +<p>As soon as e’er the morning shone,<br /> +Sir Lavé sought our monarch’s throne;<br /> +“I’ll go there too,” said John.</p> +<p>“O King, chastise this wicked wight,<br /> +For with my wife he slept last night.”<br /> +“’T is very true,” said John.</p> +<p>“Since ye two love one pretty face,<br /> +Your lances must decide the case.”<br /> +“With all my heart,” said John.</p> +<p>The sun on high was shining bright,<br /> +And thousands came to see the fight:<br /> +“Lo! here I am:” said John.</p> +<p>The first course that they ran so free,<br /> +Sir John’s horse fell upon his knee:<br /> +“Now help me God!” said John.</p> +<p>The next course that they ran, in ire,<br /> +Sir Lavé fell among the mire.<br /> +“He’s dead enough!” said John.</p> +<p>The victor to the castle hied,<br /> +And there in tears he found the bride:<br /> +“Thou art my own,” said John.</p> +<p>That night, forgetting all alarms,<br /> +Again she blest him in her arms.<br /> +“I have her now!” said John.</p> +<h2>MAY <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3" +class="citation">[3]</a> ASDA.<br /> +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLÆGER.</h2> +<p>May Asda is gone to the merry green wood;<br /> +Like flax was each tress on her temples that stood;<br /> +Her cheek like the rose-leaf that perfumes the air;<br /> +Her form, like the lily-stalk, graceful and fair:</p> +<p>She mourn’d for her lover, Sir Frovin the brave,<br /> +For he had embark’d on the boisterous wave;<br /> +And, burning to gather the laurels of war,<br /> +Had sail’d with King Humble to Orkney afar:</p> +<p>At feast and at revel, wherever she went,<br /> +Her thoughts on his perils and dangers were bent;<br /> +No joy has the heart that loves fondly and dear—<br /> +No pleasure save when the lov’d object is near!</p> +<p>May Asda walk’d out in the bonny noon-tide,<br /> +And roam’d where the beeches grew up in their pride;<br /> +She sat herself down on the green sloping hill,<br /> +Where liv’d the Erl-people, <a name="citation4"></a><a +href="#footnote4" class="citation">[4]</a> and where they live +still:</p> +<p>Then trembled the turf, as she sat in repose,<br /> +And straight from the mountain three maidens arose;<br /> +And with them a loom, and upon it a woof,<br /> +As white as the snow when it falls on the roof.</p> +<p>Of red shining gold was the fairy-loom made;<br /> +They sang and they danc’d, and their swift shuttles +play’d;<br /> +Their song was of death, and their song was of life,<br /> +It sounded like billows in tumult and strife.</p> +<p>They gave her the woof, with a sorrowful look,<br /> +And vanish’d like bubbles that burst on the brook;<br /> +But deep in the mountain was heard a sweet strain,<br /> +As the lady went home to her bower again.</p> +<p>The web was unfinish’d; she wove and she spun,<br /> +Nor rested a moment, until it was done;<br /> +And there was enough, when the work was complete,<br /> +To form for a dead man a shirt or a sheet.</p> +<p>The heroes return’d from the well-foughten field,<br /> +And bore home Sir Frovin’s corse, laid on a shield;<br /> +Sad sight for the maid! but she still was alert,<br /> +And sew’d round the body the funeral shirt:</p> +<p>And when she had come to the very last stitch,<br /> +Her feelings, so long suppress’d, rose to a pitch,<br /> +The cold clammy sweat from her features outbroke;<br /> +Death struck her, and meekly she bow’d to the stroke.</p> +<p>She rests with her lover now deep in the grave,<br /> +And o’er them the beeches their mossy boughs wave;<br /> +There sing the Erl-maidens their ditties aloud,<br /> +And dance while the merry moon peeps from the cloud.</p> +<h2>AAGER AND ELIZA.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>Have ye heard of bold Sir Aager,<br /> +How he rode to yonder isle;<br /> +There he saw the sweet Eliza,<br /> +Who upon him deign’d to smile.</p> +<p>There he married sweet Eliza,<br /> +With her lands and ruddy gold—<br /> +Wo is me! the Monday after,<br /> +Dead he lay beneath the mould!</p> +<p>In her bower sat Eliza;<br /> +Rent the air with shriek and groan;<br /> +All which heard the good Sir Aager,<br /> +Underneath the granite stone.</p> +<p>Up his mighty limbs he gather’d,<br /> +Took the coffin on his back;<br /> +And to fair Eliza’s bower<br /> +Hasten’d, by the well-known track.</p> +<p>On her chamber’s lowly portal,<br /> +With his fingers long and thin,<br /> +Thrice he tapp’d, and bade Eliza<br /> +Straightway let her bridegroom in!</p> +<p>Straightway answer’d fair Eliza,<br /> +“I will not undo my door<br /> +Till I hear thee name sweet Jesus,<br /> +As thou oft hast done before.”</p> +<p>“Rise, O rise, my own Eliza,<br /> +And undo thy chamber door;<br /> +I can name the name of Jesus,<br /> +As I once could do before.”</p> +<p>Up then rose the sweet Eliza,—<br /> +Up she rose, and twirl’d the pin.<br /> +Straight the chamber door flew open,<br /> +And the dead man glided in.</p> +<p>With her comb she comb’d his ringlets,<br /> +For she felt but little fear:<br /> +On each lock that she adjusted<br /> +Fell a hot and briny tear.</p> +<p>“Listen, now, my good Sir Aager,<br /> +Dearest bridegroom, all I crave<br /> +Is to know how it goes with thee,<br /> +In that lonely place, the grave?”</p> +<p>“Every time that thou rejoicest,<br /> +And thy breast with pleasure heaves,<br /> +Then that moment is my coffin<br /> +Lin’d with rose and laurel leaves.</p> +<p>“Every time that thou art shedding<br /> +From thine eyes the briny flood,<br /> +Then that moment is my coffin<br /> +Fill’d with black and loathsome blood.</p> +<p>“Heard I not the red cock crowing,<br /> +Distant far upon the wind?<br /> +Down to dust the dead are going,<br /> +And I may not stop behind.</p> +<p>“Heaven’s ruddy portals open,—<br /> +Daylight bursts upon my view;<br /> +Though the word be hard to utter,<br /> +I must bid thee, love, adieu!”</p> +<p>Up his mighty limbs he gather’d,<br /> +Took the coffin on his back,<br /> +To the church-yard straight he hasten’d<br /> +By the well-known, beaten, track.</p> +<p>Up then rose the sweet Eliza;<br /> +Tear-drops on her features stood,<br /> +While her lover she attended<br /> +Through the dark and dreary wood.</p> +<p>When they reach’d the lone enclosure,<br /> +(Last, sad, refuge of the dead)—<br /> +From the cheeks of good Sir Aager<br /> +All the lovely colour fled:</p> +<p>“Listen, now, my sweet Eliza,<br /> +If my peace be dear to thee:<br /> +Never, then, from this time forward,<br /> +Shed a single tear for me.</p> +<p>“Turn thy lovely eyes to heaven,<br /> +Where the stars are beaming pale;<br /> +Thou canst tell me, then, for certain,<br /> +If the night begins to fail.”</p> +<p>When she turn’d her eyes to heaven,<br /> +All with stars besprinkled o’er,<br /> +In the earth the dead man glided,<br /> +And she never saw him more.</p> +<p>Homeward went the sweet Eliza;<br /> +Oh, her heart was chill and cold:—<br /> +Wo is me! the Monday after,<br /> +Dead she lay beneath the mould!</p> +<h2>SAINT OLUF.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>St. Oluf was a mighty king,<br /> +Who rul’d the Northern land;<br /> +The holy Christian faith he preach’d,<br /> +And taught it, sword in hand.</p> +<p>St. Oluf built a lofty ship,<br /> +With sails of silk so fair;<br /> +“To Hornelummer I must go,<br /> +And see what’s passing there.”</p> +<p>“O do not go,” the seamen said,<br /> +“To yonder fatal ground,<br /> +Where savage Jutts, <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5" +class="citation">[5]</a> and wicked elves,<br /> +And demon sprites, abound.”</p> +<p>St. Oluf climb’d the vessel’s side;<br /> +His courage nought could tame!<br /> +“Heave up, heave up the anchor straight;<br /> +Let’s go in Jesu’s name.</p> +<p>“The cross shall be my faulchion now—<br /> +The book of God my shield;<br /> +And, arm’d with them, I hope and trust<br /> +To make the demons yield.”</p> +<p>And swift, as eagle cleaves the sky,<br /> +The gallant vessel flew;<br /> +Direct for Hornelummer’s rock,<br /> +Through ocean’s wavy blue.</p> +<p>’T was early in the morning tide<br /> +When she cast anchor there;<br /> +And, lo! the Jutt stood on the cliff,<br /> +To breathe the morning air:</p> +<p>His eyes were like the burning beal—<br /> +His mouth was all awry;<br /> +The truth I tell, and say he stood<br /> +Full twenty cubits high:</p> +<p>His beard was like a horse’s mane,<br /> +And down his bosom roll’d;<br /> +The claws that fenc’d his finger ends<br /> +Were frightful to behold.</p> +<p>“I never yet have seen,” he cried,<br /> +“A ship come near my strand,<br /> +That here to shore I could not drag,<br /> +By putting out my hand.”</p> +<p>The good St. Oluf smil’d thereat,<br /> +And thus address’d his crew:<br /> +“Now hold your tongues, and well observe<br /> +What I’m about to do.”</p> +<p>The giant stretch’d his mighty arm;<br /> +The ship was nigh his own;<br /> +But when St. Oluf rais’d the cross,<br /> +He sank knee-deep in stone.</p> +<p>“Here am I, sunk knee-deep in stone!<br /> +My legs I cannot move;<br /> +But, since my back and fists are free,<br /> +My might thou yet shalt prove.”</p> +<p>“Be still, be still, thou noisy guest—<br /> +Be still for evermore;<br /> +Become a rock and beetle there,<br /> +Above the billows hoar.”</p> +<p>Up started then, from out the hill,<br /> +The demon’s hoary wife;<br /> +She curs’d the king a thousand times,<br /> +And brandish’d high her knife.</p> +<p>Sore wonder’d then the little elves,<br /> +Who sat within the hill,<br /> +To see their mother, all at once,<br /> +Stand likewise stiff and still:</p> +<p>“’T is done,” they cried, “by yonder +wight,<br /> +Who rides upon the waves;<br /> +Let’s wade out to him, through the surf,<br /> +And beat him with our staves.”</p> +<p>At Hornelummer happen’d then,<br /> +What happen’d ne’er before;<br /> +The elfins wish’d to leave the hill,<br /> +And could not find a door:</p> +<p>They ran their heads against the wall,<br /> +And tried to break it through;<br /> +They could not break the solid rock,<br /> +But broke their necks in lieu.</p> +<p>Now, thanks to God, and Jesus Christ,<br /> +And good St. Oluf’s arm,<br /> +To Hornelummer we can sail<br /> +Without mishap or harm.</p> +<h2>THE HEROES OF DOVREFELD.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>On Dovrefeld, <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6" +class="citation">[6]</a> in Norway,<br /> +Were once together seen<br /> +The twelve heroic brothers<br /> +Of Ingeborg, the queen:</p> +<p>And they were all magicians,<br /> +Possest of mighty art,<br /> +Who freely read the Runic,<br /> +And knew the rhyme by heart. <a name="citation7"></a><a +href="#footnote7" class="citation">[7]</a></p> +<p>The first could turn the lightning,<br /> +And quench its ruddy gleam:<br /> +The second, with a whisper,<br /> +Could still the running stream:</p> +<p>The third beneath the water<br /> +Could dive like any fish:<br /> +The fourth could get provision<br /> +By striking on his dish:</p> +<p>The fifth upon the gold harp<br /> +So pleasantly could play,<br /> +That all the men who heard him<br /> +Began to dance away:</p> +<p>The sixth, he had a bugle,<br /> +And when he blew a blast,<br /> +The stoutest of his foemen<br /> +Would fly before him fast:</p> +<p>The seventh, unimpeded,<br /> +Through solid hills could roam:<br /> +The eighth could walk the ocean,<br /> +When billows were in foam:</p> +<p>The ninth could draw, by magic,<br /> +The fishes from the deep:<br /> +The tenth was never weary,<br /> +Nor overcome by sleep:</p> +<p>The eleventh bound the dragon<br /> +Which crept among the grass;<br /> +And all he wish’d to happen<br /> +Was sure to come to pass:</p> +<p>The twelfth, who was reputed<br /> +The wisest of the band,<br /> +Knew what was going forward<br /> +In every foreign land.</p> +<p>And now, forsooth, I tell ye,<br /> +Who listen to my strain,<br /> +That such a set of brothers<br /> +Will ne’er be seen again.</p> +<h2>SVEND VONVED.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>Grimm, in the preface to his German translation of the +Kiæmpé Viser, characterizes this Ballad in the +following magnificent words:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Seltsam ist das Lied von dem Held +Vonved. Unter dem Empfang des Zauberseegens und mit +räthselhaften Worten, dass er nie wiederkehre oder dann den +Tod seines Vaters rächen müsse, reitet er aus. +Lange sieht er keine Stadt und keinen Menschen, dann, wer sich +ihm entgegen stelit, den wirft er nieder, den Hirten legt er +seine Räthsel vor über das edelste und +abscheuungswürdigste, übar den Gang der Sonne und die +Ruhe des Todten: wer sie nicht Iöst, den erschlägt er; +trotzig sitzt er unter den Helden, ihre Anerbietungen gefallen +ihm nicht, er reitet heim, erschlägt zwölf +Zauberweiber, die ihm entgegen kommen, dann seine Mutter, endlich +zernichtet er auch sein Saitenspiel, damit kein Wohllaut mehr den +wilden Sinn besänftige. Es scheint dieses Lied vor +allen in einer eigenen Bedeutung gedichtet, und den Mismuth eines +zerstörten herumirrenden Gemüths anzuzeigen, das seine +Räthsel will gelöst haben: es ist die Angst eines +Menschen darin ausgedrückt, der die Flügel, die er +fühlt, nicht frei bewegen kann, und der, wenn ihn diese +Angst peinigt, gegen alles, auch gegen sein Liebstes, wüthen +muss. Dieser Charakter scheint dem Norden gantz +eigenthümlich; in dem seltsamen Leben Königs Sigurd des +Jerusalemfahrers, auch in Shakspeare’s Hamlet ist etwas +ähnliches.”</p> +<p>“Singular is the song of the hero Vonved. After +having received the magic blessing, he rides out, darkly hinting +that he must never return, or have avenged the death of his +father. For a long time he sees no city and no man; he then +overthrows whomsoever opposes him; he lays his enigmas before the +herdsmen, concerning that which is most grand, and that which is +most horrible; concerning the course of the sun and the repose of +the dead; he who cannot explain them is slaughtered. +Haughtily he sits among the heroes—their invitations do not +please him—he rides home—slays twelve sorceresses who +come against him—then his mother, and at last he demolishes +his harp, so that no sweet sound shall in future soften his wild +humour. This song, more than any of the rest, seems to be +composed with a meaning of its own; and shows the melancholy of a +ruined, wandering mind, which will have its enigmas cleared +up! The anguish of a man is expressed therein, who cannot +move freely the wings which he feels; and, who, when this anguish +torments him, is forced to deal out destruction against +all—even against his best-beloved. Such a character +seems to be quite the property of the North. In the strange +life of King Sigurd, the wanderer to Jerusalem, and likewise in +Shakspeare’s Hamlet, there is something similar.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Svend Vonved sits in his lonely bower;<br /> +He strikes his harp with a hand of power;<br /> +His harp return’d a responsive din;<br /> +Then came his mother hurrying in:<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>In came his mother Adeline,<br /> +And who was she, but a queen, so fine:<br /> +“Now hark, Svend Vonved! out must thou ride,<br /> +And wage stout battle with knights of pride.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Avenge thy father’s untimely end;<br /> +To me, or another, thy gold harp lend;<br /> +This moment boune <a name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8" +class="citation">[8]</a> thee, and straight begone!<br /> +I rede <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9" +class="citation">[9]</a> thee, do it, my own dear son.”<br +/> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side;<br /> +He fain will battle with knights of pride.<br /> +“When may I look for thee once more here?<br /> +When roast the heifer, and spice the beer?”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“When stones shall take, of themselves, a flight,<br /> +And ravens’ feathers are woxen <a name="citation10"></a><a +href="#footnote10" class="citation">[10]</a> white,<br /> +Then may’st thou expect Svend Vonved home:<br /> +In all my days, I will never come.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>His mother took that in evil part:<br /> +“I hear, young gallant, that mad thou art;<br /> +Wherever thou goest, on land or sea,<br /> +Disgrace and shame shall attend on thee.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>He kiss’d her thrice, with his lips of fire:<br /> +“Appease, O mother, appease thine ire;<br /> +Ne’er wish me any mischance to know,<br /> +For thou canst not tell how far I may go.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Then I will bless thee, this very day;<br /> +Thou never shalt perish in any fray;<br /> +Success shall be in thy courser tall;<br /> +Success in thyself, which is best of all.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Success in thy hand, success in thy foot,<br /> +In struggle with man, in battle with brute;<br /> +The holy God and Saint Drotten <a name="citation11"></a><a +href="#footnote11" class="citation">[11]</a> dear<br /> +Shall guide and watch thee through thy career.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“They both shall take thee beneath their care,<br /> +Then surely thou never shalt evily fare:<br /> +See yonder sword of steel so white,<br /> +No helm nor shield shall resist its bite.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved took up the word again—<br /> +“I’ll range the mountain, and rove the plain,<br /> +Peasant and noble I’ll wound and slay;<br /> +All, all, for my father’s wrong shall pay.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved bound his sword to his side,<br /> +He fain will battle with knights of pride;<br /> +So fierce and strange was his whole array,<br /> +No mortal ventur’d to cross his way.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>His helm was blinking against the sun,<br /> +His spurs were clinking his heels upon, . . .<br /> +His horse was springing, with bridle ringing,<br /> +While sat the warrior wildly singing.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>He rode a day, he rode for three,<br /> +No town nor city he yet could see;<br /> +“Ha!” said the youth, “by my father’s +hand,<br /> +There is no city in all this land.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>He rode and lilted, he rode and sang,<br /> +Then met he by chance Sir Thulé Vang;<br /> +Sir Thulé Vang, with his twelve sons bold,<br /> +All cas’d in iron, the bright and cold.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved took his sword from his side,<br /> +He fain would battle with knights so tried;<br /> +The proud Sir Thulé he first ran through,<br /> +And then, in succession, his sons he slew.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side,<br /> +It lists him farther to ride, to ride;<br /> +He rode along by the grené shaw; <a +name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12" +class="citation">[12]</a><br /> +The Brute-carl <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13" +class="citation">[13]</a> there with surprise he saw.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>A wild swine sat on his shoulders broad,<br /> +Upon his bosom a black bear snor’d;<br /> +And about his fingers, with hair o’erhung,<br /> +The squirrel sported, and weasel clung.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Now, Brute-carl, yield thy booty to me,<br /> +Or I will take it by force from thee.<br /> +Say, wilt thou quickly thy beasts forego,<br /> +Or venture with me to bandy a blow?<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Much rather, much rather, I’ll fight with +thee,<br /> +Than thou my booty should’st get from me;<br /> +I never was bidden the like to do,<br /> +Since good King Esmer in fight I slew.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“And did’st thou slay King Esmer fine?<br /> +Why, then thou slewest dear father mine;<br /> +And soon, full soon, shalt thou pay for him,<br /> +With the flesh hackt off from thy every limb!”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>They drew a circle upon the sward;<br /> +They both were dour, as the rocks are hard;<br /> +Forsooth, I tell you, their hearts were steel’d,—<br +/> +The one to the other no jot would yield.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>They fought for a day,—they fought for two,—<br /> +And so on the third they were fain to do;<br /> +But ere the fourth day reach’d the night,<br /> +The Brute-carl fell, and was slain outright.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side,<br /> +Farther and farther he lists to ride:<br /> +He rode at the foot of a hill so steep,<br /> +There saw he a herd as he drove the sheep.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Now tell me, Herd, and tell me fair,<br /> +Whose are the sheep thou art driving there?<br /> +And what is rounder than a wheel?<br /> +And where do they eat the holiest meal?”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Where does the fish stand up in the flood?<br /> +And where is the bird that’s redder than blood?<br /> +Where do they mingle the best, best, wine?<br /> +And where with his knights does Vidrik dine?”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>There sat the herd, he sat in thought;<br /> +To ne’er a question he answer’d aught.<br /> +Svend gave him a stroke, a stroke so sore,<br /> +That his lung and his liver came out before.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>On, on went he, till more sheep he spied;<br /> +The herd sat, too, by a deep pit’s side.<br /> +“Now tell me, Herd, and tell me fair,<br /> +Whose are the sheep thou art tending there?”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“See yonder house, with turret and tower,<br /> +There feasting serves to beguile the hour;<br /> +There dwells a man, Tyggé Nold by name,<br /> +With his twelve fair sons, who are knights of fame.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Enough, Sir Herd; now lend an ear—<br /> +Go, tell Tyggé Nold to come out here.”<br /> +From his breast Svend Vonved a gold ring drew;<br /> +At the foot of the herd the gold ring he threw.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>And as Svend Vonved approach’d the spot,<br /> +His booty among them they ’gan to allot.<br /> +Some would have his polish’d glaive,<br /> +Others, his harness, or courser brave.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved stops, in reflection deep;<br /> +He thought it best he his horse should keep:<br /> +His hauberk and faulchion he will not lose,<br /> +Much rather to fight the youth will choose.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Had’st thou twelve sons to the twelve thou +hast,<br /> +And cam’st in the midst of them charging me fast,<br /> +Sooner should’st thou wring water from steel,<br /> +Than thou in such fashion with me should’st deal.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>He prick’d with his spur his courser tall,<br /> +Which sprang, at once, over the gate and wall.<br /> +Tyggé Nold there he has stretch’d in blood,<br /> +And his twelve sons too, that beside him stood.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Then turn’d he his steed, in haste, about,—<br /> +Svend Vonved, the knight, so youthful and stout;<br /> +Forward he went o’er mountain and moor,<br /> +No mortal he met, which vex’d him sore.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>He came, at length, to another flock,<br /> +Where a herd sat combing his yellow lock:<br /> +“Now listen, Herd, with the fleecy care;<br /> +Listen, and give me answers fair.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“What is rounder than a wheel?<br /> +Where do they eat the holiest meal?<br /> +Where does the sun go down to his seat?<br /> +And where do they lay the dead man’s feet?”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“What fills the valleys one and all?<br /> +What is cloth’d best in the monarch’s hall?<br /> +What cries more loud than cranes can cry?<br /> +And what can in whiteness the swan outvie?<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Who on his back his beard does wear?<br /> +Who ’neath his chin his nose does bear?<br /> +What’s more black than the blackest sloe?<br /> +And what is swifter than a roe?<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Where is the bridge that is most broad?<br /> +What is, by man, the most abhorr’d?<br /> +Where leads, where leads, the highest road up?<br /> +And say, where the hottest of drink they sup.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“The sun is rounder than a wheel.<br /> +They eat at the altar the holiest meal.<br /> +The sun in the West goes down to his seat:<br /> +And they lay to the East the dead man’s feet.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Snow fills the valleys, one and all.<br /> +Man is cloth’d best in the monarch’s hall.<br /> +Thunder cries louder than cranes can cry.<br /> +Angels in whiteness the swan outvie.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“His beard on his back the lapwing wears.<br /> +His nose ’neath his chin the elfin bears. <a +name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14" +class="citation">[14]</a><br /> +More black is sin than the blackest sloe:<br /> +And thought is swifter than any roe.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Ice is, of bridges, the bridge most broad.<br /> +The toad is, of all things, the most abhorr’d.<br /> +To paradise leads the highest road up:<br /> +And in hell the hottest of drink they sup.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Now hast thou given me answers fair,<br /> +To each and all of my questions rare;<br /> +And now, I pray thee, be my guide,<br /> +To the nearest spot where warriors bide.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“To Sonderborg I’ll show thee straight,<br /> +Where drink the heroes early and late:<br /> +There thou wilt find of knights a crew,<br /> +Haughty of heart, and hard to subdue.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>With a bright gold ring was his arm array’d,<br /> +Full fifteen pounds that gold ring weigh’d,<br /> +That has he given the herd, for a meed,<br /> +Because he will show him the knights with speed.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved enter’d the castle yard;<br /> +There Randulph, wrapt in his skins, <a name="citation15"></a><a +href="#footnote15" class="citation">[15]</a> kept guard:<br /> +“Ho! Caitiff, ho! with shield and brand,<br /> +What art thou doing in this my land?”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“I will, I will, with my single hand,<br /> +Take from thee, Knave, the whole of thy land:<br /> +I will, I will, with my single toe,<br /> +Lay thee and each of thy castles low.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Thou shalt not, with thy single hand,<br /> +Take from me, Hound, an inch of my land;<br /> +And far, far less, shalt thou, with thy toe,<br /> +Lay me or one of my castles low.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Thou shalt not e’er, with finger of thine,<br /> +Strike asunder one limb of mine; <a name="citation16"></a><a +href="#footnote16" class="citation">[16]</a><br /> +I am for thee too woxen and stark,<br /> +As thou, to thy cost, shalt quickly mark.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved unsheath’d his faulchion bright,<br /> +With haughty Randulph he fain will fight;<br /> +Randulph he there has slain in his might,<br /> +And Strandulph too, with full good right.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>The rest against him came out pell-mell,<br /> +Then slew he Carl Egé, the fierce and fell:—<br /> +He slew the great, he slew the small;<br /> +He slew till his foes were slaughter’d all.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side,<br /> +It lists him farther to ride, to ride;<br /> +He found upon the desolate wold<br /> +A burly <a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17" +class="citation">[17]</a> knight, of aspect bold.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Now tell me, Rider, noble and good,<br /> +Where does the fish stand up in the flood?<br /> +Where do they mingle the best, best wine?<br /> +And where with his knights does Vidrik dine?”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“The fish in the East stands up in the flood.<br /> +They drink in the North the wine so good.<br /> +In Halland’s hall does Vidrik dine,<br /> +With his swains around, and his warriors fine.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>From his breast Svend Vonved a gold ring drew;<br /> +At the foot of the knight the gold ring he threw:<br /> +“Go! say thou wert the very last man<br /> +Who gold from the hand of Svend Vonved wan.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved came where the castle rose;<br /> +He bade the watchmen the gate unclose:<br /> +As none of the watchmen obey’d his cry,<br /> +He sprang at once over the ramparts high.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>He tied his steed to a ring in the wall,<br /> +Then in he went to the wide stone hall;<br /> +Down he sat at the head of the board,<br /> +To no one present he utter’d a word.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>He drank and he ate, he ate and he drank,<br /> +He ask’d no leave, and return’d no thank;<br /> +“Ne’er have I been on Christian ground<br /> +Where so many curst tongues were clanging round.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>King Vidrik spoke to good knights three:<br /> +“Go, bind that lowering swain for me;<br /> +Should ye not bind the stranger guest,<br /> +Ye will not serve me as ye can best.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Should’st thou send three, and twenty times +three,<br /> +And come thyself to lay hold of me;<br /> +The son of a dog thou wilt still remain,<br /> +And yet to bind me have tried in vain.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Esmer, my father, who lies on his bier,<br /> +And proud Adeline, my mother so dear,<br /> +Oft and strictly have caution’d me<br /> +To waste no breath upon hounds like thee.”<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“And was King Esmer thy father’s name,<br /> +And Adeline that of his virtuous Dame?<br /> +Thou art Svend Vonved, the stripling wild,<br /> +My own dear sister’s only child.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Svend Vonved, wilt thou bide with me here?<br /> +Honour awaits thee, and costly cheer;<br /> +Whenever it lists thee abroad to wend,<br /> +Upon thee shall knights and swains attend.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>“Silver and gold thou never shalt lack,<br /> +Or helm to thy head, or mail to thy back;”<br /> +But to this and the like he would lend no ear,<br /> +And home to his mother he now will steer.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Svend Vonved gallop’d along the way;<br /> +To fancies dark was his mind a prey:<br /> +Riding he enter’d the castle yard<br /> +Where stood twelve witches wrinkled and scarr’d:<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>There stood they all, with spindle and rok, <a +name="citation18"></a><a href="#footnote18" +class="citation">[18]</a>—<br /> +Each over the shinbone gave him a knock:<br /> +Svend turn’d his steed, in fury, round;<br /> +The witches he there has hew’d to the ground.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>He hew’d the witches limb from limb,<br /> +So little mercy they got from him;<br /> +His mother came out, and was serv’d the same,<br /> +Into fifteen pieces he hackt her frame.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<p>Then in he went to his lonely bower,<br /> +There drank he the wine, the wine of power:<br /> +His much-lov’d harp he play’d upon<br /> +Till the strings were broken, every one.<br /> + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.</p> +<h2>THE TOURNAMENT.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>This is one of those Ballads which, from the days of Arild, +have been much sung in Denmark: we find in it the names and +bearings of most of those renowned heroes, who are mentioned +separately in other poems. It divides itself into two +parts;—the first, which treats of the warrior’s +bearings, has a great resemblance to the 178th chapter of the +Vilkina Saga, as likewise has the last part, wherein the Duel is +described, to the 180th and 181st chapters of the same.</p> +<p>I cannot here forbear quoting and translating what Anders +Sorensen Vedel, the good old Editor of the first Edition of the +Kiæmpé Viser, which appeared in 1591, says +concerning the apparently superhuman performances of the heroes +therein celebrated.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Hvad ellers Kiæmpernes Storlemhed +Styrke og anden Vilkaar berörer, som overgaaer de Menneskers +der nu leve deres Væxt og Kraft, det Stykke kan ikke her +noksom nu forhandles, men skal i den Danske Krönikes tredie +Bog videligere omtales. Thi det jo i Sandhed befindes og +bevises af adskillige Documenter og Kundskab, at disse gamle +Hellede, som de kaldes, have levet fast længer, og +været mandeligere större stærkere og höiere +end den gemene Mand er, som nu lever paa denne Dag.”</p> +<p>“That part which relates to these Warriors’ size, +strength, or other qualities, so far surpassing the stature and +powers of the men who now exist, cannot be here sufficiently +treated upon, but shall be further discussed in the third Book of +the Danish Chronicles: for, in truth, it is discovered and proved +from various documents and sources, that these old heroes, as +they are called, lived much longer, and were manlier, stouter, +stronger, and taller, than man at the present day.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Six score there were, six score and ten,<br /> + From Hald that rode that day;<br /> +And when they came to Brattingsborg<br /> + They pitch’d their pavilion gay.</p> +<p>King Nilaus stood on the turret’s top,<br /> + Had all around in sight:<br /> +“Why hold those heroes their lives so cheap,<br /> + That it lists them here to fight?</p> +<p>“Now, hear me, Sivard Snaresvend;<br /> + Far hast thou rov’d, and wide,<br /> +Those warriors’ weapons thou shalt prove,<br /> + To their tent thou must straightway ride.”</p> +<p>It was Sivard Snaresvend,<br /> + To the broad tent speeded he then:<br /> +“I greet ye fair, in my master’s name,<br /> + All, all, ye Dane king’s men.</p> +<p>“Now, be not wroth that here I come;<br /> + I come as a warrior, free:<br /> +The battle together we soon will prove;<br /> + Let me your bearings see.”</p> +<p>There stands upon the first good shield<br /> + A lion, so fierce and stark,<br /> +With a crown on his head, of the ruddy gold,<br /> + That is King Diderik’s mark.</p> +<p>There shine upon the second shield<br /> + A hammer and pincers bright;<br /> +Them carries Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + Ne’er gives he quarter in fight.</p> +<p>There shines upon the third good shield<br /> + A falcon, blazing with gold;<br /> +And that by Helled Hogan is borne;<br /> + No knight, than he, more bold.</p> +<p>There shines upon the fourth good shield<br /> + An eagle, and that is red;<br /> +Is borne by none but Olger, the Dane;<br /> + He strikes his foemen dead.</p> +<p>There shines upon the fifth good shield<br /> + A couchant hawk, on a wall;<br /> +That’s borne by Master Hildebrand;<br /> + He tries, with heroes, a fall.</p> +<p>And now comes forth the sixth good shield<br /> + A linden is thereupon;<br /> +And that by young Sir Humble is borne,<br /> + King Abelon’s eldest son.</p> +<p>There shines upon the seventh good shield<br /> + A spur, of a fashion so free;<br /> +And that is borne by Hogan, the less,<br /> + Because he will foremost be.</p> +<p>There shines upon the eighth good shield<br /> + A gray wolf, meagre and gaunt;<br /> +Is borne by youthful Ulf van Jern;<br /> + Beware how him you taunt!</p> +<p>There shine upon the ninth good shield<br /> + Three arrows, and white are they;<br /> +Are borne by Vidrik Stageson,<br /> + And trust that gallant you may.</p> +<p>There shines upon the tenth good shield<br /> + A fiddle, and ’neath it a bow;<br /> +That’s borne by Folker Spillemand;<br /> + For drink he will sleep forego.</p> +<p>There shines upon the eleventh shield<br /> + A dragon that looks so dire;<br /> +Is carried by Orm, the youthful swain;<br /> + He trembles at no man’s ire.</p> +<p>And, now, behold the twelfth good shield,<br /> + And upon it a burning brand;<br /> +Is borne by stout Sir Vifferlin<br /> + Through many a prince’s land.</p> +<p>There stands upon the thirteenth shield<br /> + A sprig of the mournful yew;<br /> +That’s borne by Harrald Griskeson;<br /> + And he’s a comrade true.</p> +<p>There stand upon the fourteenth shield<br /> + A cloak, and a mighty staff;<br /> +And them bore Alsing, the stalwart monk,<br /> + When he beat his foes to chaff.</p> +<p>And now comes forth the fifteenth shield,<br /> + And upon it three naked blades<br /> +Are borne by good King Esmer’s sons,<br /> + In their wars and furious raids.</p> +<p>There stands upon the sixteenth shield,<br /> + With coal-black pinion, a crow;<br /> +That’s borne by rich Count Raadengaard;<br /> + The dark Runes well can he throw. <a +name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19" +class="citation">[19]</a></p> +<p>There shines upon the seventeenth shield<br /> + A horse, so stately and high,<br /> +Is borne by Count Sir Guncelin;<br /> + “Slay! slay! bide not,” is his cry.</p> +<p>There shine upon the eighteenth shield<br /> + A man, and a fierce wild boar,<br /> +Are borne by the Count of Lidebierg;<br /> + His blows fall heavy and sore.</p> +<p>There shines upon the nineteenth shield<br /> + A hound, at the stretch of his speed;<br /> +Is borne by Oisten Kiæmpe, bold;<br /> + He risks his neck without heed.</p> +<p>There shines upon the twentieth shield,<br /> + Among branches, a rose, so gay;<br /> +Wherever Sir Nordman comes in war,<br /> + He bears bright honour away.</p> +<p>There shines on the one-and-twentieth shield<br /> + A vase, and of copper ’t is made;<br /> +That’s borne by Mogan Sir Olgerson;<br /> + He wins broad lands with his blade.</p> +<p>And now comes forth the next good shield,<br /> + With a sun dispelling the mirk;<br /> +And that by Asbiorn Mildé is borne;<br /> + He sets the knights’ backs at work. <a +name="citation20"></a><a href="#footnote20" +class="citation">[20]</a></p> +<p>There shines on the three-and-twentieth shield<br /> + An arm, in a manacle bound;<br /> +And that by Alvor Sir Langé is borne,<br /> + To the heroes he hands mead round.</p> +<p>Now comes the four-and-twentieth shield,<br /> + And a bright sword there you see;<br /> +And that by Humble Sir Jerfing is borne;<br /> + Full worthy of that is he.</p> +<p>There shines upon the next good shield<br /> + A goss-hawk, striking his game;<br /> +That’s borne by a knight, the best of all—<br /> + Sir Iver Blaa is his name.</p> +<p>Now comes the six-and-twentieth shield,<br /> + A jav’lin there you spy;<br /> +Is borne by little Mimring Tan;<br /> + From no one will he fly.</p> +<p>Such knights and bearings as were there,<br /> + And who can them all relate;<br /> +It was Sivard, the Snaresvend;<br /> + No longer he deign’d to wait.</p> +<p>“If there be one of the Dane king’s men,<br /> + Who at Dyst <a name="citation21"></a><a +href="#footnote21" class="citation">[21]</a> is willing to +ride,<br /> +Let him, I pray, without pause or delay,<br /> + Meet me by the wild wood’s side.</p> +<p>“The man among you, ye Danish court men,<br /> + Who at Dyst has won most meeds;<br /> +Him I am ready to fight, this day,<br /> + For both of our noble steeds.”</p> +<p>The heroes cast the die on the board;<br /> + The die it roll’d so wide:<br /> +“Since, young Sir Humble, it stops by thee,<br /> + ’Gainst Sivard thou must ride.”</p> +<p>Sir Humble struck his hand on the board;<br /> + No longer he lists to play:<br /> +I tell you, forsooth, that the rosy hue<br /> + From his cheek fast faded away.</p> +<p>“Now, hear me, Vidrik Verlandson;<br /> + Thou art so free a man;<br /> +Do lend me Skimming, thy horse, this day;<br /> + I’ll pledge for him what I can:</p> +<p>“Eight good castles, in Birting’s land,<br /> + As pledges for him I’ll set;<br /> +My sister too, the lily-cheek’d maid,<br /> + A fairer thou ne’er hast met:</p> +<p>“Eight good castles, and eight good knights;<br /> + I’d scorn to offer thee less:<br /> +If Skimming should meet any hurt this day,<br /> + My sister thou shalt caress.”</p> +<p>“If yonder mountains all were gold,<br /> + And yonder streams were wine;<br /> +The whole for Skimming I would not take;<br /> + I bless God he is mine.</p> +<p>“Sivard is a purblind swain;<br /> + Sees not to his faulchion’s end:<br /> +If Skimming were hurt thou couldst not pay me<br /> + With the help of thy every friend.</p> +<p>“The sword it whirls in Sivard’s hand,<br /> + As whirl the sails of the mill;<br /> +If thou take Skimming ’gainst that wild fool,<br /> + ’T is sorely against my will.”</p> +<p>Humble, he sat him on Skimming’s back,<br /> + So gallantly can he ride;<br /> +But Skimming thought it passing strange<br /> + That a spur was clapt to his side.</p> +<p>The first course that together they rode,<br /> + So strong were the knightly two,<br /> +Asunder went Humble’s saddle-ring,<br /> + And a furlong his good shield flew.</p> +<p>“Methinks thou art a fair young swain,<br /> + And well thy horse canst ride;<br /> +Dismount thee, straight, and gird up thy steed;<br /> + I am willing for thee to bide.”</p> +<p>The second course that together they rode<br /> + Was worthy of knights renown’d;<br /> +Then both their saddles burst in two,<br /> + And Humble was sent to the ground.</p> +<p>“Now have I cast thee from thy steed,<br /> + Thy courser by right is mine;<br /> +But, tell me, youthful and gallant swain,<br /> + Who art thou, and of what line?</p> +<p>“Now have I won from thee the prize,<br /> + And Skimming belongs to me;<br /> +But, tell me, youthful and gallant swain,<br /> + What parents gave birth to thee?”</p> +<p>“Abelon is my father’s name;<br /> + He sits upon Birting’s throne:<br /> +Queen Ellina my mother is,<br /> + And that for truth is known.</p> +<p>“Queen Ellina my mother is—<br /> + A Queen whom all admire;<br /> +Good King Abelon Haardestaal,<br /> + So call they my hoary sire.</p> +<p>“And who am I, but Humble, the young,<br /> + A knight of Birting’s land;<br /> +Of hero race, whose fame extends<br /> + To the wide earth’s farthest +strand.”</p> +<p>“If Abelon be thy father’s name,<br /> + The courser I straight restore;<br /> +Thou art, I find, my very good friend;<br /> + I knew thee not, youth, before.</p> +<p>“If Queen Ellina thy mother is,<br /> + Then Skimming thou hast rewon;<br /> +Thou art, indeed, my very good friend;<br /> + Thou art my sister’s son.</p> +<p>“Take both the shield ropes, take them straight,<br /> + And bind me to yon oak tree;<br /> +Then hie thee back to King Diderik,<br /> + And say thou hast conquer’d me.”</p> +<p>In came Humble, the youthful knight,<br /> + Was clad in a kirtle, green;<br /> +“O! I have got my courser again,<br /> + And have bound the warrior keen.”</p> +<p>In came Humble, with boot and spur,<br /> + He cast on the table his sword:<br /> +“Sivard stands in the green wood bound,<br /> + He speaks not a single word.</p> +<p>“O, I have been to the wild forest,<br /> + And have seiz’d the warrior stark;<br /> +Sivard there was taken by me,<br /> + And tied to the oak’s rough bark.”</p> +<p>“Now hear me, young Sir Humble, the knight,<br /> + ’T is plain a jest is meant,<br /> +Whenever Sivard was bound by thee,<br /> + ’T was done with his own consent.”</p> +<p>It was Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + And he would fain know all.<br /> +“O, I will ride to the wood, and see<br /> + How Sivard endures his thrall.”</p> +<p>Vidrik spoke to his burly groom:<br /> + “Go, saddle me Skimming gray,<br /> +For I will ride to the wood, and hear<br /> + What Sivard himself will say.”</p> +<p>Sivard stands in the good green wood,<br /> + There sees he Vidrik ride:<br /> +“If Vidrik finds me bounden here,<br /> + He’ll hew my rib-bones from my +side.”</p> +<p>Then loud laugh’d Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + And Skimming began to neigh,<br /> +For Sivard rooted the oak tree up;<br /> + He dar’d no longer stay.</p> +<p>The queen she sat in the high, high, loft,<br /> + And thence look’d far and wide:<br /> +“O there comes Sivard Snaresvend,<br /> + With a stately oak at his side.”</p> +<p>Then loud laugh’d fair Queen Gloriant,<br /> + As she look’d on Sivard full:<br /> +“Thou wert, no doubt, in great, great need,<br /> + When thou such flowers didst pull.”</p> +<p>The King he stood at the castle gate,<br /> + In his robes and kingly crown:<br /> +“O there comes Sivard Snaresvend,<br /> + And he brings us Summer to town.”<a +name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22" +class="citation">[22]</a></p> +<p>Now dance the heroes by Brattingsborg;<br /> + They dance in their coats of felt;<br /> +There dances Sivard, the purblind swain,<br /> + With an oak tree under his belt.</p> +<h2>VIDRIK VERLANDSON.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>King Diderik sits in the halls of Bern,<br /> + And he boasts of his deeds of might;<br /> +So many a swain in battle he’s fell’d,<br /> + And taken so many a knight.</p> +<p>King Diderik sits in the halls of Bern,<br /> + And he strikes his moony shield;<br /> +“O, would that I knew of a hero now,<br /> + ’Gainst whom I could take the +field.”</p> +<p>Then answer’d Master Hildebrand,<br /> + (For he knew all things best,)<br /> +“There sleeps a Giant at Birtingsberg;<br /> + Dar’st thou disturb his rest?”</p> +<p>“Now, hear me, Master Hildebrand;<br /> + Thou art huge in body and limb;<br /> +Thou foremost shall ride, in the wood, this day,<br /> + And bear our challenge to him.”</p> +<p>Then answer’d Master Hildebrand,<br /> + So careful a knight was he;<br /> +“Not so, my Lord, will I do, this day,<br /> + For the wages delight not me.”</p> +<p>Then out spoke Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + And he spoke in wrathful mood;<br /> +“O, I’ll be first of the band, this day,<br /> + All through the Birting wood.”</p> +<p>Then out spoke Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + And he spoke with lofty pride;<br /> +“The smith he forg’d me a faulchion good,<br /> + That can steel, like cloth, divide.”</p> +<p>They were three hundred valorous knights,<br /> + Unto Birting’s land that rode;<br /> +They go in quest of Langben the Jutt,<br /> + To the gloomy wood, his abode.</p> +<p>Then out spoke Vidrik Verlandson;<br /> + “A wondrous game we’ll play;<br /> +For I will ride in the green wood first,<br /> + If ye’ll but trust me away.”</p> +<p>Then answer’d bold King Diderik,<br /> + He answer’d hastily then;<br /> +“When thou therein shalt have found the Jutt<br /> + Come back for me and my men.”</p> +<p>It was Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + In the forest alone he sped;<br /> +And there he found so little a way,<br /> + Which up to the Giant led.</p> +<p>It was Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + He came unto Birting’s hill;<br /> +There black and dread lay Langben the Jutt,<br /> + He lay stretch’d out, and still.</p> +<p>It was Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + With his lance touch’d him on the knee;<br /> +“Wake up! wake up! now Langben the Jutt,<br /> + Thou sleepest full sound, I see.”</p> +<p>“Here have I lain, for many a year,<br /> + ’Mid the leaf and the dew-wet herb;<br /> +But never, till now, came a warrior by,<br /> + That has dar’d my sleep to disturb.”</p> +<p>“Here stand I, Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + With a sword, so good, at my side;<br /> +I came to wake thee up from thy sleep,<br /> + Betide whatever betide.”</p> +<p>It was Langben the Giant, then,<br /> + Turn’d up the white of his eye;<br /> +“O, whence can come this warrior youth,<br /> + Who such bold words lets fly?</p> +<p>“But hear, but hear, thou warrior youth;<br /> + I will not do battle with thee,<br /> +Except thou prove of a knightly race;<br /> + So thy lineage tell to me.”</p> +<p>“A handsome smith my father was,<br /> + And Verland hight was he:<br /> +Bodild they call’d my mother fair;<br /> + Queen over countries three:</p> +<p>“Skimming I call my noble steed,<br /> + Begot from the wild sea-mare:<br /> +Blank <a name="citation23"></a><a href="#footnote23" +class="citation">[23]</a> do I call my haughty helm,<br /> + Because it glitters so fair:</p> +<p>“Skrepping I call my good thick shield;<br /> + Steel shafts have furrow’d it o’er:<br +/> +Mimmering have I nam’d my sword;<br /> + ’T is harden’d in heroes’ +gore:</p> +<p>“And I am Vidrik Verlandson;<br /> + For clothes bright iron I wear:<br /> +Stand’st thou not up on thy long, long legs,<br /> + I’ll pin thee down to thy lair:</p> +<p>“Do thou stand up on thy long, long legs,<br /> + Nor look so dogged and grim;<br /> +The King holds out before the wood;<br /> + Thou shalt yield thy treasure to him.”</p> +<p>“All, all the gold that I possess,<br /> + I will keep with great renown;<br /> +I’ll yield it at no little horse-boy’s word,<br /> + To the best king wearing a crown.”</p> +<p>“So young and little as here I seem,<br /> + Thou shalt find me prompt in a fray;<br /> +I’ll hew the head from thy shoulders off,<br /> + And thy much gold bear away.”</p> +<p>It was Langben the mighty Jutt,<br /> + With fury his heart was fir’d;<br /> +“Ride hence! ride hence! thou warrior youth,<br /> + If of life thou be not tir’d.”</p> +<p>Skimming sprang up, with both his legs,<br /> + Against the giant’s side<br /> +Asunder went five of his rib-bones then,<br /> + And the fight began at that tide.</p> +<p>It was Langben the lofty Jutt,<br /> + He wav’d his steel mace round;<br /> +He sent a blow after Vidrik;<br /> + But the mace struck deep in the ground.</p> +<p>It was Langben the lofty Jutt,<br /> + Who had thought his foeman to slay,<br /> +But the blow fell short of Vidrik;<br /> + For the good horse bore him away.</p> +<p>It was Langben the lofty Jutt,<br /> + That shouted in wild despair:<br /> +“Now lies my mace in the hillock fast,<br /> + As though ’t were hammer’d in +there!”</p> +<p>Vidrik paus’d no moment’s space;<br /> + So ready was he to assail:<br /> +“Upon him, Skimming, upon him once more!<br /> + Now, Mimmering, now prevail!”</p> +<p>He seiz’d his sword in both his hands,<br /> + Unto Langben Giant he flew;<br /> +He struck him so hard in the hairy breast,<br /> + That the point his lungs went through.</p> +<p>Now Langben Giant has got a wound,<br /> + And he’s waken’d thoroughly now;<br /> +So gladly would he have paid it back,<br /> + But, alas! he knew not how.</p> +<p>“Accursed be thou, young Vidrik!<br /> + And accurs’d thy piercing steel!<br /> +Thou hast given me, see, a wound in my breast,<br /> + Whence rise the pains I feel.”</p> +<p>“I’ll hew thee, Giant, I’ll hew thee as +small<br /> + As leaves that are borne on the blast,<br /> +Except thou showest me all the gear,<br /> + That hid in the forest thou hast.”</p> +<p>“Forbear, O Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + Strike me not cruelly dead!<br /> +And I will lead thee straight to my house,<br /> + That’s thatch’d with gold so +red.”</p> +<p>Vidrik rode, and the Giant crept,<br /> + So far through the forest ways,<br /> +They found the house with the red gold thatch’d;<br /> + It glitter’d like straw in a blaze.</p> +<p>“Therein, therein are heaps of gold,<br /> + No King has a greater store;<br /> +Do thou remove the big black stone,<br /> + And lift from the hinges the door.”</p> +<p>With both hands Vidrik seiz’d the stone,<br /> + But to stir it in vain did he try;<br /> +The Giant took it with finger and thumb,<br /> + And lifted it up in the sky.</p> +<p>“Now hear, now hear, thou warrior youth,<br /> + Thou canst wheel thy courser about;<br /> +But in every feat of manly strength<br /> + I could beat thee out and out.”</p> +<p>Then answer’d Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + (He fear’d for himself some ill)<br /> +“’T is not the custom of any wise man<br /> + His strength on a stone to spill.”</p> +<p>“Therein, therein is much more gold<br /> + Than fifteen kings can show;<br /> +Hear me, Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + Thou therein first shalt go.”</p> +<p>Then answer’d Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + (For his cunning intent he saw)<br /> +“Thou shalt lead the way into thine own house,<br /> + For that is warrior-law.”</p> +<p>It was Langben the Giant then,<br /> + To the door he stoop’d down low:<br /> +It was Vidrik Verlandson<br /> + Cleft off his head at a blow.</p> +<p>Away the quivering body he drew,<br /> + And propp’d it against an oak;<br /> +Then back he rode the long, long way,<br /> + He’s thought of a wondrous joke.</p> +<p>With giant’s blood he besmear’d himself,<br /> + And besmear’d his steed all o’er;<br /> +Then back he rides to King Diderik,<br /> + Pretends to be wounded sore.</p> +<p>“Here bide ye in peace, my companions good,<br /> + All under the grass-green hill;<br /> +Langben the Giant has smote me to day,<br /> + I doubt I shall fare but ill.”</p> +<p>“If thou from the Giant hast got a blow,<br /> + Thy life must be nigh its close;<br /> +We’ll ride swift back to the halls of Bern,<br /> + No man more will we lose.”</p> +<p>“Now wend thee, bold King Diderik,<br /> + Wend into the wood with me;<br /> +And all the gold that the giant had,<br /> + That will I show to thee.”</p> +<p>“If thou hast slain the giant this day,<br /> + ’T will far be blaz’d in the land;<br /> +And the warrior lives not in this world,<br /> + ’Gainst whom thou may’st fear to +stand.”</p> +<p>But what befel King Diderik’s men?<br /> + When the giant they first perceiv’d,<br /> +They all stopp’d short, in the good green wood,<br /> + Of courage at once bereav’d.</p> +<p>They thought the giant verily would<br /> + That moment after them stride:<br /> +Not one of them all would have battled with him;<br /> + Back would they all have hied.</p> +<p>It was Vidrik Verlandson,<br /> + He laugh’d at their craven fear:<br /> +“How would ye have fac’d him when alive,<br /> + Ye dare not him, dead, go near?</p> +<p>With his lance’s haft the body he push’d,<br /> + The head came toppling down:<br /> +That the Giant was a warrior stark,<br /> + Forsooth, I am forc’d to own.</p> +<p>Out took they then his ruddy gold,<br /> + And shar’d it amongst the band:<br /> +To Vidrik came the largest part,<br /> + For ’t was earn’d with his good +hand.</p> +<p>Little car’d he for the booty, I ween,<br /> + But he thought of his meed of fame;<br /> +When men should say, in the Danish land,<br /> + That the Giant he overcame.</p> +<p>So gladly rode they to Bern again;<br /> + King Diderik gladdest of all:<br /> +There caus’d he Vidrik Verlandson<br /> + To sit next him in the hall.</p> +<h2>ELVIR HILL.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>Upon this Ballad Oehlenslæger founded his “Elvir +Shades,” a translation of which has already been given.</p> +<p>I rested my head upon Elvir Hill’s side, and my eyes +were beginning to slumber;<br /> +That moment there rose up before me two maids, whose charms would +take ages to number.</p> +<p>One patted my face, and the other exclaim’d, while +loading my cheek with her kisses,<br /> +“Rise, rise, for to dance with you here we have sped from +the undermost caves and abysses.</p> +<p>“Rise, fair-headed swain, and refuse not to dance; and I +and my sister will sing thee<br /> +The loveliest ditties that ever were heard, and the prettiest +presents will bring thee.”</p> +<p>Then both of them sang so delightful a song, that the +boisterous river before us<br /> +Stood suddenly quiet and placid, as though ’t were afraid +to disturb the sweet chorus.</p> +<p>The boisterous stream stood suddenly still, though +accustom’d to foam and to bellow;<br /> +And, fearless, the trout play’d along with the pike, and +the pike play’d with him as his fellow.</p> +<p>The fishes, whose dwelling was deep in the flood, up, up from +their caverns did sally;<br /> +The gay little birds of the forest began to warble, forthwith, in +the valley.</p> +<p>“Now, listen thou fair-headed swain, and if thou wilt +stand up and dance for a minute,<br /> +We’ll teach thee to open the sorcerer’s book, and to +read all the Runic that’s in it.</p> +<p>“The bear and the wolf thou shalt trammel, unto the +thick stem of the oak, at thy pleasure;<br /> +Before thee the dragon shall fly from his nest, and shall leave +thee sole lord of his treasure.”</p> +<p>Then about and around on the moonlight hill, in their fairy +fashion they sported,<br /> +While unmov’d sat the gallant and fair young swain, whom +they, in their wantonness, courted.</p> +<p>“And wilt thou not grant us our civil request, proud +stripling, and wilt thou deny it?<br /> +By hell’s ruddy blazes, our gold-handled knife shall lay +thee for ever in quiet.”</p> +<p>And if my good luck had not manag’d it so, that the cock +crew out, then, in the distance,<br /> +I should have been murder’d by them, on the hill, without +power to offer resistance.</p> +<p>’T is therefore I counsel each young Danish swain, who +may ride in the forest so dreary,<br /> +Ne’er to lay down upon lone Elvir Hill though he chance to +be ever so weary.</p> +<h2>WALDEMAR’S CHASE.</h2> +<p>The following Ballad is merely a versification of one of the +many feats of Waldemar, the famed phantom hunter of the North, an +account of whom, and of Palnatoka and Groon the Jutt, both +spectres of a similar character, may be found in Thiele’s +Danské Folkesagn.</p> +<p>Late at eve they were toiling on Harribee bank,<br /> + For in harvest men ne’er should be idle:<br /> +Towards them rode Waldemar, meagre and lank,<br /> + And he linger’d and drew up his bridle.</p> +<p>“Success to your labour; and have ye to night<br /> + Seen any thing pass ye, while reaping?”<br /> +“Yes, yes;” said a peasant, “I saw something +white,<br /> + Just now, through the corn-stubble +creeping.”</p> +<p>“Which way did it go?” “Why methought +to the beach.”<br /> + Then off went Waldemar bounding;<br /> +A few minutes after, they heard a faint screech,<br /> + And the horn of the hunter resounding.</p> +<p>Then back came he, laughing in horrible tone,<br /> + And the blood in their veins ran the colder,<br /> +When they saw that a fresh-slaughter’d mermaid was +thrown<br /> + Athwart his proud barb’s dappled shoulder.</p> +<p>Said he, “I have chas’d her for seven score +years,<br /> + As she landed to drink at the fountains.”<br +/> +No more did he deign to their terrified ears,<br /> + But gallop’d away to the mountains.</p> +<h2>THE MERMAN.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>“Do thou, dear Mother, contrive amain<br /> +How Marsk Stig’s daughter I may gain.”</p> +<p>She made him, of water, a noble steed,<br /> +Whose trappings were form’d from rush and reed.</p> +<p>To a young knight chang’d she then her son;<br /> +To Mary’s church at full speed he’s gone.</p> +<p>His foaming horse to the gate he bound,<br /> +And pac’d the church full three times round:</p> +<p>When in he walk’d with his plume on high,<br /> +The dead men gave from their tombs a sigh:</p> +<p>The priest heard that, and he clos’d his book;<br /> +“Methinks yon knight has a strange wild look.”</p> +<p>Then laugh’d the maiden beneath her sleeve;<br /> +“If he were my husband I should not grieve.”</p> +<p>He stepp’d over benches one and two:<br /> +“O, Marsk Stig’s daughter, I doat on you.”</p> +<p>He stepp’d over benches two and three:<br /> +“O, Marsk Stig’s daughter, come home with +me.”</p> +<p>Then said the maid, without more ado,<br /> +“Here take my troth, I will go with you.”</p> +<p>They went from the church a bridal train,<br /> +And danc’d so gaily across the plain;</p> +<p>They danc’d till they came to the strand, and then<br /> +They were forsaken by maids and men.</p> +<p>“Now, Marsk Stig’s daughter, sit down and rest;<br +/> +To build a boat I will do my best.”</p> +<p>He built a boat of the whitest sand,<br /> +And away they went from the smiling land;</p> +<p>But when they had cross’d the ninth green wave,<br /> +Down sunk the boat to the ocean cave!</p> +<p>I caution ye, maids, as well as I can,<br /> +Ne’er give your troth to an unknown man.</p> +<h2>THE DECEIVED MERMAN.<br /> +FROM THE OLD DANISH.</h2> +<p>Fair Agnes alone on the sea-shore stood,<br /> +Then rose a Merman from out the flood:</p> +<p>“Now, Agnes, hear what I say to thee,<br /> +Wilt thou my leman consent to be?”</p> +<p>“O, freely that will I become,<br /> +If thou but take me beneath the foam.”</p> +<p>He stopp’d her ears, and he stopp’d her eyes,<br +/> +And into the ocean he took his prize.</p> +<p>The Merman’s leman was Agnes there,—<br /> +She bore him sons and daughters fair:</p> +<p>One day by the cradle she sat and sang,<br /> +Then heard she above how the church bells rang:</p> +<p>She went to the Merman, and kiss’d his brow;<br /> +“Once more to church I would gladly go.”</p> +<p>“And thou to church once more shalt go,<br /> +But come to thy babes back here below.”</p> +<p>He flung his arm her body around,<br /> +And he lifted her up unto England’s ground.</p> +<p>Fair Agnes in at the church door stepp’d,<br /> +Behind her mother, who sorely wept.</p> +<p>“O Agnes, Agnes, daughter dear!<br /> +Where hast thou been this many a year?”</p> +<p>“O, I have been deep, deep under the sea,<br /> +And liv’d with the Merman in love and glee.”</p> +<p>“And what for thy honour did he give thee,<br /> +When he made thee his leman beneath the sea?”</p> +<p>“He gave me silver, he gave me gold,<br /> +And sprigs of coral my hair to hold.”</p> +<p>The Merman up to the church door came;<br /> +His eyes they shone like a yellow flame;</p> +<p>His face was white, and his beard was green—<br /> +A fairer demon was never seen.</p> +<p>“Now, Agnes, Agnes, list to me,<br /> +Thy babes are longing so after thee.”</p> +<p>“I cannot come yet, here must I stay<br /> +Until the priest shall have said his say.”</p> +<p>And when the priest had said his say,<br /> +She thought with her mother at home she’d stay.</p> +<p>“O Agnes, Agnes, list to me,<br /> +Thy babes are sorrowing after thee.”</p> +<p>“Let them sorrow, and sorrow their fill,<br /> +But back to them never return I will.”</p> +<p>“Think on them, Agnes, think on them all;<br /> +Think on the great one, think on the small.”</p> +<p>“Little, O little, care I for them all,<br /> +Or for the great one, or for the small.”</p> +<p>O, bitterly then did the Merman weep;<br /> +He hied him back to the foamy deep:</p> +<p>But, often his shrieks and mournful cries,<br /> +At midnight’s hour, from thence arise.</p> +<h2>MISCELLANIES.</h2> +<h3>CANTATA.</h3> +<p>This is Denmark’s holyday;<br /> + Dance, ye maidens!<br /> + Sing, ye men!<br /> + Tune, ye harpers!<br /> + Blush, ye heroes!<br /> +This is Denmark’s holyday.</p> +<h4>ONE VOICE.</h4> +<p>In right’s enjoyment, in the arm of love,<br /> +Beneath the olive’s shadow,<br /> +The Daneman sat;<br /> +Whilst wet and steaming wav’d the bloody flag<br /> +Above the regions of the sunny South.<br /> +Pure was our heaven,—<br /> +Pure and blue;<br /> +For, with his pinions, angel Peace dispell’d<br /> +All reek and vapour from mild virtue’s sphere;<br /> +Then lower’d Battle’s blood-bespatter’d son<br +/> +Upon our coast,—<br /> +And haggard Envy lent to him her torch,<br /> +Which sparkled high with hell’s sulphureous light,<br /> +Then fled the genius of peace, and wept.</p> +<h4>A SECOND VOICE.</h4> +<p>But mighty thunders peal’d; the earth it shook,<br /> +While rattled all the moss-grown giant stones, <a +name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24" +class="citation">[24]</a><br /> +And Oldom’s sunken grave-hill rais’d itself;<br /> +Then started Skiold and Frodé,<br /> +And Svend, and Knud, and Waldemar, <a name="citation25"></a><a +href="#footnote25" class="citation">[25]</a><br /> +In copper hauberks up, and pointing to<br /> +Rust-spots of blood on faulchion and on shield—<br /> +They vanish’d:<br /> +And in the Gothic aisles, high arch’d and dim,<br /> +Wild flutter’d of itself, the ancient banner<br /> +Which hung above a hero’s bones;<br /> +The faulchion clatter’d loud and ceaselessly<br /> +Within the tomb of Christian the Fourth, <a +name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26" +class="citation">[26]</a><br /> +By Tordenskiold’s <a name="citation27"></a><a +href="#footnote27" class="citation">[27]</a> chapel on the +strand,<br /> +Wild rose the daring Mermaid’s witching song;<br /> +The stones were loosen’d round about the grave<br /> +Where lay great Juul;<br /> +And Hvidtfeld, clad in a transparent mist,<br /> +With smiles cherubic beaming on his face,<br /> +Stray’d, arm in arm, with his heroic brothers,<br /> +Along the deep.</p> +<h4>CHORUS.</h4> +<p>We felt the presence of one and all;<br /> +The old flags wav’d in the arsenal,<br /> +A wondrous spirit went round, went round<br /> +The Northern ground.</p> +<h4>ONE VOICE.</h4> +<p>Then waken’d Thor, <a name="citation28"></a><a +href="#footnote28" class="citation">[28]</a><br /> +And drew around his loins the mighty belt<br /> +Of bear-sinews;<br /> +With love fraternal harden’d he his shield,<br /> +With eager haste he sharp’d his blunted glaive,<br /> +And, with the iron of his hammer, touch’d<br /> +Each Dane’s and every Norman’s breast—<br /> +Shot his heroic flame therein, and smil’d!</p> +<h4>MANY VOICES.</h4> +<p>And Denmark and Norway smil’d.</p> +<h4>LOUD CHORUS.</h4> +<p>Upon the water,<br /> + Upon the land,<br /> +We boun’d for slaughter,<br /> + At Thor’s command.</p> +<h4>MAIDENS.</h4> +<p>Then fell our tears so quickly,<br /> +We breath’d, we breath’d so thickly,<br /> +While scarce our lips could stammer forth<br /> +Prayers for you, and for the North.</p> +<h4>MATRONS.</h4> +<p>And we, and we, with breasts that smarted,<br /> + Knelt, lowly knelt, whilst firm ye stood,<br /> +From us and from affection parted,<br /> + In reek and smoke, in brothers’ blood!</p> +<h4>CHORUS OF MEN.</h4> +<p>Tenderness comes from God;<br /> + Woman and man in its praise should sing;<br /> +But tenderness flies at honour’s nod;<br /> + We offer all up to our land and King.</p> +<h4>ONE VOICE.</h4> +<p>What sang ye, warlike throngs?<br /> + Repeat, repeat this day,<br /> +One of the simple, nervous, songs<br /> +Ye murmur’d out, when, hot with wrongs,<br /> + Ye waited the coming fray.</p> +<h4>UNIVERSAL CHORUS.</h4> +<p>We love, we all love thee, beneficent Peace, &c.</p> +<h4>SOLO.</h4> +<p>Like the wave of the wild North main,<br /> +Foaming and frothing came on our foe;<br /> +Proud of his triumphs, proud of his train,<br /> +He thought to lay us low:<br /> +But, from Denmark’s lines of oak,<br /> +A horrible, horrible volley outbroke;<br /> +Then tumbled his mast,<br /> +His courage fell fast;<br /> +And the wave, which resembled his furious mood,<br /> +Was now with his blood embrued.</p> +<h4>CHORUS.</h4> +<p>This is Denmark’s holyday;<br /> + Dance, ye maidens!<br /> + Sing, ye men!<br /> + Tune, ye harpers!<br /> + Blush, ye heroes!<br /> +This is Denmark’s holyday.</p> +<h4>A VOICE.</h4> +<p>But, hark! what sobbing and what mournful notes<br /> +Are mixing with our hymns of ardent joy!<br /> +Hush, hush, be still;<br /> +A band of white-rob’d maids approaches slow,<br /> +With lily chaplets round their yellow locks,<br /> +With heavy tear-drops in their sunken eye;<br /> +Broken and trembling sounds<br /> +The melancholy song,<br /> +Accompanied by harp-tones rising mild.</p> +<h4>YOUTHFUL MAIDENS.</h4> +<p>Love, with rosy fetter,<br /> + Held us firmly bound;<br /> +Pure unmix’d enjoyment<br /> + Grateful here we found.<br /> +Bosom, bosom meeting,<br /> + ’Gainst our youths we press’d;<br /> +Bright the moon arose, then,<br /> + Glad to see us blest.</p> +<p>Denmark’s honour beckon’d,<br /> + Loud the canon roar’d;<br /> +Perish’d in the battle<br /> + They whom we ador’d.<br /> +Sweet is, grave, thy slumber,<br /> + Free from care and noise;<br /> +Short are earthly sorrows,—<br /> + Endless heaven’s joys.</p> +<h4>SUDDEN CHORUS OF THE SLAIN WARRIORS IS HEARD FROM ON +HIGH.</h4> +<p>From the heavenly, clear, invisible, home<br /> +Our voices come:<br /> +No joy can resemble the joy which reigns<br /> +In our seraph veins.<br /> +Lov’d ones, lov’d ones, weep for us not,<br /> +Soon shall ye here partake of our lot;<br /> +High o’er the stars’ extremest line<br /> +The sun of affection more bright shall shine:<br /> +Brothers, brothers, ’t is sweet to die<br /> +For the land of our birth, and the maid of our eye.<br /> +Blest are ye who like us shall fall;<br /> +The righteous Jehovah rewards, above,<br /> +Courage and love:<br /> +Hallelujah, peace be with you all!</p> +<h3>THE HAIL-STORM.<br /> +FROM THE NORSE.</h3> +<p>Sigvald Jarl was a famous Sea Rover, who, when unengaged in +his predatory expeditions, resided at Jomsborg, in Denmark. +He was the terror of the Norwegian coasts, which he ravaged and +pillaged almost at his pleasure. Hacon Jarl, who at that +time sat on the Norwegian throne, being informed that Sigvald +meditated a grand descent, and knowing that he himself was unable +to oppose him, had recourse to his God, Thorgerd, to whom he +sacrificed his son Erling. In what manner Thorgerd assisted +him and his forces, when the Danes landed, will best be learned +from the bold song which the circumstance gave rise to, and which +the following is a feeble attempt to translate.</p> +<p>When from our ships we bounded,<br /> +I heard, with fear astounded,<br /> +The storm of Thorgerd’s waking,<br /> +From Northern vapours breaking;<br /> +With flinty masses blended,<br /> +Gigantic hail descended,<br /> +And thick and fiercely rattled<br /> +Against us there embattled.</p> +<p>To aid the hostile maces,<br /> +It drifted in our faces;<br /> +It drifted, dealing slaughter,<br /> +And blood ran out like water—<br /> +Ran reeking, red, and horrid,<br /> +From batter’d cheek and forehead;<br /> +We plied our swords, but no men<br /> +Can stand ’gainst hail and foemen.</p> +<p>And demon Thorgerd raging<br /> +To see us still engaging,<br /> +Shot, downward from the heaven,<br /> +His shafts of flaming levin;<br /> +Then sank our brave in numbers,<br /> +To cold eternal slumbers;<br /> +There lay the good and gallant,<br /> +Renown’d for warlike talent.</p> +<p>Our captain, this perceiving,<br /> +The signal made for leaving,<br /> +And with his ship departed,<br /> +Downcast and broken-hearted;<br /> +War, death, and consternation,<br /> +Pursu’d our embarkation;<br /> +We did our best, but no men<br /> +Can stand ’gainst hail and foemen.</p> +<h3>THE ELDER-WITCH.</h3> +<p>According to the Danish tradition, there is a female Elf in +the elder tree, which she leaves every midnight; and, having +strolled among the fields, returns to it before morning.</p> +<p>Though tall the oak, and firm its stem,<br /> + Though far abroad its boughs are spread,<br /> + Though high the poplar lifts its head,<br /> +I have no song for them.<br /> + A theme more bright, more bright would be<br /> + The winsome, winsome elder tree,<br /> +Beneath whose shade I sit reclin’d;—<br /> + It holds a witch within its bark,<br /> + A lovely witch who haunts the dark,<br /> +And fills with love my mind.</p> +<p>When ghosts, at midnight, leave their graves,<br /> + And rous’d is every phantom thing;<br /> + When mermaids rise and sweetly sing<br /> +In concert with the waves;<br /> + When Palnatoka, <a name="citation29"></a><a +href="#footnote29" class="citation">[29]</a> on his steed,<br /> + Pursues the elves across the mead,<br /> +Or gallops, gallops o’er the sea,<br /> + The witch within the elder’s bark,<br /> + The lovely witch who haunts the dark,<br /> +Comes out, comes out to me.</p> +<p>Of leaves the fairies make our bed;<br /> + The knight, who moulders ’neath the elm, <a +name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30" +class="citation">[30]</a><br /> + Starts up with spear and rusted helm,—<br /> +By him the grace is said;<br /> + And though her kiss is cold at times,<br /> + And does not scent of earthly climes,<br /> +Though glaring is her eye, yet still<br /> + The witch within the elder’s bark,<br /> + The lovely witch who haunts the dark,<br /> +I prize, and ever will.</p> +<p>Yet, once I lov’d a mortal maid,<br /> + And gaz’d, enraptur’d, on her charms,<br +/> + Oft circled in each other’s arms,<br /> +Together, here we stray’d;—<br /> + But, soon, she found a fairer youth,<br /> + And I a fairer maid, forsooth!<br /> +And one more true, more true to me,<br /> + The witch within the elder’s bark,<br /> + The lovely witch who haunts the dark,<br /> +Has been more true to me.</p> +<h3>ODE.<br /> +FROM THE GÆLIC.</h3> +<blockquote><p>“Is luaimnach mo chodal an nochd.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Oh restless, to night, are my slumbers;<br /> +Life yet I retain, but not gladness;<br /> +My heart in my bosom is wither’d,<br /> +And sorrow sits heavy upon me.<br /> +For cold, in her grave-hill, is lying<br /> +The maid whom I gaz’d on, so fondly,<br /> +Whose teeth were like chalk from the quarry,<br /> +Whose voice was more sweet than harp music.<br /> +Like foam that subsides on the water,<br /> +Just where the wild swan has been playing;<br /> +Like snow, by the sunny beam melted,<br /> +My love, thou wert gone on a sudden.<br /> +Salt tears I let fall in abundance,<br /> +When memory bringeth before me<br /> +That eye, like the placid blue heaven;<br /> +That cheek, like the rose in its glory.<br /> +Sweet object of warmest affection,<br /> +Why could not thy beauty protect thee?<br /> +Why, sparing so many a thistle,<br /> +Did Death cut so lovely a blossom?<br /> +Here pine I, forlorn and abandon’d,<br /> +Where once I was cheerful and merry:<br /> +No joy shall e’er shine on my visage,<br /> +Until my last hour’s arrival.<br /> +O, like the top grain on the corn-ear,<br /> +Or, like the young pine, ’mong the bushes;<br /> +Or, like the moon, ’mong the stars shining,<br /> +Wert thou, O my love, amongst women!</p> +<h3>BEAR SONG.<br /> +FROM THE DANISH OF EVALD.</h3> +<p>The squirrel that’s sporting<br /> + Amid the green leaves,<br /> +Full oft, with its rustle,<br /> + The hunter deceives;<br /> +Who starts—and believing<br /> + That booty is nigh,<br /> +His heart, for a moment,<br /> + With pleasure beats high.</p> +<p>“Now, courage!” he mutters,<br /> + And crouching below<br /> +A thunder-split linden,<br /> + He waits for his foe:<br /> +“Ha! joy to the hunter;<br /> + A monstrous bear<br /> +E’en now is approaching,<br /> + And bids me prepare.</p> +<p>“Hark! hark! for the monarch<br /> + Of forests, ere long,<br /> +Will breathe out his bellow,<br /> + Deep-throated and strong:”<br /> +Thus saying, he gazes<br /> + Intently around;<br /> +But, death to his wishes!<br /> + Can hear not a sound:</p> +<p>Except when, at moments,<br /> + The wind rising shrill<br /> +Wafts boughs from the bushes,<br /> + Across the lone hill.<br /> +Wo worth, to thee, squirrel,<br /> + Amid the green leaves,<br /> +Full oft thy loud rustle<br /> + The hunter deceives.</p> +<h3>NATIONAL SONG.<br /> +FROM THE DANISH OF EVALD.</h3> +<p>King Christian stood beside the mast;<br /> + Smoke, mixt with flame,<br /> +Hung o’er his guns, that rattled fast<br /> +Against the Gothmen, as they pass’d:<br /> +Then sunk each hostile sail and mast<br /> + In smoke and flame.<br /> +“Fly!” said the foe: “fly! all that can,<br /> +Nor wage, with Denmark’s Christian,<br /> + The dread, unequal game.”</p> +<p>Niels Juul look’d out, and loudly cried,<br /> + “Quick! now’s the time:”<br /> +He hoisted up his banner wide,<br /> +And fore and aft his foemen plied;<br /> +And loud above the battle cried,<br /> + “Quick! now’s the time.”<br /> +“Fly!” said the foe, “’t is +Fortune’s rule,<br /> +To deck the head of Denmark’s Juul<br /> + With Glory’s wreath sublime.”</p> +<p>Once, Baltic, when the musket’s knell<br /> + Rang through the sky,<br /> +Down to thy bosom heroes fell<br /> +And gasp’d amid the stormy swell;<br /> +While, from the shore, a piercing yell<br /> + Rang through the sky!<br /> +“God aids me,” cried our Tordenskiold;<br /> +“Proud foes, ye are but vainly bold;<br /> + Strike, strike, to me, or fly!”</p> +<p>Thou Danish path to fame and might,<br /> + Dark-rolling wave,<br /> +Receive a friend who holds as light<br /> +The perils of the stormy fight;<br /> +Who braves, like thee, the tempest’s might;<br /> + Dark rolling wave,<br /> +O swiftly bear my bark along,<br /> +Till, crown’d with conquest, lull’d with song,<br /> + I reach my bourne—the grave.</p> +<h3>THE OLD OAK.</h3> +<p>Here have I stood, the pride of the park,<br /> +In winter with snow on my frozen bark;<br /> +In spring ’mong the flowers that smiling she spread,<br /> +And among my own leaves when summer was fled.<br /> +Three hundred years my top I have rais’d,<br /> +Three hundred years I have sadly gaz’d<br /> +O’er Nature’s wide extended scene;<br /> +O’er rushing rivers and meadows green,<br /> +For though I was always willing to rove,<br /> +I never could yet my firm foot move.</p> +<p>They fell’d my brother, who stood by my side,<br /> +And flung out his arms so wide, so wide;<br /> +How envy I him, for how blest is he,<br /> +As the keel of a vessel he sails so free<br /> +Around the whole of the monstrous earth;<br /> +But I am still in the place of my birth.<br /> +I once was too haughty by far to complain,<br /> +But am become feeble through age and pain;<br /> +And therefore I often give vent to my woes,<br /> +When through my branches the wild wind blows.</p> +<p>A night like this, so calm and clear,<br /> +I have not seen for many a year;<br /> +The milk-white doe and her tender fawn<br /> +Are skipping about on the moonlight lawn;<br /> +And there, on the verge of my time-worn root,<br /> +Two lovers are seated, and both are mute:<br /> +Her arm encircles his youthful neck,<br /> +For none are present their love to check.<br /> +This night would almost my sad heart cheer,<br /> +Had I one hope or one single fear.</p> +<h3>LINES<br /> +TO SIX-FOOT THREE.</h3> +<p>A lad, who twenty tongues can talk<br /> +And sixty miles a day can walk;<br /> +Drink at a draught a pint of rum,<br /> +And then be neither sick nor dumb<br /> +Can tune a song, and make a verse,<br /> +And deeds of Northern kings rehearse<br /> +Who never will forsake his friend,<br /> +While he his bony fist can bend;<br /> +And, though averse to brawl and strife<br /> +Will fight a Dutchman with a knife.<br /> +O that is just the lad for me,<br /> +And such is honest six-foot three.</p> +<p>A braver being ne’er had birth<br /> +Since God first kneaded man from earth:<br /> +O, I have cause to know him well,<br /> +As Ferroe’s blacken’d rocks can tell.<br /> +Who was it did, at Suderöe,<br /> +The deed no other dar’d to do?<br /> +Who was it, when the Boff <a name="citation31"></a><a +href="#footnote31" class="citation">[31]</a> had burst,<br /> +And whelm’d me in its womb accurst—<br /> +Who was it dash’d amid the wave,<br /> +With frantic zeal, my life to save?<br /> +Who was it flung the rope to me?<br /> +O, who, but honest six-foot three!</p> +<p>Who was it taught my willing tongue,<br /> +The songs that Braga <a name="citation32"></a><a +href="#footnote32" class="citation">[32]</a> fram’d and +sung?<br /> +Who was it op’d to me the store<br /> +Of dark unearthly Runic lore,<br /> +And taught me to beguile my time<br /> +With Denmark’s aged and witching rhyme:<br /> +To rest in thought in Elvir shades,<br /> +And hear the song of fairy maids;<br /> +Or climb the top of Dovrefeld,<br /> +Where magic knights their muster held?<br /> +Who was it did all this for me?<br /> +O, who, but honest six-foot three!</p> +<p>Wherever fate shall bid me roam,<br /> +Far, far from social joy and home;<br /> +’Mid burning Afric’s desert sands,<br /> +Or wild Kamschatka’s frozen lands;<br /> +Bit by the poison-loaded breeze,<br /> +Or blasts which clog with ice the seas;<br /> +In lowly cot or lordly hall,<br /> +In beggar’s rags or robes of pall,<br /> +’Mong robber-bands or honest men,<br /> +In crowded town or forest den,<br /> +I never will unmindful be<br /> +Of what I owe to six-foot three.</p> +<p>That form which moves with giant-grace;<br /> +That wild, though not unhandsome, face;<br /> +That voice which sometimes in its tone<br /> +Is softer than the wood-dove’s moan,<br /> +At others, louder than the storm<br /> +Which beats the side of old Cairn Gorm; <a +name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33" +class="citation">[33]</a><br /> +That hand, as white as falling snow,<br /> +Which yet can fell the stoutest foe;<br /> +And, last of all, that noble heart,<br /> +Which ne’er from honour’s path would start,<br /> +Shall never be forgot by me—<br /> +So farewell, honest six-foot three!</p> +<h3>NATURE’S TEMPERAMENTS.<br /> +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLÆGER.</h3> +<h4>SADNESS.</h4> +<p>Lo, a pallid fleecy vapour<br /> + Far along the East is spread;<br /> +Every star has quench’d its taper,<br /> + Lately glimmering over head.<br /> +On the leaves, that bend so lowly,<br /> + Drops of crystal water gleam;<br /> +Yawning wide, the peasant slowly<br /> + Drives afield his sluggish team.<br /> +Dreary looks the forest, lacking<br /> + Song of birds that slumber mute;<br /> +No rough swain is yet attacking,<br /> + With his bill, the beech’s root.<br /> +Night’s terrific ghostly hour<br /> + Backward through time’s circle flies;<br /> +No shrill clock from moss-grown tower<br /> + Bids the dead men wake and rise.<br /> +Wearied out with midnight riot<br /> + Mystic Nature slumbers now;<br /> +Mouldering bodies rest in quiet,<br /> + ’Neath their tomb-lids damp and low;<br /> +Sad and chill the wind is sighing<br /> + Through the reeds that skirt the pool,<br /> +All around looks dead or dying,<br /> + Wrapt in sorrow, clad in dool.</p> +<h4>GLEE.</h4> +<p>Roseate colours on heaven’s high arch<br /> + Are beginning to mix with the blue and the gray,<br +/> +Sol now commences his wonderful march,<br /> + And the forests’ wing’d denizens sing +from the spray.<br /> + Gaily the rose<br /> + Is seen to unclose<br /> + Each of her leaves to the brightening ray.<br /> + Waves on the lake<br /> + Rise, sparkle, and break:<br /> +O Venus, O Venus, thy shrine is prepar’d,<br /> + Far down in the valley o’erhung by the +grove;<br /> +Where, all the day, Philomel warbles, unscar’d,<br /> + Her silver-ton’d ditty of pleasure and +love.</p> +<p>Innocence smiling out-carrols the lark,<br /> + And the bosom of guilt becomes tranquil again;<br /> +Nightmares and visions, the fiends of the dark,<br /> + Have abandon’d the blood and have flown from +the brain.<br /> + Higher the +sun<br /> + Up heaven has +run,<br /> + Beaming so fierce that we feel him with pain;<br /> + Man, herb, and +flower,<br /> + Droop under his +power.<br /> +O Venus, O Venus, thy shrine is prepar’d,<br /> + Far down in the valley o’erhung by the +grove<br /> +Where, all the day, Philomel warbles, unscar’d,<br /> + Her silver-ton’d ditty of pleasure and +love.</p> +<h4>MADNESS.</h4> +<p>What darkens, what darkens?—’t is heaven’s +high roof:<br /> +What lightens?—’t is Heckla’s flame, shooting +aloof:<br /> +The proud, the majestic, the rugged old Thor,<br /> +The mightiest giant the North ever saw,<br /> +Transform’d to a mountain, stands there in the field,<br /> +With ice for his corslet, and rock for his shield;<br /> +With thunder for voice, and with fire for tongue,<br /> +He stands there, so frightful, with vapour o’erhung.<br /> +On that other side of the boisterous sea<br /> +Black Vulcan, as haughty as ever was he,<br /> +Stands, chang’d to a mountain, call’d Etna by +name,<br /> +Which belches continually oceans of flame.<br /> +Much blood have they spilt, and much harm have they done,<br /> +For both, when the ancient religions were gone,<br /> +Combin’d their wild strength to destroy the new race,<br /> +Who were boldly beginning their shrines to deface.<br /> +O, Jesus of Nazareth, draw forth the blade<br /> +Of vengeance, and speed to thy worshippers’ aid;<br /> +Beat down the old gods, cut asunder their mail—<br /> +Amen!—brother Christians, why look ye so pale.</p> +<h3>THE VIOLET-GATHERER.<br /> +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLÆGER.</h3> +<p>Pale the moon her light was shedding<br /> + O’er the landscape far and wide;<br /> +Calmly bright, all ills undreading,<br /> + Emma wander’d by my side.</p> +<p>Night’s sad birds their harsh notes utter’d,<br /> + Perching low among the trees;<br /> +Emma’s milk-white kirtle flutter’d<br /> + Graceful in the rising breeze:</p> +<p>Then, in sweetness more than mortal,<br /> + Sang a voice a plaintive air,<br /> +As we pass’d the church’s portal,<br /> + Lo, a ghostly form stood there!</p> +<p>“Emma, come, thy mother’s calling;<br /> + Lone I lie in night and gloom,<br /> +Whilst the sun and moon-beams, falling,<br /> + Glance upon my marble tomb.”</p> +<p>Emma star’d upon the figure,—<br /> + Wish’d to speak, but vainly tried,<br /> +Press’d my hand with loving vigour,<br /> + +Trembled—faulter’d—gasp’d—and +died!</p> +<p>Home I bore my luckless maiden,<br /> + Home I bore her in despair;<br /> +Chilly blasts, with night-dew laden,<br /> + Rustled through her streaming hair.</p> +<p>Plunging then amid the forest,<br /> + Soon I found the stately tree,<br /> +Under which, when heat was sorest,<br /> + She was wont to sit with me.</p> +<p>Down my cheek ran tears in fever,<br /> + While with axe its stem I cut;<br /> +Soon it fell, and I with lever<br /> + Roll’d it straight to Emma’s hut.</p> +<p>Kiss’d her oft, and love empassion’d<br /> + Sung a song in wildest tones;<br /> +While the oaken boards I fashion’d,<br /> + Doom’d to hide her lovely bones.</p> +<p>Thereupon I sought the bower,<br /> + Where she kept her single hive;<br /> +Morning shone on tree and flower,<br /> + All around me look’d alive.</p> +<p>Stung by bees in thousand places,<br /> + Out I took the yellow comb;<br /> +Emma, deck’d in all her graces,<br /> + Past my vision seem’d to roam.</p> +<p>Soon of wax I form’d a taper,<br /> + O’er my love it cast its ray,<br /> +’Till the night came, clad in vapour,<br /> + When in grave I laid her clay.</p> +<p>Deep below me sank the coffin,<br /> + While my tears fell fast as rain;<br /> +Deep it sank, and I, full often,<br /> + Thought to heave it up again.</p> +<p>Soon as e’er the stars, so merry,<br /> + Heaven’s arch next night illum’d,<br /> +Sad I sought the cemetery,<br /> + Where my true love lay entomb’d.</p> +<p>Then, in sweetness more than mortal,<br /> + Sang a voice a plaintive lay;<br /> +Underneath the church’s portal<br /> + Emma stood in death array.</p> +<p>“Louis! come! thy love is calling;<br /> + Lone I lie in night and gloom,<br /> +Whilst the sun and moon beams, falling,<br /> + Glance upon my lowly tomb.”</p> +<p>“Emma! dear!” I cried in gladness,<br /> + “Take me too beneath the sod;<br /> +Leave me not to pine in sadness,<br /> + Here on earth’s detested clod.”</p> +<p>“Death should only strike the hoary,<br /> + Yet, my Louis, thou shalt die,<br /> +When the stars again in glory,<br /> + Shine upon the midnight sky.”</p> +<p>Tears bedeck’d her long eyelashes,<br /> + While she kiss’d my features wan;<br /> +Then, like flame that dies o’er ashes,<br /> + All at once the maid was gone.</p> +<p>Therefore, pluck I painted violets,<br /> + Which shall strew my lifeless clay,<br /> +When, to night, the stars have call’d me<br /> + Unto joys that last for aye.</p> +<h3>ODE TO A MOUNTAIN-TORRENT.<br /> +FROM THE GERMAN OF STOLBERG.</h3> +<p>How lovely art thou in thy tresses of foam,<br /> + And yet the warm blood in my bosom grows chill,<br +/> +When yelling thou rollest thee down from thy home,<br /> + ’Mid the boom of the echoing forest and +hill.</p> +<p>The pine-trees are shaken—they yield to thy shocks,<br +/> + And spread their vast ruin wide over the ground,<br +/> +The rocks fly before thee—thou seizest the rocks,<br /> + And whirl’st them like pebbles contemptuously +round.</p> +<p>The sun-beams have cloth’d thee in glorious dyes,<br /> + They streak with the tints of the heavenly bow<br /> +Those hovering columns of vapour that rise<br /> + Forth from the bubbling cauldron below.</p> +<p>But why art thou seeking the ocean’s dark brine?<br /> + If grandeur makes happiness, sure it is found,<br /> +When forth from the depths of the rock-girdled mine<br /> + Thou boundest, and all gives response to thy +sound.</p> +<p>Beware thee, O torrent, of yonder dark sea,<br /> + For there thou must crouch beneath tyranny’s +rod,<br /> +Here thou art lonely, and lovely, and free,—<br /> + Loud as a thunder-peal, strong as a god.</p> +<p>True, it is pleasant, at eve or at noon,<br /> + To gaze on the sea and its far-winding bays,<br /> +When ting’d with the light of the wandering moon,<br /> + Or red with the gold of the midsummer rays.</p> +<p>But, torrent, what is it? what is it?—behold<br /> + That lustre as nought but a bait and a snare,<br /> +What is the summer sun’s purple and gold<br /> + To him who breathes not in pure freedom the air.</p> +<p>Abandon, abandon, thy headlong career—<br /> + But downward thou rushest—my words are in +vain,<br /> +Bethink thee that oft-changing winds domineer<br /> + On the billowy breast of the time-serving main.</p> +<p>Then haste not, O torrent, to yonder dark sea,<br /> + For there thou must crouch beneath tyranny’s +rod;<br /> +Here thou art lonely, and lovely, and free,—<br /> + Loud as a thunder-peal, strong as a god.</p> +<h3>RUNIC VERSES.</h3> +<p>O the force of Runic verses,<br /> + O the mighty strength of song<br /> +Cannot baffle all the curses<br /> + Which to mortal state belong.</p> +<p>Slaughter’d chiefs, that buried under<br /> + Heaps of marble, long have lain,<br /> +Song can rend your tomb asunder,<br /> + Give ye life and strength again.</p> +<p>When around his dying capture,<br /> + Fierce, the serpent draws his fold,<br /> +Song can make him, wild with rapture,<br /> + Straight uncoil, and bite the mould.</p> +<p>When from keep and battled tower,<br /> + Flames to heaven upward strain,<br /> +Song has o’er them greater power,<br /> + Than the vapours dropping rain.</p> +<p>It can quench the conflagration<br /> + Striding o’er the works of art;<br /> +But nor song nor incantation<br /> + Can appease love’s cruel smart.</p> +<p>O the force of Runic verses,<br /> + O the mighty strength of song<br /> +Cannot baffle all the curses<br /> + Which to mortal state belong.</p> +<h3>THOUGHTS ON DEATH.<br /> +FROM THE SWEDISH OF C. LOHMAN.</h3> +<p>Perhaps ’t is folly, but still I feel<br /> +My heart-strings quiver, my senses reel,<br /> +Thinking how like a fast stream we range<br /> +Nearer and nearer to yon dread change,<br /> +When soul and spirit filter away,<br /> +And leave nothing better than senseless clay.</p> +<p>Yield, beauty, yield; for the grave does gape,<br /> +And horribly alter’d reflects thy shape,—<br /> +For ah! think not those childish charms<br /> +Will rest unrifled in its cold arms,<br /> +And think not there, that the rose of love<br /> +Will bloom on thy features as here above.</p> +<p>Let him who roams at vanity fair,<br /> +In robes that rival the tulip’s glare,<br /> +Think on the chaplet of leaves which round<br /> +His fading forehead will soon be bound;<br /> +Think on each dirge the priests will say<br /> +When his cold corse is borne away.</p> +<p>Let him who seeketh for wealth uncheck’d<br /> +By fear of labour—let him reflect,<br /> +The gold he wins will brightly shine,<br /> +When he has perish’d with all his line.<br /> +Though man may rave and vainly boast,<br /> +We are but ashes when at the most.</p> +<h3>BIRDS OF PASSAGE.<br /> +FROM THE SWEDISH.</h3> +<p>So hot shines the sun upon Nile’s yellow stream,<br /> + That the palm-trees can save us no more from his +beam;<br /> +Now comes the desire for home, in full force,<br /> + And Northward our phalanx bends swiftly its +course.</p> +<p>Now dim underneath us, through distance we view<br /> + The green grassy earth, and the ocean’s deep +blue;<br /> +There tempests and frequent disasters arise,<br /> + Whilst free and untroubled we wend through the +skies.</p> +<p>Lo, high among mountains a meadow lies spread,<br /> + And there we alight, and get ready our bed;<br /> +There hatch we our eggs, and beneath the chill pole<br /> + We wait while the summer months over us roll.</p> +<p>No hunter, desirous to make us his prey,<br /> + Invades our lone valley by night or by day;<br /> +But green-mantled fairies their merry routs hold,<br /> + And fearless the pigmy <a name="citation34"></a><a +href="#footnote34" class="citation">[34]</a> there hammers its +gold.</p> +<p>But when pallid winter, again on the rocks<br /> + Shakes down in a shower the snow from his locks,<br +/> +Then comes the desire for heat, in full force,<br /> + And Southward our phalanx bends swiftly its +course.</p> +<p>To the verdant Savannah, and palm-shaded plain,<br /> + Where the Nile rolls his water, we hurry again;<br +/> +There rest we till summer’s sun, waxing too hot,<br /> + Makes us wish for our native, our hill-girded +spot.</p> +<h3>THE BROKEN HARP.</h3> +<p>O thou, who, ’mid the forest trees,<br /> + With thy harmonious trembling strain,<br /> +Could’st change at once to soothing ease,<br /> + My love-sick bosom’s cruel pain:<br /> +Thou droop’st in dreary silence now,<br /> + With shiver’d frame, and broken string,<br /> +While here, unhelp’d, beneath the bough<br /> + I sit, and feebly strive to sing.</p> +<p>The moon no more illumes the ground;<br /> + In night and vapour dies my lay;<br /> +For with thy sweet and melting sound<br /> + Fled, all at once, her silver ray:<br /> +O soon, O soon, shall this sad heart,<br /> + Which beats so low, and bleeds so free,<br /> +O’ercome by its fell load of smart,<br /> + Be broke, O ruin’d harp, like thee!</p> +<h3>SCENES.</h3> +<p>Observe ye not yon high cliff’s brow,<br /> +Up which a wanderer clambers slow,<br /> +’T is by a hoary ruin crown’d,<br /> +Which rocks when shrill winds whistle round;<br /> +That is an ancient knightly hold,—<br /> +Alas! it droops, deserted, cold;<br /> +And sad and cheerless seems to gaze,<br /> +Back, back, to yon heroic days,<br /> +When youthful Kemps, <a name="citation35"></a><a +href="#footnote35" class="citation">[35]</a> completely +arm’d,<br /> +And lovely maids around it swarm’d.</p> +<p>You, in the tower, a hole may see;<br /> +A window there has ceas’d to be.<br /> +From that once lean’d a damsel bright,<br /> +In evening’s red and fading light,<br /> +And star’d intently down the way,<br /> +Up which should come her lover gay:<br /> +But, time it flies on rapid wing—<br /> +Far off a church is towering,<br /> +Within it stand two marble stones,<br /> +That rest above the lovers’ bones.<br /> +But see, the wanderer, with pain,<br /> +Has reach’d the pile he wish’d to gain;<br /> +Whilst Sol, behind the ruin’d walls,<br /> +Down into sacred nature falls.</p> +<p>See, there, two hostile nobles fight,<br /> +With tiger-rage and giant-might.<br /> +There’s seen no smoke, there’s heard no shot,<br /> +For guns and powder yet were not.<br /> +’T was custom then, when foemen warr’d,<br /> +To win or lose with spear and sword:<br /> +A wild heroic song they yell,<br /> +And each the other seeks to fell.<br /> +Oft, oft, her ownself to destroy,<br /> +Her own hand nature does employ.<br /> +There casts the hill up fire-flakes,<br /> +And Earth’s gigantic body quakes:<br /> +There, lightnings through the high blue flash,<br /> +And ocean’s billows wildly dash:<br /> +There, men ’gainst men their muscles strain,<br /> +And deal out death, and wounds, and pain.<br /> +O Nature! to thyself show less<br /> +Of hate, and more of tenderness.</p> +<p>How dusky is the air around;<br /> +We are no more above the ground;<br /> +But, down we wend within the hill,<br /> +Whose springs our ears with hissings fill.<br /> +See, there, how rich the ruddy gold<br /> +Winds snakeways, ’midst the clammy mould<br /> +And hard green stone. By torches’ ray,<br /> +The harvest there men mow away.<br /> +But, see ye not yon gath’ring cloud,<br /> +Which ’gainst them cometh paley proud;<br /> +That holds the spirit of the hill,<br /> +Who brings death in its hand so chill:<br /> +If down they do not quickly fall,<br /> +Most certainly ’t will slay them all;<br /> +For sorely wrathful is its mood,<br /> +Because they break its solitude:<br /> +Because its treasure off they bear,<br /> +And fling light o’er its gloomy lair.<br /> +’T is white, and Kobbold is the name<br /> +Which it from oldest days does claim.</p> +<p>Now, back at once into time we go,<br /> +For many a hundred years, I trow.<br /> +A gothic chamber salutes your sight:<br /> +A taper gleams feebly through the night;<br /> +A ghostly man by the board you see,<br /> +With his hand to his temples muses he:<br /> +Parchments, with age discolour’d and dun;<br /> +Ancient shields all written upon;<br /> +Tree-bark, bearing ciphers half defac’d;<br /> +Stones with Runes and characters grac’d;<br /> +Things of more worth than ye are aware,<br /> +On the mighty table are pil’d up there.<br /> +He gazes now in exstatic trance<br /> +Through the casement, out into nature’s expanse.<br /> +Whene’er we sit at the lone midnight,<br /> +And stare out into the dubious light,<br /> +Whilst the pallid moon is peering o’er<br /> +Ruin’d cloister and crumbling tower,<br /> +Feelings so wondrous strange come o’er us;<br /> +The past, and the future, arise before us;<br /> +The present fadeth, unmark’d, away<br /> +In the garb of insignificancy.<br /> +He gazes up into nature’s height,<br /> +The noble man with his eye so bright;<br /> +He gazes up to the starry skies,<br /> +Whither, sooner or later, we hope to rise;<br /> +And now he takes in haste the pen,<br /> +And the spirit of Oldom flows from it amain;<br /> +The scatter’d Goth-songs he changes unto<br /> +An Epic which maketh each bosom to glow.<br /> +Thanks to the old Monk, toiling thus—<br /> +They call him Saxo Grammaticus.</p> +<p>An open field before you lies,<br /> +A wind-burst o’er its bosom sighs,<br /> +Now all is still, all seems asleep;<br /> +’Midst of the field there stands a heap,<br /> +Upon the heap stand Runic stones,<br /> +Thereunder rest gigantic bones.<br /> +From Arild’s time, that heap stands there,<br /> +But now ’t is till’d with utmost care,<br /> +In order that its owner may<br /> +Thereoff reap golden corn one day.<br /> +Oft has he tried, the niggard soul,<br /> +The mighty stones away to roll,<br /> +As useless burdens of his ground;<br /> +But they for that too big were found.<br /> +See, see! the moon through cloud and rack<br /> +Looks down upon the letters black:<br /> +And when the ghost its form uprears<br /> +He shines upon its bursting tears—<br /> +For oh! the moon’s an ancient man,<br /> +Describe him, mortal tongue ne’er can,<br /> +He shines alike, serene and bright,<br /> +At midmost hour of witching night,<br /> +Upon the spot of love and glee,<br /> +And on the gloomy gallows-tree.<br /> +Upon each Rune behold him stare,<br /> +While off he hastes through fields of air;<br /> +He understands those signs, I’ll gage,<br /> +Whose meaning lies in sunken age;<br /> +And if he were in speaking state,<br /> +No doubt the old man could relate<br /> +Strange things that have on earth occurr’d,<br /> +Of which fame ne’er has said a word;<br /> +But since with look, with look alone,<br /> +He cannot those events make known,<br /> +He waketh from his height sublime<br /> +Mere longing for the dark gone time.</p> +<h3>THE SUICIDE’S GRAVE.<br /> +FROM THE GERMAN.</h3> +<p>This piece is not translated for the sentiments which it +contains, but for its poetical beauties. Although the path +of human life is rough and thorny, the mind may always receive +consolation by looking forward to the world to come. The +mind which rejects a future state has to thank itself for its +utter misery and hopelessness.</p> +<p>The evening shadows fall upon the grave<br /> +On which I sit; it is no common heap,—<br /> +Below its turf are laid the bones of one,<br /> +Who, sick of life and misery, did quench<br /> +The vital spark which in his bosom burn’d.</p> +<p>The shadows deepen, and the ruddy tinge<br /> +Which lately flooded all the western sky<br /> +Has now diminish’d to a single streak,<br /> +And here I sit, alone, and listen to<br /> +The noise of forests, and the hum of groves.</p> +<p>This is the time to think of nature’s God,<br /> +When birds and fountains, streams and woods, unite<br /> +Their various-sounding voices in his praise:<br /> +Shall man alone refuse to sing it—yes,<br /> +For man, alone, has nought to thank him for.</p> +<p>There’s not a joy he gives to us on earth<br /> +That is not dash’d with bitterness and gall,<br /> +Only when youth is past, and age comes on,<br /> +Do we find quiet—quiet is not bliss,<br /> +Then tell me, God, what I’ve to thank thee for.</p> +<p>But to recur to him who rests beneath—<br /> +He had a heart enthusiastic, warm,<br /> +And form’d for love—no prejudice dwelt there;<br /> +He roam’d about the world to find a heart<br /> +Which felt with his, he sought, and found it not.</p> +<p>Or if he found it, providence stepp’d in,<br /> +And tore the cherish’d object from his sight,<br /> +Or fill’d its mind with visions weak and vain—<br /> +Could he survive all this? ah, no! he died,—<br /> +Died by the hand which injur’d none but him.</p> +<p>And did he die unpitied and unwept,—<br /> +Most probably, for there are fools who think<br /> +’T is crime in man to take what is his own—<br /> +And ’t was on account they laid him here,<br /> +Within this sweet, unconsecrated, spot.</p> +<p>There comes a troop of maidens and of youths<br /> +Home from their labour—hark! they cease their song,<br /> +And, pointing to the grave, with trembling hands,<br /> +They make a circuit, thinking that in me<br /> +The ghost of the self-murderer they view—<br /> +Which, fame says, wanders here.</p> +<h2>LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.</h2> +<p>The Right Honourable the Earl of Albemarle</p> +<p>T. Amyot, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>F. Arden, Esq. <i>London</i>, 5 copies</p> +<p>Mr. A. Austin</p> +<p>The Right Rev. Father in God Henry Bathurst, Lord Bishop of +Norwich</p> +<p>Mr. W. Bacon</p> +<p>Mr. A. Barnard</p> +<p>Mr. P. Barnes</p> +<p>Mr. Barwell</p> +<p>Mr. Bell, <i>Diss</i></p> +<p>N. Bolingbroke, Esq.</p> +<p>J. Bowring, Esq., <i>Hackney</i></p> +<p>W. Burrows, Esq., <i>Stoke</i></p> +<p>Miss Burrows</p> +<p>W. Burt, Esq. Jun.</p> +<p>Thomas Campbell, Esq., London</p> +<p>S. Clarke, Esq., <i>Berghapton</i></p> +<p>Mr. T. Clarke</p> +<p>Mr. P. Clarke</p> +<p>Mr. P. Clayton</p> +<p>N. Cobham, Esq. <i>Exeter</i>, 2 copies</p> +<p>Rev. C. Codd, <i>Dereham</i></p> +<p>J. H. Cole, Esq.</p> +<p>Mrs. Coleman</p> +<p>Mr. W. Cooper</p> +<p>Mr. E. Cooper, <i>Dereham</i></p> +<p>Mr. G. Cooper, <i>Dereham</i></p> +<p>W. Cross, Esq.</p> +<p>H. Custance, Esq., <i>Weston Longueville</i></p> +<p>Rev. Custance</p> +<p>E. Dashwood, Esq., <i>Colchester</i></p> +<p>T. G. O’Donnahoo, Esq., <i>London</i>, 5 copies</p> +<p>Mr. Doughty, <i>Brockdish</i></p> +<p>T. Dyson, Esq., <i>Diss</i></p> +<p>Mr. Elliot</p> +<p>Dr. Evans</p> +<p>F. Farr, Esq., <i>Beecles</i></p> +<p>G. Fitzmaurice, Esq., <i>London</i>, 2 copies</p> +<p>J. Fletcher, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>R. Fowler, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>J. Geldart, Esq.</p> +<p>B. Girling. Esq., <i>Dereham</i></p> +<p>Rev. W. Girling</p> +<p>Mr. Green</p> +<p>C. Greville, Esq. M.P.</p> +<p>T. Gurdon, Esq., <i>Letton Hall</i>, <i>Suffolk</i>, 2 +copies</p> +<p>Mrs. Gurdon, 2 copies</p> +<p>H. Gurney, Esq. M.P.</p> +<p>R. H. Gurney, Esq. M.P.</p> +<p>Miss Anne Gurney</p> +<p>Mr. W. Hankes</p> +<p>Capt. Hare, <i>Stow Hall</i>, 2 copies</p> +<p>Mr. W. Harper</p> +<p>J. Harvey, Esq.</p> +<p>Sir R. J. Harvey</p> +<p>G. Harvey, Esq.</p> +<p>R. Hawkes, Esq.</p> +<p>Mrs. Hawkes</p> +<p>B. R. Haydon, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>W. Herring, Esq.</p> +<p>Mr. Higham, <i>London</i></p> +<p>Mr. Hobart</p> +<p>Mr. Holly</p> +<p>T. Hudson, Esq.</p> +<p>Mr. R. Hull</p> +<p>N. Islay, Esq., <i>Croydon</i></p> +<p>Mr. G. Jay</p> +<p>S. Johnson, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>P. Johnstone, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>Mr. Juby</p> +<p>Rev. J. Kennedy, <i>Templemore</i>, <i>Tipperary</i></p> +<p>Mr. R. Kerrison</p> +<p>Mr. E. Kerrison</p> +<p>Capt. Langford</p> +<p>E. Lombe, Esq.</p> +<p>Mrs. Lloyd, <i>Bawdeswell</i></p> +<p>Miss Lloyd, <i>Bawdeswell</i></p> +<p>Miss L. Lloyd, <i>Bawdeswell</i></p> +<p>Miss E. Lloyd, <i>Bawdeswell</i></p> +<p>Mr. R. Lloyd</p> +<p>Mr. J. Lloyd, <i>Welsh Pool</i></p> +<p>Mr. H. Marshall, <i>Ashby</i></p> +<p>Mr. H. Marshall, <i>Norwich</i></p> +<p>Mr. W. Matchett</p> +<p>Rev. C. Millard</p> +<p>Mr. Mills, <i>Pulham</i></p> +<p>Mr. F. Mills</p> +<p>A. Morrison, Esq., <i>Eaton Hall</i></p> +<p>Mrs. Morrison</p> +<p>G. Morse, Esq.</p> +<p>Rev. G. Munnings, <i>Dereham</i></p> +<p>J. Neales, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>Mr. Newton</p> +<p>Mr. E. Newton</p> +<p>Mr. W. Nichols</p> +<p>Mr. B. Norgate</p> +<p>T. Oliver, Esq., <i>Yarmouth</i></p> +<p>C. S. Onley, Esq. M.P.</p> +<p>J. Parkinson, Esq.</p> +<p>Mr. P. Paterson, <i>Glasgow</i></p> +<p>Mrs. J. Pertwee, <i>Fingringhoe Hall</i></p> +<p>R. Plumptre, Esq.</p> +<p>Mr. Press</p> +<p>Mr. P. Pullen</p> +<p>W. Quarles, Esq., <i>Foulsham</i></p> +<p>W. Rackham, Esq.</p> +<p>Mr. W. Roberts</p> +<p>J. Robertson, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>W. Robertson, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>Etienne Compte de la Roche, <i>Brest</i>, 2 copies</p> +<p>N. Simpson, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>W. Slous, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>Sir James Smith</p> +<p>J. Sparham, Esq., <i>Palgrave</i></p> +<p>Mr. W. Stark</p> +<p>Mr. J. Stark</p> +<p>J. Stewart, Esq.</p> +<p>R. Stoughton, Esq., <i>Sparham</i></p> +<p>Rev. A. T. Suckling</p> +<p>Mr. P. Thompson, <i>London</i></p> +<p>Mr. J. Thompson, <i>Dereham</i></p> +<p>J. Timbs, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>Mr. G. Thurtell, <i>Eaton</i></p> +<p>Mr. J. Thurtell</p> +<p>Mr. B. Sadler</p> +<p>S. Salter, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>Capt. R. Sayer</p> +<p>P. Scott, Esq.</p> +<p>Mr. Sendall</p> +<p>Mrs. Simpson</p> +<p>W. Simpson, Esq. Jun.</p> +<p>W. W. Simpson, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>Mrs. E. Thurtell</p> +<p>Mr. J. Turner, <i>London</i></p> +<p>Mr. Turner</p> +<p>J. Vincent, Esq., <i>London</i></p> +<p>S. Weir, Esq., <i>Manchester</i></p> +<p>Rev. G. Widrow, <i>Manchester</i></p> +<p>Mr. Wilson</p> +<p>Mr. Winter</p> +<p>Mr. I. Wiseman</p> +<p>Hon. Col. Wodehouse</p> +<p>E. Wodehouse, Esq. M.P.</p> +<p>D. Woods, Esq., <i>Dereham</i></p> +<p>Mr. I. Young, <i>London</i>, 2 copies</p> +<p>Mr. L. Young, <i>London</i></p> +<h2>APPENDIX No. 1.<br /> +A Bibliographical Note by Clement Shorter.</h2> +<p>George Borrow commenced his literary career with a translation +of Klinger’s “Faustus” in 1825, and by a +compilation of “Celebrated Trials” in the same +year. Both these books appeared in London while he was +engaged as a bookseller’s hack, as described in +“Lavengro.” In 1826 Borrow returned to Norwich, +and there he issued from the printing-house of S. Wilkin, in the +Upper Haymarket, these “Romantic Ballads.” He +had worked hard at collecting subscribers, and two hundred copies +were reserved for Norwich at half a guinea each copy; the +remaining three hundred out of an edition of five hundred were +sent to London. Some of these bear the imprint of John +Taylor, Waterloo Place, Pall Mall, 1826, while the remainder bear +the imprint of Wightman & Cramp, of Paternoster Row, in the +same year. Dr. Knapp only knew of the Taylor edition, +because that is referred to in the correspondence. Copies, +however, of the Wightman & Cramp edition are in existence, +and the title-page will be found reproduced with those of the +first and second issue in the opening pages of this volume. +Borrow sent copies to Lockhart, and Cunningham advised gifts to +other reviewers; but not a single review of the book +appeared. Yet his subscription list “amply paid all +expenses,” as Borrow states in a letter to +Cunningham. That list reveals the fact that such diverse +persons as Dr. Bathurst, Bishop of Norwich, and Thurtell, the +murderer of Mr. Weare, were among the Norwich subscribers, while +Benjamin Haydon, John Timbs, and Thomas Campbell paid their +half-guineas from London. Thurtell, we may add, was hanged +before the book appeared.</p> +<h2>APPENDIX No. 2.<br /> +Facsimile of Borrow’s Manuscript from the Collection of +Clement Shorter.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/borrow1b.jpg"> +<img alt="Manuscript of The deceived Merman—part 1" +src="images/borrow1s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/borrow2b.jpg"> +<img alt="Manuscript of The deceived Merman—part 2" +src="images/borrow2s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> The goddess of death—according to +the Northern mythology.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2" +class="footnote">[2]</a> The paradise of the Northern +mythology.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3" +class="footnote">[3]</a> Moe in Danish signifies Maid, and +is pronounced nearly like “May.” May is Old +English for Maid.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4" +class="footnote">[4]</a> The Fairies.—Ellefolk. +<i>Dan</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5" +class="footnote">[5]</a> Giants.—Jetté. +<i>Dan</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" +class="footnote">[6]</a> Dovrefeld is the highest mountain +in Norway, and in Europe.</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7" +class="footnote">[7]</a> Some of the many powers attributed +to “Runic verses” will be found described in the song +so intituled, in the latter part of this volume.</p> +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8" +class="footnote">[8]</a> Boune, to get ready.</p> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9" +class="footnote">[9]</a> Rede, advise. +Raader.—Dan.</p> +<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10" +class="footnote">[10]</a> Woxen, grown. +Voxen.—Dan.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11" +class="footnote">[11]</a> Jesus Christ.</p> +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12" +class="footnote">[12]</a> Grené shaw, green +wood.—Old English.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13" +class="footnote">[13]</a> Brute-carl, +dyre-carl.—<i>Original</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14" +class="footnote">[14]</a> By this nose under the chin must +be understood, that the elf has so long and crooked a nose, that +it reaches and turns up under his chin. Crooked noses are, +in all stories, allowed to be an ingredient of fiendish +physiognomy.</p> +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15" +class="footnote">[15]</a> Svobt udi +maard.—<i>Original</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16" +class="footnote">[16]</a> Slaae mig et mit Ledemod +sonder.</p> +<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17" +class="footnote">[17]</a> Burly, strong.</p> +<p><a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18" +class="footnote">[18]</a> Rok og teen. The Rok is no +longer used in England, though still common in the North. +It is a hazle stick, more than a yard long, round which the wool +is wound. It is affixed to the side of the spinner, under +the left arm.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> By scattering +“Runes,” or Runic letters, over graves, provided they +formed a particular rhyme, the ancient Scandinavians imagined +that the dead might be aroused.</p> +<p><a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20" +class="footnote">[20]</a> Han lærer de Kiæmpers +Ryg at verké.</p> +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21" +class="footnote">[21]</a> To ride at Dyst, to battle on +horseback.</p> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> It was formerly the custom in +Denmark, upon St. John’s day, to celebrate the arrival of +Summer, by troops of youths and maids going out into the woods, +and thence returning bedecked with leaves and branches. +This ceremony was called “bringing Summer to +town.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23" +class="footnote">[23]</a> Blank, clear, +shining.—<i>Dan</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24" +class="footnote">[24]</a> Called in Danish Kiæmpe-steene; +these stones either mark the burial place of a warrior, or the +spot where some very remarkable circumstance has occurred.</p> +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25" +class="footnote">[25]</a> These were ancient Danish +monarchs renowned in song and tale, for warlike exploits and +strange adventures. Not far from the Bridge of +Væré in the diocese of Roeskild, is King +Frode’s grave-hill, which, according to tradition, contains +immense treasures, and is the richest in all the land. +“Around the King’s neck is a gold chain, so long that +its other end reaches round his feet.” <i>See +Thiele’s Danské Folkesagn</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26" +class="footnote">[26]</a> Denmark’s wisest and +greatest king. He entertained a warm friendship for James +the First of England, and, attended by his court, came to London +to visit him. The ceremonies and rejoicings which this +event gave rise to, are well described in an old German book, at +present in the British Museum.</p> +<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27" +class="footnote">[27]</a> Tordenskiold Juul and +Hvidtfeld—celebrated Danish admirals. The memory of +Tordenskiold is sacred among the peasantry, on account of the +victories obtained by him over the Swedes. It is reported +of him in Jutland, that when the shot of the enemy was directed +thick and fast against him, he would shake the leaden bullets +from out the folds of his clothes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28" +class="footnote">[28]</a> In the Northern mythology, the +God of war and strength. He is girded by a belt of +bear-sinews, and bears a hammer called “Miolner,” +which means the shatterer, and with which he destroys giants, +demons, and other foes of Odin the supreme God.</p> +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29" +class="footnote">[29]</a> See preface to +“Waldemar’s Chase,” p. 115.</p> +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30" +class="footnote">[30]</a> It was frequently the practice of +the ancient Norsemen, after having entombed their dead kings and +heroes, to plant oaks or other trees over them, in order to +prevent their remains being disturbed with facility. In +that sublimest of all poems, “The Incantation of +Hervor,” is a passage to the following effect:</p> +<blockquote><p>Hervadr, Hiorvadr, Hrani and Angantyr,<br /> +I wake ye all under the roots of the trees.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote31"></a><a href="#citation31" +class="footnote">[31]</a> Between the islands of Ferroe the +Sea exhibits a phenomenon, called, in the dialect of the +Islanders, the Boff. Whilst the salt stream runs strong and +glassy through its narrow channel, it is suddenly deformed by +seven successive breakers, huge and foamy, which occur without +any apparent cause, and infallibly overwhelm any boat which may +chance to be in the way of their fury.</p> +<p><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32" +class="footnote">[32]</a> The ancient Northern god of music +and poetry.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33" +class="footnote">[33]</a> A mountain in the Scottish +Highlands.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34" +class="footnote">[34]</a> The Duergar, or Dwarf-elves, of +Scandinavia are famous for the dexterity with which they +fabricate ornaments of every kind, from the gold which they dig +out of the depths of the hills.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35" +class="footnote">[35]</a> Kemp, a warrior.—<i>Old +Eng</i>. <i>Dan</i>. Kiempé.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANTIC BALLADS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 2430-h.htm or 2430-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/3/2430 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Romantic Ballads + translated from the Danish; and Miscellaneous Pieces + + +Author: George Borrow + + + +Release Date: August 31, 2006 [eBook #2430] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANTIC BALLADS*** + + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1913 Jarrold and Sons edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + +ROMANTIC BALLADS, +TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH; +AND +MISCELLANEOUS PIECES; + + +BY + +GEORGE BORROW. + +* * * * * + + Through gloomy paths unknown-- + Paths which untrodden be, + From rock to rock I roam + Along the dashing sea. + + BOWRING. + +* * * * * + +NORWICH: +PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY JARROLD AND SONS. +1913 + +Contents. + +Preface + +Lines from Allan Cunningham to George Borrow + +The Death-raven. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger + +Fridleif and Helga. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger + +Sir Middel. From the Old Danish + +Elvir-shades. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger + +The Heddybee-spectre. From the Old Danish + +Sir John. From the Old Danish + +May Asda. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger + +Aager and Eliza. From the Old Danish + +Saint Oluf. From the Old Danish + +The Heroes of Dovrefeld. From the Old Danish + +Svend Vonved. From the Old Danish + +The Tournament. From the Old Danish + +Vidrik Verlandson. From the Old Danish + +Elvir Hill. From the Old Danish + +Waldemar's Chase + +The Merman. From the Old Danish + +The Deceived Merman. From the Old Danish + +Miscellanies. + +Cantata + +The Hail-storm. From the Norse + +The Elder-witch + +Ode. From the Gaelic + +Bear song. From the Danish of Evald + +National song. From the Danish of Evald + +The Old Oak + +Lines to Six-foot Three + +Nature's Temperaments. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger + +The Violet-gatherer. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger + +Ode to a Mountain-torrent. From the German of Stolberg + +Runic Verses + +Thoughts on Death. From the Swedish of C. Lohman + +Birds of Passage. From the Swedish + +The Broken Harp + +Scenes + +The Suicide's Grave. From the German + + + + +The Original Title Page. +200 copies by subscription + + +{i:S. Wilkin 1826 title page: tp1.jpg} + + + + +The London (John Taylor) Title Page. +300 copies including those bearing the imprint of +Wightman & Cramp. + + +{i:John Taylor 1826 title page: tp2.jpg} + + + + +PREFACE + + +The ballads in this volume are translated from the Works of OEHLENSLAEGER, +(a poet who is yet living, and who stands high in the estimation of his +countrymen,) and from the KIAEMPE VISER, a collection of old songs, +celebrating the actions of the ancient heroes of Scandinavia. + +The old Danish poets were, for the most part, extremely rude in their +versification. Their stanzas of four or two lines have not the full +rhyme of vowel and consonant, but merely what the Spaniards call the +"assonante," or vowel rhyme, and attention seldom seems to have been paid +to the number of _feet_ on which the lines moved along. But, however +defective their poetry may be in point of harmony of numbers, it +describes, in vivid and barbaric language, scenes of barbaric grandeur, +which in these days are never witnessed; and, which, though the modern +muse may imagine, she generally fails in attempting to pourtray, from the +violent desire to be smooth and tuneful, forgetting that smoothness and +tunefulness are nearly synonymous with tameness and unmeaningness. + +I expect shortly to lay before the public a complete translation of the +KIAEMPE VISER, made by me some years ago; and of which, I hope, the +specimens here produced will not give an unfavourable idea. + +It was originally my intention to publish, among the "Miscellaneous +Pieces," several translations from the Gaelic, formerly the language of +the western world; the noble tongue + + "A labhair Padric' nninse Fail na Riogh. + 'San faighe caomhsin Colum naomhta' n I." + + Which Patrick spoke in Innisfail, to heathen chiefs of old + Which Columb, the mild prophet-saint, spoke in his island-hold-- + +but I have retained them, with one exception, till I possess a sufficient +quantity to form an entire volume. + + + + +FROM ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, +TO GEORGE BORROW, + + +_On his proposing to translate the_ '_Kiaepe Viser_.' + +Sing, sing, my friend; breathe life again +Through Norway's song and Denmark's strain: +On flowing Thames and Forth, in flood, +Pour Haco's war-song, fierce and rude. +O'er England's strength, through Scotland's cold, +His warrior minstrels marched of old-- +Called on the wolf and bird of prey +To feast on Ireland's shore and bay; +And France, thy forward knights and bold, +Rough Rollo's ravens croaked them cold. +Sing, sing of earth and ocean's lords, +Their songs as conquering as their swords; +Strains, steeped in many a strange belief, +Now stern as steel, now soft as grief-- +Wild, witching, warlike, brief, sublime, +Stamped with the image of their time; +When chafed--the call is sharp and high +For carnage, as the eagles cry; +When pleased--the mood is meek, and mild, +And gentle, as an unweaned child. +Sing, sing of haunted shores and shelves, +St. Oluf and his spiteful elves, +Of that wise dame, in true love need, +Who of the clear stream formed the steed-- +How youthful Svend, in sorrow sharp, +The inspired strings rent from his harp; +And Sivard, in his cloak of felt, +Danced with the green oak at his belt-- +Or sing the Sorceress of the wood, +The amorous Merman of the flood-- +Or elves that, o'er the unfathomed stream, +Sport thick as motes in morning beam-- +Or bid me sail from Iceland Isle, +With Rosmer and fair Ellenlyle, +What time the blood-crow's flight was south, +Bearing a man's leg in its mouth. +Though rough and rude, those strains are rife +Of things kin to immortal life, +Which touch the heart and tinge the cheek, +As deeply as divinest Greek. +In simple words and unsought rhyme, +Give me the songs of olden time. + + + + +THE DEATH-RAVEN. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + +The silken sail, which caught the summer breeze, +Drove the light vessel through the azure seas; +Upon the lofty deck, Dame Sigrid lay, +And watch'd the setting of the orb of day: +Then, all at once, the smiling sky grew dark, +The breakers rav'd, and sinking seem'd the bark; +The wild Death-raven, perch'd upon the mast, +Scream'd 'mid the tumult, and awoke the blast. + +Dame Sigrid saw the demon bird on high, +And tear-drops started in her beauteous eye; +Her cheeks, which late like blushing roses bloom'd, +Had now the pallid hue of fear assum'd: +"O wild death-raven, calm thy frightful rage, +Nor war with one who warfare cannot wage. +Tame yonder billows, make them cease to roar, +And I will give thee pounds of golden ore." + +"With gold thou must not hope to pay the brave, +For gold I will not calm a single wave, +For gold I will not hush the stormy air, +And yet my heart is mov'd by thy despair; +Give me the treasure hid beneath thy belt, +And straight yon clouds in harmless rain shall melt, +And down I'll thunder, with my claws of steel. +Upon the merman clinging to your keel." + +"What I conceal'd beneath my girdle bear, +Is thine--irrevocably thine--I swear. +Thou hast refus'd a great and noble prey, +To get possession of my closet key. +Lo! here it is, and, when within thy maw, +May'st thou much comfort from the morsel draw!" +The polish'd steel upon the deck she cast, +And off the raven flutter'd from the mast. + +Then down at once he plung'd amid the main, +And clove the merman's frightful head in twain; +The foam-clad billows to repose he brought, +And tam'd the tempest with the speed of thought; +Then, with a thrice-repeated demon cry, +He soar'd aloft and vanish'd in the sky: +A soft wind blew the ship towards the land, +And soon Dame Sigrid reach'd the wish'd-for strand. + +Once, late at eve, she play'd upon her harp, +Close by the lake where slowly swam the carp; +And, as the moon-beam down upon her shone, +She thought of Norway, and its pine-woods lone. +"Yet love I Denmark," said she, "and the Danes, +For o'er them Alf, my mighty husband, reigns." +Then 'neath her girdle something mov'd and yearn'd, +And into terror all her bliss was turn'd. + +"Ah! now I know thy meaning, cruel bird . . . " +Long sat she, then, and neither spoke nor stirr'd. +Faint, through the mist which rob'd the sky in gray, +The pale stars glimmer'd from the milky way. +"Ah! now I know thy meaning, cruel bird . . . " +She strove in vain to breathe another word. +Above her head, its leaf the aspen shook-- +Moist as her cheek, and pallid as her look. + +Full five months pass'd, ere she, 'mid night and gloom, +Brought forth with pain an infant from her womb: +They baptiz'd it, at midnight's murky hour, +Lest it should fall within the demon's power. +It was a boy, more lovely than the morn, +Yet Sigrid's heart with bitter care was torn. +Deep in a grot, through which a brook did flow, +With crystal drops they sprinkled Harrald's brow. + +He grew and grew, till upon Danish ground +No youth to match the stripling could be found; +He was at once so graceful and so strong-- +His look was fire, and his speech was song. +When yet a child, he tam'd the battle steed, +And only thought of war and daring deed; +But yet Queen Sigrid nurs'd prophetic fears, +And when she view'd him, always swam in tears. + +One evening late, she lay upon her bed, +(King Alf, her noble spouse, was long since dead) +She felt so languid, and her aching breast +With more than usual sorrow was oppress'd. +Ah, then she heard a sudden sound that thrill'd +Her every nerve, and life's warm current chill'd:-- +The bird of death had through the casement flown, +And thus he scream'd to her, in frightful tone: + +"The wealthy bird came towering, +Came scowering, +O'er hill and stream. +'Look here, look here, thou needy bird, +How gay my feathers gleam.' + +"The needy bird came fluttering, +Came muttering, +And sadly sang, +'Look here, look here, thou wealthy bird, +How loose my feathers hang.' + +"Remember, Queen, the stormy day, +When cast away +Thou wast so nigh:-- +Thou wast the needy bird that day, +And unto me didst cry. + +"Death-raven now comes towering, +Comes scowering, +O'er hill and stream; +But when wilt thou, Dame Sigrid fair, +Thy plighted word redeem." + +A hollow moan from Sigrid's bosom came, +While he survey'd her with his eye of flame: +"Fly," said she; "demon monster, get thee hence! +My humble pray'r shall be my son's defence." +She cross'd herself, and then the fiend flew out; +But first, contemptuously he danc'd about, +And sang, "No pray'r shall save him from my rage; +In Christian blood my thirst I will assuage." + +Young Harrald seiz'd his scarlet cap, and cried, +"I'll probe the grief my mother fain would hide;" +Then, rushing into her apartment fair, +"O mother," said he, "wherefore sitt'st thou there, +Far from thy family at dead of night, +With lips so mute, and cheeks so ghastly white? +Tell me what lies so heavy at thy heart; +Grief, when confided, loses half its smart." + +"O Harrald," sigh'd she, yielding to his pray'r, +"Creatures are swarming in the earth and air, +Who, wild with wickedness, and hot with wrath, +Wage war on those who follow virtue's path. +One of those fiends is on the watch for thee, +Arm'd with a promise wrung by him from me: +His blood-shot eyes in narrow sockets roll, +And every night he leaves his mirksome hole. + +"He was a kind of God, in former days; +Kings worshipp'd him, and minstrels sang his praise; +But when Christ's doctrine through the dark North flam'd, +His, and all evil spirits' might was tam'd. +He now is but a raven; yet is still +Full strong enough to work on thee his will: +Lost is the wretch who in his power falls-- +Vainly he shrieks, in vain for mercy calls." + +She whisper'd to him then, with bloodless lip, +What had befallen her on board the ship; +But youthful Harrald listen'd undismay'd, +And merely gripp'd the handle of his blade. +"My son," she murmur'd, when her tale was told, +"Fear withers me, but thou look'st blythe and bold." +The youth uplifted then his sparkling eye, +And said, whilst gazing on the moon-lit sky, + +"Once, my dear mother, at the close of day, +Among tall flowers in the grove I lay, +Soft sang the linnets from a thousand trees, +And, sweetly lull'd, I slumber'd by degrees. +Then, heaven's curtain was, methought, undrawn, +And, clad in hues that deck the brow of morn, +An angel slowly sank towards the earth, +Which seem'd to hail him with a smile of mirth. + +"He rais'd his hand, and bade me fix my eye +Upon a chain which, hanging from the sky, +Embrac'd the world; and, stretching high and low, +Clink'd, as it mov'd, the notes of joy and wo: +The links that came in sight were purpled o'er +Full frequently with what seem'd human gore; +Of various metals made, it clasp'd the mould,-- +Steel clung to silver, iron clung to gold. + +"Then said the angel, with majestic air,-- +'The chain of destiny thou seest there. +Accept whate'er it gives, and murmur not; +For hard necessity has cast each lot.' +He vanish'd--I awoke with sudden start, +But that strange dream was graven on my heart. +I go wherever fate shall please to call,-- +Without God's leave, no fly to earth can fall." + +It thunders--and from midnight's mirky cloud, +Comes peal on peal reverberating loud: +The froth-clad breakers cast, with sullen roar, +A Scottish bark upon the whiten'd shore. +Straight to the royal palace hasten then +A lovely maid and thirty sea-worn men. +Minona, Scotland's princess, Scotland's boast, +The storm has driven to the Danish coast. + +Oft, while the train hew timber in the groves, +Minona, arm in arm, with Harrald roves. +Warm from his lip the words of passion flow; +Pure in her eyes the flames of passion glow. +One summer eve, upon a mossy bank, +Mouth join'd to mouth, and breast to breast, they sank: +The moon arose in haste to see their love, +And wild birds carroll'd from the boughs above. + +But now the ship, which seem'd of late a wreck, +Floats with a mast set proudly on her deck. +Minona kisses Harrald's blooming face, +Whilst he attends her to the parting place. +His bold young heart beats high against his side-- +She sail'd away--and, like one petrified, +Full long he stood upon the shore, to view +The smooth keel slipping through the waters blue. + +Months pass, and Sigrid's sorrow disappears; +The wild death-raven's might no more she fears; +A gentle red bedecks her cheek again, +And briny drops her eye no longer stain. +"My Harrald stalks in manly size and strength; +Swart bird of darkness, I rejoice at length; +If thy curst claw could hurt my gallant son, +Long, long, ere this, the deed would have been done." + +But Harrald look'd so moody and forlorn, +And thus his mother he address'd one morn: +"Minona's face is equall'd by her mind; +Methinks she calls me from her hills of wind? +Give me a ship with men and gold at need, +And let me to her father's kingdom speed; +I'll soon return, and back across the tide +Bring thee a daughter, and myself a bride." + +Dame Sigrid promis'd him an answer soon, +And went that night, when risen was the moon, +Deep through the black recesses of the wood, +To where old Bruno's shelter'd cabin stood. +She enter'd--there he sat behind his board, +His woollen vestment girded by a cord; +The little lamp, which hung from overhead, +Gleam'd on the Bible-leaves before him spread. + +"Hail to thee, Father!--man of hoary age, +Thy Queen demands from thee thy counsel sage. +Young Harrald to a distant land will go, +And I his destiny would gladly know: +Thou read'st the stars,--O do the stars portend +That he shall come to an untimely end? +Take from his mother's heart this one last care, +And she will always name thee in her pray'r." + +The hermit, rising from his lonely nook, +With naked head, and coldly placid look, +Went out and gaz'd intently on the sky, +Whose lights were letters to his ancient eye. +"The stars," said he, "in friendly order stand, +One only, flashes like an angry brand:-- +Thy Harrald, gentle Queen, will not be slain +Upon the _Earth_, nor yet upon the _Main_." + +While thus the seer prophetically spoke, +A flush of joy o'er Sigrid's features broke: +"He'll not be slain on ocean or on land," +She said, and kiss'd the hermit's wrinkled hand; +"Why then, I'm happy, and my son is free +To mount his bark, and gallop through the sea: +Upon the grey stone he will sit as king, +When, in the grave, my bones are mouldering." + +The painted galley floats now in the creek-- +Flags at her mast, and garlands at her beak; +High on the yard-arm hoisted is the sail, +Half spread it flutters in the evening gale. +The night before he goes, young Harrald stray'd +Into the wood where first he saw his maid: +Burning impatience fever'd all his blood, +He wish'd for wings to bear him o'er the flood. + +Then sigh'd the wind among the bushy grounds, +Far in the distance rose the yell of hounds: +The flame-wisps, starting from the sedge and grass, +Hung, 'mid the vapours, over the morass. +Up to him came a beldame, wildly drest, +Bearing a closely-folded feather-vest: +She smil'd upon him with her cheeks so wan, +Gave him the robe, and was already gone. + +Young Harrald, though astonish'd, has no fears; +The mighty garment in his hand he rears: +Of wond'rous lovely feathers it was made, +Which once the roc and ostrich had array'd. +He wishes much to veil in it his form, +And speed as rapidly as speeds the storm: +He puts it on, then seeks the open plain,-- +Takes a short flight, and flutters back again. + +"Courage!" he cried, "I will no longer stay; +Scotland shall see me, ere the break of day." +Then like a dragon in the air he soars, +Startled from slumber, in his wake it roars. +His wings across the ocean take their flight; +Groves, cities, hills, have vanish'd from his sight,-- +See! there he goes, lone rider of the sky, +Miles underneath him, black the billows lie. + +He hears a clapping on the midnight wind: +Speed, Harrald, speed! the raven is behind. +Flames from his swarthy-rolling eye are cast:-- +"Ha! Harrald," scream'd he, "have we met at last?" +For the first time, the youth felt terror's force; +Pale grew his cheek, as that of clammy corse, +Chill was his blood, his nervous arm was faint, +While thus he stammer'd forth his lowly plaint: + +"I see it is in vain to strive with fate; +Thank God, my soul is far above thy hate; +But, ere my mortal part thou dost destroy, +Let me one moment of sweet bliss enjoy: +The fair unmatch'd Minona is my love, +For her I travell'd, fool-like, here above: +Let me fly to her with my last farewell, +And I am thine, ere morning decks the fell." + +Firmly the raven holding him in air, +Survey'd his prize with fiercely-rabid glare: +"Now is the time to wreak on thee my lust; +Yet thou shalt own that I am good and just." +Then from its socket, Harrald's eye he tore, +And drank a full half of the hero's gore:-- +"Since I have mark'd thee, thou art free to go; +But loiter not when thou art there below." + +Young Harrald sinks with many a sob and tear, +Down from the sky to nature's lower sphere: +He rested long beneath the poplar tall, +Which grew up, under the red church's wall. +Then, rising slow, he feebly stagger'd on, +Till his Minona's bower he had won. +Trembling and sad he stood beside the door-- +Pale as a spectre, and besprent with gore! + +"Minona, come, ere Harrald's youthful heart +Is burst by love and complicated smart. +Soon will his figure disappear from earth, +Yet we shall meet in heaven's halls of mirth: +Minona, come and give me one embrace, +That I may instantly my path retrace." +Thus warbles he in passion's wildest note, +While death each moment rattles in his throat. + +Minona came: "Almighty God!" she cried, +"My Harrald's ghost has wander'd o'er the tide; +Red clots of blood his yellow tresses streak, +Drops of the same are running down his cheek." +"Minona, love, survey me yet more near, +It is no shadow which accosts thee here; +Place thy warm hand upon my heart, and feel +Whether it beats for thee with slacken'd zeal." + +At once the current of her tears she stopp'd, +His arm upheld her, or the maid had dropp'd; +The roses faded from her face away, +And on her head the raven locks grew gray. +All he had borne, and what he yet must bear, +He murmurs to her whilst she trembles there: +The hero then with dying ardour press'd, +For the last time, his bosom to her breast. + +"Farewell! Minona, all my fears are flown, +And if I grieve, it is for thee alone: +Give me a kiss, and give me too a smile, +And let not tears that parting look defile. +Now will I drink the bitter draught of death, +And yield courageously my forfeit breath:-- +Farewell! may heaven take thee in its care," +He said, and mounted swiftly in the air. + +She gaz'd; but he had vanish'd from her view; +She stood forsaken in the damp and dew, +Then dark emotion quiver'd in her eye, +And thus she pray'd, with hands uplifted high: +"Thou who wert vainly tempted in the wild, +Thou who wert always charitably mild, +Thou who mad'st Peter walk on billows blue, +Enable me my Harrald to pursue." + +Sunken already was the morning star, +The song of nightingales was heard afar, +The red sun peep'd above the mountain's brow, +And flowers scented all the vale below. +There came a youthful maiden, gaily drest, +Bearing upon her back a feather-vest; +Fondly she kiss'd Minona's features wan, +Gave her the robe, and then at once was gone. + +And straight Minona clothes in it her limbs, +And soaring upward through the ether swims: +To moan and sob, her madden'd breast disdains, +Too big for such low comfort are its pains. +The fowls that meet her in yon airy fields, +She clips in pieces with an axe she wields; +Each clanging pinion ceaselessly she plies, +But cannot meet the raven or his prize. + +She hears a faint shriek in the air below, +And, swift as eagle pounces on his foe, +Down, down, she dropp'd, and lighted on the shore, +Which far and wide was wet with Harrald's gore. +She smil'd so ruefully, but still was mute-- +His good right hand was lying at her foot: +That pledge of truth, in love's unclouded day, +Was the sole remnant of the demon's prey. + +Deep in her breast she hid the bloody hand, +And bade adieu, for ever, to the land: +Again she scower'd through the airy path, +Her eyeballs terrible with madden'd wrath: +The raven-sorcerer at length she spied, +And soon her steel was with his hot blood dyed: +The huge black body, piecemeal, found a grave +Amid the bosom of the briny wave. + +The ocean billows fret and foam no more, +But softly rush towards the pebbled shore, +On which the lindens stand, in many a group, +With leafy boughs that o'er the waters droop. +There floats one single cloudlet in the blue, +Close where the pale moon shows her face anew: +It is Minona dying there that flies,-- +She sinks not!--no--she mounts unto the skies. + + + + +FRIDLEIF AND HELGA. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + +The woods were in leaf, and they cast a sweet shade; +Among them walk'd Helga, the beautiful maid. + +The water is dashing o'er yon little stones; +She sat down beside it, and rested her bones. + +She sat down, and soon, from a bush that was near, +Sir Fridleif approach'd her with sword and with spear: + +"Ah, pity me, Helga, and fly me not now, +I live, only live, on the smile of thy brow: + +"In thy father's whole garden is found not a rose, +Which bright as thyself, and as beautiful grows." + +"Sir Fridleif, thy words are but meant to deceive, +Yet tell me what brings thee so late here at eve." + +"I cannot find rest, and I cannot find ease, +Though sweet sing the linnets among the wild trees; + +"If thou wilt but promise, one day to be mine, +No more shall I sorrow, no more shall I pine." + +She sank in his arms, and her cheeks were as red +As the sun when he sinks in his watery bed; + +But soon she arose from his loving embrace; +He walk'd by her side, through the wood, for a space. + +"Now listen, young Fridleif, the gallant and bold, +Take off from my finger this ring of red gold, + +Take off from my finger this ring of red gold, +And part with it not, till in death thou art cold." + +Sir Fridleif stood there in a sorrowful plight, +Salt tears wet his eyeballs, and blinded his sight. + +"Go home, and I'll come to thy father with speed, +And claim thee from him, on my mighty grey steed." + +Sir Fridleif, at night, through the thick forest rode, +He fain would arrive at his lov'd one's abode; + +His harness was clanking, his helm glitter'd sheen, +His horse was so swift, and himself was so keen: + +He reach'd the proud castle, and jump'd on the ground, +His horse to the branch of a linden he bound; + +He shoulder'd his mantle of grey otter skin, +And through the wide door, to Sir Erik went in. + +"Here sitt'st thou, Sir Erik, in scarlet array'd; +I've wedded thy daughter, the beautiful maid." + +"And who art thou, Rider? what feat hast thou done? +No nidering coward shall e'er be my son." + +"O far have I wander'd, renown'd is my name, +The heroes I conquer'd wherever I came: + +"Han Elland, 't is true, long disputed the ground, +But yet he receiv'd from my hand his death-wound." + +Sir Erik then alter'd his countenance quite, +And out hurried he, in the gloom of the night. + +"Fill high, little Kirstin, my best drinking cup, +And be the brown liquor with poison mixt up." + +She gave him the draught, and returning with speed, +"Young gallant," said he, "thou must taste my old mead." + +Sir Fridleif unbuckled his helmet and drank; +Sweat sprung from his forehead--his features grew blank. + +"I never have drain'd, since the day I was born, +A bitterer draught, from a costlier horn: + +"My course is completed, my life is summ'd up, +For treason I smell in the dregs of the cup." + +Sir Erik then said, while he stamp'd on the ground, +"Young knight, 't is thy fortune to die like a hound. + +"My best belov'd friend thou didst boast to have slain, +And I have aveng'd him by giving thee bane: + +"Not Helga, but Hela, {f:1} shall now be thy bride; +Dark blue are her cheeks, and she looks stony-eyed." + +"Sir Erik, thy words are both witty and wise, +And hell, when it has thee, will have a rich prize! + +"Convey unto Helga her gold ring so red; +Be sure to inform her when Fridleif is dead; + +"But flame shall give water, and marble shall bleed, +Before thou shalt win by this treacherous deed: + +"And I will not die like a hound, in the straw, +But go, like a hero, to Odin and Thor." + +He cut himself thrice, with his keen-cutting glaive, +And went to Valhalla, {f:2} the way of the brave. + +The knight bade his daughter come into the room: +"Look here, my sweet child, on thy merry bridegroom." + +She look'd on the body, and gave a wild start; +"O father, why hadst thou so cruel a heart?" + +She moan'd and lamented, she rav'd and she curst; +She look'd on her love, till her very eyes burst. + +At midnight, Sir Erik was standing there mute, +With two pallid corses beside his cold foot: + +He stood stiff and still; and when morning-light came, +He stood, like a post, without life in his frame. + +The youth and the maid were together interr'd, +Sir Erik could not from his posture be stirr'd: + +He stood there, as stiffly, for thirty long days, +And look'd on the earth with a petrified gaze. + +'T is said, on the night of the thirtieth long day, +To dust and to ashes he moulder'd away. + + + + +SIR MIDDEL. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +So tightly was Swanelil lacing her vest, +That forth spouted milk, from each lily-white breast; +That saw the Queen-mother, and thus she begun: +"What maketh the milk from thy bosom to run?" +"O this is not milk, my dear mother, I vow; +It is but the mead I was drinking just now." +"Ha! out on thee minion! these eyes have their sight; +Would'st tell me that mead, in its colour, is white?" +"Well, well, since the proofs are so glaring and strong, +I own that Sir Middel has done me a wrong." +"And was he the miscreant? dear shall he pay, +For the cloud he has cast on our honour's bright ray; +I'll hang him up; yes, I will hang him with scorn, +And burn thee to ashes, at breaking of morn." +The maiden departed in anguish and wo, +And straight to Sir Middel it lists her to go; +Arriv'd at the portal, she sounded the bell, +"Now wake thee, love, if thou art living and well." +Sir Middel he heard her, and sprang from his bed; +Not knowing her voice, in confusion he said, +"Away: for I have neither candle nor light, +And I swear that no mortal shall enter this night!" +"Now busk ye, Sir Middel, in Christ's holy name; +I fly from my mother, who knows of my shame; +She'll hang thee up; yes, she will hang thee with scorn, +And burn me to ashes, at breaking of morn." +"Ha! laugh at her threat'nings, so empty and wild; +She neither shall hang me, nor burn thee, my child: +Collect what is precious, in jewels and garb, +And I'll to the stable and saddle my barb." +He gave her the cloak, that he us'd at his need, +And he lifted her up, on the broad-bosom'd steed. +The forest is gain'd, and the city is past, +When her eyes to the heaven she wistfully cast. +"What ails thee, dear maid? we had better now stay, +For thou art fatigu'd by the length of the way." +"I am not fatigu'd by the length of the way; +But my seat is uneasy, in truth, I must say." +He spread, on the cold earth, his mantle so wide; +"Now rest thee, my love, and I'll watch by thy side." +"O Jesus, that one of my maidens were near! +The pains of a mother are on me, I fear." +"Thy maidens are now at a distance from thee, +And thou art alone in the forest with me." +"'Twere better to perish, again and again, +Than thou should'st stand by me, and gaze on my pain." +"Then take off thy kerchief, and cover my head, +And perhaps I may stand in the wise-woman's stead." +"O Christ, that I had but a draught of the wave! +To quench my death-thirst, and my temples to lave." +Sir Middel was to her so tender and true, +And he fetch'd her the drink in her gold-spangled shoe. +The fountain was distant, and when he drew near, +Two nightingales sat there and sang in his ear: +"Thy love, she is dead, and for ever at rest, +With two little babes that lie cold on her breast." +Such was their song; but he heeded them not, +And trac'd his way back to the desolate spot; +But oh, what a spectacle burst on his view! +For all they had told him was fatally true. +He dug a deep grave by the side of a tree, +And buried therein the unfortunate three. +As he clamp'd the mould down with his iron-heel'd boot +He thought that the babies scream'd under his foot: +Then placing his weapon against a grey stone, +He cast himself on it, and died with a groan. +Ye maidens of Norway, henceforward beware! +For love, when unbridled, will end in despair. + + + + +ELVIR-SHADES. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + +A sultry eve pursu'd a sultry day; +Dark streaks of purple in the sky were seen, +And shadows half conceal'd the lonely way; + +I spurr'd my courser, and more swiftly rode, +In moody silence, through the forests green, +Where doves and linnets had their lone abode: + +It was my fate to reach a brook, at last, +Which, by sweet-scented bushes fenc'd around, +Defiance bade to heat and nipping blast. + +Inclin'd to rest, and hear the wild birds' song, +I stretch'd myself upon that brook's soft bound, +And there I fell asleep and slumber'd long; + +And only woke, O wonder, to perceive +A gold-hair'd maiden, as a snowdrop pale, +Her slender form from out the ground upheave: + +Then fear o'ercame me, and this daring heart +Beat three times audibly against my mail; +I wish'd to speak, but could no sound impart. + +And see! another maid rose up and took +Some drops of water from the foaming rill, +And gaz'd upon me with a wistful look. + +Said she, "What brings thee to this lonely place? +But do not fear, for thou shalt meet no ill; +Thou steel-clad warrior, full of youth and grace." + +"No;" sang the other, in delightful tone, +"But thou shalt gaze on prodigies which ne'er +To man's unhallow'd eye have yet been shown." + +The brook which lately brawl'd among the trees +Stood still, the murmur of that song to hear; +No green leaf stirr'd, and fetter'd seem'd the breeze. + +The thrush, upstarting in the distant dell, +Shook its brown wing, with golden streaks array'd, +And ap'd the witch-notes, as they rose and fell. + +Bright gleam'd the lake's broad sheet of liquid blue, +Where, with the rabid pike, the troutling play'd; +The rose unlock'd its folded leaves anew, + +And blush'd, besprinkled with the night's cold tear. +Once more the lily rais'd its head and smil'd, +All ghastly white, as when it decks the bier. + +Though sweet she sang, my fears were not the less, +For in her accents there was something wild, +Which I can feel, 't is true, but not express. + +"Come with us," sang she, "deep below the earth, +Where sun ne'er burns, and storm-winds never rave; +Come with us to our halls of princely mirth, + +"There thou shalt learn from us the Runic lay; +But dip thee, first, in yonder crystal wave, +Which binds thee to the Elfin race for aye: + +"Though painted flowers on earth's breast abound, +Yet we have far more lovely ones below; +Like grass the chrysolites there strew the ground." + +"O come," the other syren did exclaim, +"For rubies there more red than roses grow-- +The sapphir's blue the violet puts to shame." + +I rais'd my eyes to heaven's starry dome, +And gripp'd my faulchion with convulsive might, +Resolv'd no witchcraft should my mind o'ercome. + +My lengthen'd silence vex'd the maidens sore: +"Wilt thou detain us here the live-long night, +Or must we, stripling, proffer something more? + +"Taught by us, thou shalt bind the rugged bear,-- +Seize on the mighty dragon's heap of gold,-- +And slay the cockatrice while in her lair! + +"But from thy breast the blood we will suck out, +Unless thou follow us beneath the mould! +Decide, decide, nor longer pause in doubt!" + +Cold sweat I shed, and as, with trembling hand, +I strove to whirl my beaming faulchion round, +It sank, enthrall'd by magic's potent band. + +Each witch drew nigh, with dagger high uprear'd; +Just then a cock, beyond the wild wood's bound, +Crew loud--and in the earth they disappear'd. + +I flung myself upon my frighten'd barb, +Just as the shades began to grow less murk, +And sun-beams clad the sky in gayer garb. + +Let each young warrior from such places fly: +Disease and death beneath the flowers lurk; +And elves would suck the warm blood from his eye. + + + + +THE HEDDYBEE-SPECTRE. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +I clomb in haste my dappled steed, +And gallop'd far o'er mount and mead; +And when the day drew nigh its close, +I laid me down to take repose. + +I laid me down to take repose, +And slumbers sweet fell o'er my brows: +And then, methought, as there I slept, +From out the ground the dead man leapt. + +Said he, "If thou art valiant, Knight, +My murder soon will see the light; +For thou wilt ride to Heddybee, +Where live my youthful brothers three: + +"And there, too, thou wilt surely find +My father dear and mother kind; +And there sits Kate, my much-loved wife, +Who with her women took my life. + +"They chok'd me, as in bed I lay, +Then wrapp'd me in a truss of hay; +And bore me out at dead of night, +And laid me in this lonely height. + +"The Groom, who lately clean'd my stall, +Now struts and vapours through my hall,-- +Eats gaily with my silver knife, +And sleeps with Kate, my much-lov'd wife. + +"His place is highest at the board; +But what is most to be deplor'd, +He gives my babes so little bread, +And mocks them now their sire is dead. + +"Clad in my clothes he proudly stalks +Along the shady forest-walks; +And, arm'd with bow and hunting spear, +He shoots my birds and stabs my deer. + +"Were I alive, to meet him now, +All underneath the linden bough, +With no one nigh, my wrath to check, +I'd wring his head from off his neck! + +"But hie thee hence to Heddybee, +Where live my youthful brothers three; +First tell them all--then stab the groom-- +Allow my wife a milder doom." + + + + +SIR JOHN. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +Sir Lave to the island stray'd; +He wedded there a lovely maid: +"I'll have her yet," said John. + +He brought her home across the main, +With knights and ladies in the train: +"I'm close behind," said John. + +They plac'd her on the bridal seat; +Sir Lave bade them drink and eat: +"Aye: that we will," said John. + +The servants led her then to bed, +But could not loose her girdle red! +"I can, perhaps," said John. + +He shut the door with all his might; +He lock'd it fast, and quench'd the light: +"I shall sleep here," said John. + +A servant to Sir Lave hied;-- +"Sir John is sleeping with the bride:" +"Aye, that I am," said John. + +Sir Lave to the chamber flew: +"Arise, and straight the door undo!" +"A likely thing!" said John. + +He struck with shield, he struck with spear-- +"Come out, thou Dog, and fight me here!" +"Another time," said John. + +"And since thou with my bride hast lain, +To our good king I will complain." +"That thou canst do," said John. + +As soon as e'er the morning shone, +Sir Lave sought our monarch's throne; +"I'll go there too," said John. + +"O King, chastise this wicked wight, +For with my wife he slept last night." +"'T is very true," said John. + +"Since ye two love one pretty face, +Your lances must decide the case." +"With all my heart," said John. + +The sun on high was shining bright, +And thousands came to see the fight: +"Lo! here I am:" said John. + +The first course that they ran so free, +Sir John's horse fell upon his knee: +"Now help me God!" said John. + +The next course that they ran, in ire, +Sir Lave fell among the mire. +"He's dead enough!" said John. + +The victor to the castle hied, +And there in tears he found the bride: +"Thou art my own," said John. + +That night, forgetting all alarms, +Again she blest him in her arms. +"I have her now!" said John. + + + + +MAY {f:3} ASDA. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + +May Asda is gone to the merry green wood; +Like flax was each tress on her temples that stood; +Her cheek like the rose-leaf that perfumes the air; +Her form, like the lily-stalk, graceful and fair: + +She mourn'd for her lover, Sir Frovin the brave, +For he had embark'd on the boisterous wave; +And, burning to gather the laurels of war, +Had sail'd with King Humble to Orkney afar: + +At feast and at revel, wherever she went, +Her thoughts on his perils and dangers were bent; +No joy has the heart that loves fondly and dear-- +No pleasure save when the lov'd object is near! + +May Asda walk'd out in the bonny noon-tide, +And roam'd where the beeches grew up in their pride; +She sat herself down on the green sloping hill, +Where liv'd the Erl-people, {f:4} and where they live still: + +Then trembled the turf, as she sat in repose, +And straight from the mountain three maidens arose; +And with them a loom, and upon it a woof, +As white as the snow when it falls on the roof. + +Of red shining gold was the fairy-loom made; +They sang and they danc'd, and their swift shuttles play'd; +Their song was of death, and their song was of life, +It sounded like billows in tumult and strife. + +They gave her the woof, with a sorrowful look, +And vanish'd like bubbles that burst on the brook; +But deep in the mountain was heard a sweet strain, +As the lady went home to her bower again. + +The web was unfinish'd; she wove and she spun, +Nor rested a moment, until it was done; +And there was enough, when the work was complete, +To form for a dead man a shirt or a sheet. + +The heroes return'd from the well-foughten field, +And bore home Sir Frovin's corse, laid on a shield; +Sad sight for the maid! but she still was alert, +And sew'd round the body the funeral shirt: + +And when she had come to the very last stitch, +Her feelings, so long suppress'd, rose to a pitch, +The cold clammy sweat from her features outbroke; +Death struck her, and meekly she bow'd to the stroke. + +She rests with her lover now deep in the grave, +And o'er them the beeches their mossy boughs wave; +There sing the Erl-maidens their ditties aloud, +And dance while the merry moon peeps from the cloud. + + + + +AAGER AND ELIZA. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +Have ye heard of bold Sir Aager, +How he rode to yonder isle; +There he saw the sweet Eliza, +Who upon him deign'd to smile. + +There he married sweet Eliza, +With her lands and ruddy gold-- +Wo is me! the Monday after, +Dead he lay beneath the mould! + +In her bower sat Eliza; +Rent the air with shriek and groan; +All which heard the good Sir Aager, +Underneath the granite stone. + +Up his mighty limbs he gather'd, +Took the coffin on his back; +And to fair Eliza's bower +Hasten'd, by the well-known track. + +On her chamber's lowly portal, +With his fingers long and thin, +Thrice he tapp'd, and bade Eliza +Straightway let her bridegroom in! + +Straightway answer'd fair Eliza, +"I will not undo my door +Till I hear thee name sweet Jesus, +As thou oft hast done before." + +"Rise, O rise, my own Eliza, +And undo thy chamber door; +I can name the name of Jesus, +As I once could do before." + +Up then rose the sweet Eliza,-- +Up she rose, and twirl'd the pin. +Straight the chamber door flew open, +And the dead man glided in. + +With her comb she comb'd his ringlets, +For she felt but little fear: +On each lock that she adjusted +Fell a hot and briny tear. + +"Listen, now, my good Sir Aager, +Dearest bridegroom, all I crave +Is to know how it goes with thee, +In that lonely place, the grave?" + +"Every time that thou rejoicest, +And thy breast with pleasure heaves, +Then that moment is my coffin +Lin'd with rose and laurel leaves. + +"Every time that thou art shedding +From thine eyes the briny flood, +Then that moment is my coffin +Fill'd with black and loathsome blood. + +"Heard I not the red cock crowing, +Distant far upon the wind? +Down to dust the dead are going, +And I may not stop behind. + +"Heaven's ruddy portals open,-- +Daylight bursts upon my view; +Though the word be hard to utter, +I must bid thee, love, adieu!" + +Up his mighty limbs he gather'd, +Took the coffin on his back, +To the church-yard straight he hasten'd +By the well-known, beaten, track. + +Up then rose the sweet Eliza; +Tear-drops on her features stood, +While her lover she attended +Through the dark and dreary wood. + +When they reach'd the lone enclosure, +(Last, sad, refuge of the dead)-- +From the cheeks of good Sir Aager +All the lovely colour fled: + +"Listen, now, my sweet Eliza, +If my peace be dear to thee: +Never, then, from this time forward, +Shed a single tear for me. + +"Turn thy lovely eyes to heaven, +Where the stars are beaming pale; +Thou canst tell me, then, for certain, +If the night begins to fail." + +When she turn'd her eyes to heaven, +All with stars besprinkled o'er, +In the earth the dead man glided, +And she never saw him more. + +Homeward went the sweet Eliza; +Oh, her heart was chill and cold:-- +Wo is me! the Monday after, +Dead she lay beneath the mould! + + + + +SAINT OLUF. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +St. Oluf was a mighty king, +Who rul'd the Northern land; +The holy Christian faith he preach'd, +And taught it, sword in hand. + +St. Oluf built a lofty ship, +With sails of silk so fair; +"To Hornelummer I must go, +And see what's passing there." + +"O do not go," the seamen said, +"To yonder fatal ground, +Where savage Jutts, {f:5} and wicked elves, +And demon sprites, abound." + +St. Oluf climb'd the vessel's side; +His courage nought could tame! +"Heave up, heave up the anchor straight; +Let's go in Jesu's name. + +"The cross shall be my faulchion now-- +The book of God my shield; +And, arm'd with them, I hope and trust +To make the demons yield." + +And swift, as eagle cleaves the sky, +The gallant vessel flew; +Direct for Hornelummer's rock, +Through ocean's wavy blue. + +'T was early in the morning tide +When she cast anchor there; +And, lo! the Jutt stood on the cliff, +To breathe the morning air: + +His eyes were like the burning beal-- +His mouth was all awry; +The truth I tell, and say he stood +Full twenty cubits high: + +His beard was like a horse's mane, +And down his bosom roll'd; +The claws that fenc'd his finger ends +Were frightful to behold. + +"I never yet have seen," he cried, +"A ship come near my strand, +That here to shore I could not drag, +By putting out my hand." + +The good St. Oluf smil'd thereat, +And thus address'd his crew: +"Now hold your tongues, and well observe +What I'm about to do." + +The giant stretch'd his mighty arm; +The ship was nigh his own; +But when St. Oluf rais'd the cross, +He sank knee-deep in stone. + +"Here am I, sunk knee-deep in stone! +My legs I cannot move; +But, since my back and fists are free, +My might thou yet shalt prove." + +"Be still, be still, thou noisy guest-- +Be still for evermore; +Become a rock and beetle there, +Above the billows hoar." + +Up started then, from out the hill, +The demon's hoary wife; +She curs'd the king a thousand times, +And brandish'd high her knife. + +Sore wonder'd then the little elves, +Who sat within the hill, +To see their mother, all at once, +Stand likewise stiff and still: + +"'T is done," they cried, "by yonder wight, +Who rides upon the waves; +Let's wade out to him, through the surf, +And beat him with our staves." + +At Hornelummer happen'd then, +What happen'd ne'er before; +The elfins wish'd to leave the hill, +And could not find a door: + +They ran their heads against the wall, +And tried to break it through; +They could not break the solid rock, +But broke their necks in lieu. + +Now, thanks to God, and Jesus Christ, +And good St. Oluf's arm, +To Hornelummer we can sail +Without mishap or harm. + + + + +THE HEROES OF DOVREFELD. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +On Dovrefeld, {f:6} in Norway, +Were once together seen +The twelve heroic brothers +Of Ingeborg, the queen: + +And they were all magicians, +Possest of mighty art, +Who freely read the Runic, +And knew the rhyme by heart. {f:7} + +The first could turn the lightning, +And quench its ruddy gleam: +The second, with a whisper, +Could still the running stream: + +The third beneath the water +Could dive like any fish: +The fourth could get provision +By striking on his dish: + +The fifth upon the gold harp +So pleasantly could play, +That all the men who heard him +Began to dance away: + +The sixth, he had a bugle, +And when he blew a blast, +The stoutest of his foemen +Would fly before him fast: + +The seventh, unimpeded, +Through solid hills could roam: +The eighth could walk the ocean, +When billows were in foam: + +The ninth could draw, by magic, +The fishes from the deep: +The tenth was never weary, +Nor overcome by sleep: + +The eleventh bound the dragon +Which crept among the grass; +And all he wish'd to happen +Was sure to come to pass: + +The twelfth, who was reputed +The wisest of the band, +Knew what was going forward +In every foreign land. + +And now, forsooth, I tell ye, +Who listen to my strain, +That such a set of brothers +Will ne'er be seen again. + + + + +SVEND VONVED. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +Grimm, in the preface to his German translation of the Kiaempe Viser, +characterizes this Ballad in the following magnificent words:-- + + "Seltsam ist das Lied von dem Held Vonved. Unter dem Empfang des + Zauberseegens und mit rathselhaften Worten, dass er nie wiederkehre + oder dann den Tod seines Vaters rachen musse, reitet er aus. Lange + sieht er keine Stadt und keinen Menschen, dann, wer sich ihm entgegen + stelit, den wirft er nieder, den Hirten legt er seine Rathsel vor uber + das edelste und abscheuungswurdigste, ubar den Gang der Sonne und die + Ruhe des Todten: wer sie nicht Iost, den erschlagt er; trotzig sitzt + er unter den Helden, ihre Anerbietungen gefallen ihm nicht, er reitet + heim, erschlagt zwolf Zauberweiber, die ihm entgegen kommen, dann + seine Mutter, endlich zernichtet er auch sein Saitenspiel, damit kein + Wohllaut mehr den wilden Sinn besanftige. Es scheint dieses Lied vor + allen in einer eigenen Bedeutung gedichtet, und den Mismuth eines + zerstorten herumirrenden Gemuths anzuzeigen, das seine Rathsel will + gelost haben: es ist die Angst eines Menschen darin ausgedruckt, der + die Flugel, die er fuhlt, nicht frei bewegen kann, und der, wenn ihn + diese Angst peinigt, gegen alles, auch gegen sein Liebstes, wuthen + muss. Dieser Charakter scheint dem Norden gantz eigenthumlich; in dem + seltsamen Leben Konigs Sigurd des Jerusalemfahrers, auch in + Shakspeare's Hamlet ist etwas ahnliches." + + "Singular is the song of the hero Vonved. After having received the + magic blessing, he rides out, darkly hinting that he must never + return, or have avenged the death of his father. For a long time he + sees no city and no man; he then overthrows whomsoever opposes him; he + lays his enigmas before the herdsmen, concerning that which is most + grand, and that which is most horrible; concerning the course of the + sun and the repose of the dead; he who cannot explain them is + slaughtered. Haughtily he sits among the heroes--their invitations do + not please him--he rides home--slays twelve sorceresses who come + against him--then his mother, and at last he demolishes his harp, so + that no sweet sound shall in future soften his wild humour. This + song, more than any of the rest, seems to be composed with a meaning + of its own; and shows the melancholy of a ruined, wandering mind, + which will have its enigmas cleared up! The anguish of a man is + expressed therein, who cannot move freely the wings which he feels; + and, who, when this anguish torments him, is forced to deal out + destruction against all--even against his best-beloved. Such a + character seems to be quite the property of the North. In the strange + life of King Sigurd, the wanderer to Jerusalem, and likewise in + Shakspeare's Hamlet, there is something similar." + +Svend Vonved sits in his lonely bower; +He strikes his harp with a hand of power; +His harp return'd a responsive din; +Then came his mother hurrying in: + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +In came his mother Adeline, +And who was she, but a queen, so fine: +"Now hark, Svend Vonved! out must thou ride, +And wage stout battle with knights of pride. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Avenge thy father's untimely end; +To me, or another, thy gold harp lend; +This moment boune {f:8} thee, and straight begone! +I rede {f:9} thee, do it, my own dear son." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side; +He fain will battle with knights of pride. +"When may I look for thee once more here? +When roast the heifer, and spice the beer?" + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"When stones shall take, of themselves, a flight, +And ravens' feathers are woxen {f:10} white, +Then may'st thou expect Svend Vonved home: +In all my days, I will never come." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +His mother took that in evil part: +"I hear, young gallant, that mad thou art; +Wherever thou goest, on land or sea, +Disgrace and shame shall attend on thee." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He kiss'd her thrice, with his lips of fire: +"Appease, O mother, appease thine ire; +Ne'er wish me any mischance to know, +For thou canst not tell how far I may go." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Then I will bless thee, this very day; +Thou never shalt perish in any fray; +Success shall be in thy courser tall; +Success in thyself, which is best of all. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Success in thy hand, success in thy foot, +In struggle with man, in battle with brute; +The holy God and Saint Drotten {f:11} dear +Shall guide and watch thee through thy career. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"They both shall take thee beneath their care, +Then surely thou never shalt evily fare: +See yonder sword of steel so white, +No helm nor shield shall resist its bite." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved took up the word again-- +"I'll range the mountain, and rove the plain, +Peasant and noble I'll wound and slay; +All, all, for my father's wrong shall pay." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved bound his sword to his side, +He fain will battle with knights of pride; +So fierce and strange was his whole array, +No mortal ventur'd to cross his way. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +His helm was blinking against the sun, +His spurs were clinking his heels upon, . . . +His horse was springing, with bridle ringing, +While sat the warrior wildly singing. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He rode a day, he rode for three, +No town nor city he yet could see; +"Ha!" said the youth, "by my father's hand, +There is no city in all this land." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He rode and lilted, he rode and sang, +Then met he by chance Sir Thule Vang; +Sir Thule Vang, with his twelve sons bold, +All cas'd in iron, the bright and cold. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved took his sword from his side, +He fain would battle with knights so tried; +The proud Sir Thule he first ran through, +And then, in succession, his sons he slew. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side, +It lists him farther to ride, to ride; +He rode along by the grene shaw; {f:12} +The Brute-carl {f:13} there with surprise he saw. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +A wild swine sat on his shoulders broad, +Upon his bosom a black bear snor'd; +And about his fingers, with hair o'erhung, +The squirrel sported, and weasel clung. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Now, Brute-carl, yield thy booty to me, +Or I will take it by force from thee. +Say, wilt thou quickly thy beasts forego, +Or venture with me to bandy a blow? + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Much rather, much rather, I'll fight with thee, +Than thou my booty should'st get from me; +I never was bidden the like to do, +Since good King Esmer in fight I slew." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"And did'st thou slay King Esmer fine? +Why, then thou slewest dear father mine; +And soon, full soon, shalt thou pay for him, +With the flesh hackt off from thy every limb!" + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +They drew a circle upon the sward; +They both were dour, as the rocks are hard; +Forsooth, I tell you, their hearts were steel'd,-- +The one to the other no jot would yield. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +They fought for a day,--they fought for two,-- +And so on the third they were fain to do; +But ere the fourth day reach'd the night, +The Brute-carl fell, and was slain outright. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side, +Farther and farther he lists to ride: +He rode at the foot of a hill so steep, +There saw he a herd as he drove the sheep. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Now tell me, Herd, and tell me fair, +Whose are the sheep thou art driving there? +And what is rounder than a wheel? +And where do they eat the holiest meal?" + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Where does the fish stand up in the flood? +And where is the bird that's redder than blood? +Where do they mingle the best, best, wine? +And where with his knights does Vidrik dine?" + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +There sat the herd, he sat in thought; +To ne'er a question he answer'd aught. +Svend gave him a stroke, a stroke so sore, +That his lung and his liver came out before. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +On, on went he, till more sheep he spied; +The herd sat, too, by a deep pit's side. +"Now tell me, Herd, and tell me fair, +Whose are the sheep thou art tending there?" + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"See yonder house, with turret and tower, +There feasting serves to beguile the hour; +There dwells a man, Tygge Nold by name, +With his twelve fair sons, who are knights of fame." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Enough, Sir Herd; now lend an ear-- +Go, tell Tygge Nold to come out here." +From his breast Svend Vonved a gold ring drew; +At the foot of the herd the gold ring he threw. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +And as Svend Vonved approach'd the spot, +His booty among them they 'gan to allot. +Some would have his polish'd glaive, +Others, his harness, or courser brave. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved stops, in reflection deep; +He thought it best he his horse should keep: +His hauberk and faulchion he will not lose, +Much rather to fight the youth will choose. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Had'st thou twelve sons to the twelve thou hast, +And cam'st in the midst of them charging me fast, +Sooner should'st thou wring water from steel, +Than thou in such fashion with me should'st deal. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He prick'd with his spur his courser tall, +Which sprang, at once, over the gate and wall. +Tygge Nold there he has stretch'd in blood, +And his twelve sons too, that beside him stood. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Then turn'd he his steed, in haste, about,-- +Svend Vonved, the knight, so youthful and stout; +Forward he went o'er mountain and moor, +No mortal he met, which vex'd him sore. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He came, at length, to another flock, +Where a herd sat combing his yellow lock: +"Now listen, Herd, with the fleecy care; +Listen, and give me answers fair." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"What is rounder than a wheel? +Where do they eat the holiest meal? +Where does the sun go down to his seat? +And where do they lay the dead man's feet?" + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"What fills the valleys one and all? +What is cloth'd best in the monarch's hall? +What cries more loud than cranes can cry? +And what can in whiteness the swan outvie? + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Who on his back his beard does wear? +Who 'neath his chin his nose does bear? +What's more black than the blackest sloe? +And what is swifter than a roe? + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Where is the bridge that is most broad? +What is, by man, the most abhorr'd? +Where leads, where leads, the highest road up? +And say, where the hottest of drink they sup." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"The sun is rounder than a wheel. +They eat at the altar the holiest meal. +The sun in the West goes down to his seat: +And they lay to the East the dead man's feet. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Snow fills the valleys, one and all. +Man is cloth'd best in the monarch's hall. +Thunder cries louder than cranes can cry. +Angels in whiteness the swan outvie. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"His beard on his back the lapwing wears. +His nose 'neath his chin the elfin bears. {f:14} +More black is sin than the blackest sloe: +And thought is swifter than any roe. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Ice is, of bridges, the bridge most broad. +The toad is, of all things, the most abhorr'd. +To paradise leads the highest road up: +And in hell the hottest of drink they sup." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Now hast thou given me answers fair, +To each and all of my questions rare; +And now, I pray thee, be my guide, +To the nearest spot where warriors bide." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"To Sonderborg I'll show thee straight, +Where drink the heroes early and late: +There thou wilt find of knights a crew, +Haughty of heart, and hard to subdue." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +With a bright gold ring was his arm array'd, +Full fifteen pounds that gold ring weigh'd, +That has he given the herd, for a meed, +Because he will show him the knights with speed. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved enter'd the castle yard; +There Randulph, wrapt in his skins, {f:15} kept guard: +"Ho! Caitiff, ho! with shield and brand, +What art thou doing in this my land?" + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"I will, I will, with my single hand, +Take from thee, Knave, the whole of thy land: +I will, I will, with my single toe, +Lay thee and each of thy castles low." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Thou shalt not, with thy single hand, +Take from me, Hound, an inch of my land; +And far, far less, shalt thou, with thy toe, +Lay me or one of my castles low. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Thou shalt not e'er, with finger of thine, +Strike asunder one limb of mine; {f:16} +I am for thee too woxen and stark, +As thou, to thy cost, shalt quickly mark." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved unsheath'd his faulchion bright, +With haughty Randulph he fain will fight; +Randulph he there has slain in his might, +And Strandulph too, with full good right. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +The rest against him came out pell-mell, +Then slew he Carl Ege, the fierce and fell:-- +He slew the great, he slew the small; +He slew till his foes were slaughter'd all. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side, +It lists him farther to ride, to ride; +He found upon the desolate wold +A burly {f:17} knight, of aspect bold. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Now tell me, Rider, noble and good, +Where does the fish stand up in the flood? +Where do they mingle the best, best wine? +And where with his knights does Vidrik dine?" + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"The fish in the East stands up in the flood. +They drink in the North the wine so good. +In Halland's hall does Vidrik dine, +With his swains around, and his warriors fine." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +From his breast Svend Vonved a gold ring drew; +At the foot of the knight the gold ring he threw: +"Go! say thou wert the very last man +Who gold from the hand of Svend Vonved wan." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved came where the castle rose; +He bade the watchmen the gate unclose: +As none of the watchmen obey'd his cry, +He sprang at once over the ramparts high. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He tied his steed to a ring in the wall, +Then in he went to the wide stone hall; +Down he sat at the head of the board, +To no one present he utter'd a word. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He drank and he ate, he ate and he drank, +He ask'd no leave, and return'd no thank; +"Ne'er have I been on Christian ground +Where so many curst tongues were clanging round." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +King Vidrik spoke to good knights three: +"Go, bind that lowering swain for me; +Should ye not bind the stranger guest, +Ye will not serve me as ye can best." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Should'st thou send three, and twenty times three, +And come thyself to lay hold of me; +The son of a dog thou wilt still remain, +And yet to bind me have tried in vain. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Esmer, my father, who lies on his bier, +And proud Adeline, my mother so dear, +Oft and strictly have caution'd me +To waste no breath upon hounds like thee." + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"And was King Esmer thy father's name, +And Adeline that of his virtuous Dame? +Thou art Svend Vonved, the stripling wild, +My own dear sister's only child. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Svend Vonved, wilt thou bide with me here? +Honour awaits thee, and costly cheer; +Whenever it lists thee abroad to wend, +Upon thee shall knights and swains attend. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Silver and gold thou never shalt lack, +Or helm to thy head, or mail to thy back;" +But to this and the like he would lend no ear, +And home to his mother he now will steer. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved gallop'd along the way; +To fancies dark was his mind a prey: +Riding he enter'd the castle yard +Where stood twelve witches wrinkled and scarr'd: + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +There stood they all, with spindle and rok, {f:18}-- +Each over the shinbone gave him a knock: +Svend turn'd his steed, in fury, round; +The witches he there has hew'd to the ground. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He hew'd the witches limb from limb, +So little mercy they got from him; +His mother came out, and was serv'd the same, +Into fifteen pieces he hackt her frame. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Then in he went to his lonely bower, +There drank he the wine, the wine of power: +His much-lov'd harp he play'd upon +Till the strings were broken, every one. + Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + + + + +THE TOURNAMENT. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +This is one of those Ballads which, from the days of Arild, have been +much sung in Denmark: we find in it the names and bearings of most of +those renowned heroes, who are mentioned separately in other poems. It +divides itself into two parts;--the first, which treats of the warrior's +bearings, has a great resemblance to the 178th chapter of the Vilkina +Saga, as likewise has the last part, wherein the Duel is described, to +the 180th and 181st chapters of the same. + +I cannot here forbear quoting and translating what Anders Sorensen Vedel, +the good old Editor of the first Edition of the Kiaempe Viser, which +appeared in 1591, says concerning the apparently superhuman performances +of the heroes therein celebrated. + + "Hvad ellers Kiaempernes Storlemhed Styrke og anden Vilkaar berorer, + som overgaaer de Menneskers der nu leve deres Vaext og Kraft, det + Stykke kan ikke her noksom nu forhandles, men skal i den Danske + Kronikes tredie Bog videligere omtales. Thi det jo i Sandhed befindes + og bevises af adskillige Documenter og Kundskab, at disse gamle + Hellede, som de kaldes, have levet fast laenger, og vaeret mandeligere + storre staerkere og hoiere end den gemene Mand er, som nu lever paa + denne Dag." + + "That part which relates to these Warriors' size, strength, or other + qualities, so far surpassing the stature and powers of the men who now + exist, cannot be here sufficiently treated upon, but shall be further + discussed in the third Book of the Danish Chronicles: for, in truth, + it is discovered and proved from various documents and sources, that + these old heroes, as they are called, lived much longer, and were + manlier, stouter, stronger, and taller, than man at the present day." + +Six score there were, six score and ten, + From Hald that rode that day; +And when they came to Brattingsborg + They pitch'd their pavilion gay. + +King Nilaus stood on the turret's top, + Had all around in sight: +"Why hold those heroes their lives so cheap, + That it lists them here to fight? + +"Now, hear me, Sivard Snaresvend; + Far hast thou rov'd, and wide, +Those warriors' weapons thou shalt prove, + To their tent thou must straightway ride." + +It was Sivard Snaresvend, + To the broad tent speeded he then: +"I greet ye fair, in my master's name, + All, all, ye Dane king's men. + +"Now, be not wroth that here I come; + I come as a warrior, free: +The battle together we soon will prove; + Let me your bearings see." + +There stands upon the first good shield + A lion, so fierce and stark, +With a crown on his head, of the ruddy gold, + That is King Diderik's mark. + +There shine upon the second shield + A hammer and pincers bright; +Them carries Vidrik Verlandson, + Ne'er gives he quarter in fight. + +There shines upon the third good shield + A falcon, blazing with gold; +And that by Helled Hogan is borne; + No knight, than he, more bold. + +There shines upon the fourth good shield + An eagle, and that is red; +Is borne by none but Olger, the Dane; + He strikes his foemen dead. + +There shines upon the fifth good shield + A couchant hawk, on a wall; +That's borne by Master Hildebrand; + He tries, with heroes, a fall. + +And now comes forth the sixth good shield + A linden is thereupon; +And that by young Sir Humble is borne, + King Abelon's eldest son. + +There shines upon the seventh good shield + A spur, of a fashion so free; +And that is borne by Hogan, the less, + Because he will foremost be. + +There shines upon the eighth good shield + A gray wolf, meagre and gaunt; +Is borne by youthful Ulf van Jern; + Beware how him you taunt! + +There shine upon the ninth good shield + Three arrows, and white are they; +Are borne by Vidrik Stageson, + And trust that gallant you may. + +There shines upon the tenth good shield + A fiddle, and 'neath it a bow; +That's borne by Folker Spillemand; + For drink he will sleep forego. + +There shines upon the eleventh shield + A dragon that looks so dire; +Is carried by Orm, the youthful swain; + He trembles at no man's ire. + +And, now, behold the twelfth good shield, + And upon it a burning brand; +Is borne by stout Sir Vifferlin + Through many a prince's land. + +There stands upon the thirteenth shield + A sprig of the mournful yew; +That's borne by Harrald Griskeson; + And he's a comrade true. + +There stand upon the fourteenth shield + A cloak, and a mighty staff; +And them bore Alsing, the stalwart monk, + When he beat his foes to chaff. + +And now comes forth the fifteenth shield, + And upon it three naked blades +Are borne by good King Esmer's sons, + In their wars and furious raids. + +There stands upon the sixteenth shield, + With coal-black pinion, a crow; +That's borne by rich Count Raadengaard; + The dark Runes well can he throw. {f:19} + +There shines upon the seventeenth shield + A horse, so stately and high, +Is borne by Count Sir Guncelin; + "Slay! slay! bide not," is his cry. + +There shine upon the eighteenth shield + A man, and a fierce wild boar, +Are borne by the Count of Lidebierg; + His blows fall heavy and sore. + +There shines upon the nineteenth shield + A hound, at the stretch of his speed; +Is borne by Oisten Kiaempe, bold; + He risks his neck without heed. + +There shines upon the twentieth shield, + Among branches, a rose, so gay; +Wherever Sir Nordman comes in war, + He bears bright honour away. + +There shines on the one-and-twentieth shield + A vase, and of copper 't is made; +That's borne by Mogan Sir Olgerson; + He wins broad lands with his blade. + +And now comes forth the next good shield, + With a sun dispelling the mirk; +And that by Asbiorn Milde is borne; + He sets the knights' backs at work. {f:20} + +There shines on the three-and-twentieth shield + An arm, in a manacle bound; +And that by Alvor Sir Lange is borne, + To the heroes he hands mead round. + +Now comes the four-and-twentieth shield, + And a bright sword there you see; +And that by Humble Sir Jerfing is borne; + Full worthy of that is he. + +There shines upon the next good shield + A goss-hawk, striking his game; +That's borne by a knight, the best of all-- + Sir Iver Blaa is his name. + +Now comes the six-and-twentieth shield, + A jav'lin there you spy; +Is borne by little Mimring Tan; + From no one will he fly. + +Such knights and bearings as were there, + And who can them all relate; +It was Sivard, the Snaresvend; + No longer he deign'd to wait. + +"If there be one of the Dane king's men, + Who at Dyst {f:21} is willing to ride, +Let him, I pray, without pause or delay, + Meet me by the wild wood's side. + +"The man among you, ye Danish court men, + Who at Dyst has won most meeds; +Him I am ready to fight, this day, + For both of our noble steeds." + +The heroes cast the die on the board; + The die it roll'd so wide: +"Since, young Sir Humble, it stops by thee, + 'Gainst Sivard thou must ride." + +Sir Humble struck his hand on the board; + No longer he lists to play: +I tell you, forsooth, that the rosy hue + From his cheek fast faded away. + +"Now, hear me, Vidrik Verlandson; + Thou art so free a man; +Do lend me Skimming, thy horse, this day; + I'll pledge for him what I can: + +"Eight good castles, in Birting's land, + As pledges for him I'll set; +My sister too, the lily-cheek'd maid, + A fairer thou ne'er hast met: + +"Eight good castles, and eight good knights; + I'd scorn to offer thee less: +If Skimming should meet any hurt this day, + My sister thou shalt caress." + +"If yonder mountains all were gold, + And yonder streams were wine; +The whole for Skimming I would not take; + I bless God he is mine. + +"Sivard is a purblind swain; + Sees not to his faulchion's end: +If Skimming were hurt thou couldst not pay me + With the help of thy every friend. + +"The sword it whirls in Sivard's hand, + As whirl the sails of the mill; +If thou take Skimming 'gainst that wild fool, + 'T is sorely against my will." + +Humble, he sat him on Skimming's back, + So gallantly can he ride; +But Skimming thought it passing strange + That a spur was clapt to his side. + +The first course that together they rode, + So strong were the knightly two, +Asunder went Humble's saddle-ring, + And a furlong his good shield flew. + +"Methinks thou art a fair young swain, + And well thy horse canst ride; +Dismount thee, straight, and gird up thy steed; + I am willing for thee to bide." + +The second course that together they rode + Was worthy of knights renown'd; +Then both their saddles burst in two, + And Humble was sent to the ground. + +"Now have I cast thee from thy steed, + Thy courser by right is mine; +But, tell me, youthful and gallant swain, + Who art thou, and of what line? + +"Now have I won from thee the prize, + And Skimming belongs to me; +But, tell me, youthful and gallant swain, + What parents gave birth to thee?" + +"Abelon is my father's name; + He sits upon Birting's throne: +Queen Ellina my mother is, + And that for truth is known. + +"Queen Ellina my mother is-- + A Queen whom all admire; +Good King Abelon Haardestaal, + So call they my hoary sire. + +"And who am I, but Humble, the young, + A knight of Birting's land; +Of hero race, whose fame extends + To the wide earth's farthest strand." + +"If Abelon be thy father's name, + The courser I straight restore; +Thou art, I find, my very good friend; + I knew thee not, youth, before. + +"If Queen Ellina thy mother is, + Then Skimming thou hast rewon; +Thou art, indeed, my very good friend; + Thou art my sister's son. + +"Take both the shield ropes, take them straight, + And bind me to yon oak tree; +Then hie thee back to King Diderik, + And say thou hast conquer'd me." + +In came Humble, the youthful knight, + Was clad in a kirtle, green; +"O! I have got my courser again, + And have bound the warrior keen." + +In came Humble, with boot and spur, + He cast on the table his sword: +"Sivard stands in the green wood bound, + He speaks not a single word. + +"O, I have been to the wild forest, + And have seiz'd the warrior stark; +Sivard there was taken by me, + And tied to the oak's rough bark." + +"Now hear me, young Sir Humble, the knight, + 'T is plain a jest is meant, +Whenever Sivard was bound by thee, + 'T was done with his own consent." + +It was Vidrik Verlandson, + And he would fain know all. +"O, I will ride to the wood, and see + How Sivard endures his thrall." + +Vidrik spoke to his burly groom: + "Go, saddle me Skimming gray, +For I will ride to the wood, and hear + What Sivard himself will say." + +Sivard stands in the good green wood, + There sees he Vidrik ride: +"If Vidrik finds me bounden here, + He'll hew my rib-bones from my side." + +Then loud laugh'd Vidrik Verlandson, + And Skimming began to neigh, +For Sivard rooted the oak tree up; + He dar'd no longer stay. + +The queen she sat in the high, high, loft, + And thence look'd far and wide: +"O there comes Sivard Snaresvend, + With a stately oak at his side." + +Then loud laugh'd fair Queen Gloriant, + As she look'd on Sivard full: +"Thou wert, no doubt, in great, great need, + When thou such flowers didst pull." + +The King he stood at the castle gate, + In his robes and kingly crown: +"O there comes Sivard Snaresvend, + And he brings us Summer to town."{f:22} + +Now dance the heroes by Brattingsborg; + They dance in their coats of felt; +There dances Sivard, the purblind swain, + With an oak tree under his belt. + + + + +VIDRIK VERLANDSON. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +King Diderik sits in the halls of Bern, + And he boasts of his deeds of might; +So many a swain in battle he's fell'd, + And taken so many a knight. + +King Diderik sits in the halls of Bern, + And he strikes his moony shield; +"O, would that I knew of a hero now, + 'Gainst whom I could take the field." + +Then answer'd Master Hildebrand, + (For he knew all things best,) +"There sleeps a Giant at Birtingsberg; + Dar'st thou disturb his rest?" + +"Now, hear me, Master Hildebrand; + Thou art huge in body and limb; +Thou foremost shall ride, in the wood, this day, + And bear our challenge to him." + +Then answer'd Master Hildebrand, + So careful a knight was he; +"Not so, my Lord, will I do, this day, + For the wages delight not me." + +Then out spoke Vidrik Verlandson, + And he spoke in wrathful mood; +"O, I'll be first of the band, this day, + All through the Birting wood." + +Then out spoke Vidrik Verlandson, + And he spoke with lofty pride; +"The smith he forg'd me a faulchion good, + That can steel, like cloth, divide." + +They were three hundred valorous knights, + Unto Birting's land that rode; +They go in quest of Langben the Jutt, + To the gloomy wood, his abode. + +Then out spoke Vidrik Verlandson; + "A wondrous game we'll play; +For I will ride in the green wood first, + If ye'll but trust me away." + +Then answer'd bold King Diderik, + He answer'd hastily then; +"When thou therein shalt have found the Jutt + Come back for me and my men." + +It was Vidrik Verlandson, + In the forest alone he sped; +And there he found so little a way, + Which up to the Giant led. + +It was Vidrik Verlandson, + He came unto Birting's hill; +There black and dread lay Langben the Jutt, + He lay stretch'd out, and still. + +It was Vidrik Verlandson, + With his lance touch'd him on the knee; +"Wake up! wake up! now Langben the Jutt, + Thou sleepest full sound, I see." + +"Here have I lain, for many a year, + 'Mid the leaf and the dew-wet herb; +But never, till now, came a warrior by, + That has dar'd my sleep to disturb." + +"Here stand I, Vidrik Verlandson, + With a sword, so good, at my side; +I came to wake thee up from thy sleep, + Betide whatever betide." + +It was Langben the Giant, then, + Turn'd up the white of his eye; +"O, whence can come this warrior youth, + Who such bold words lets fly? + +"But hear, but hear, thou warrior youth; + I will not do battle with thee, +Except thou prove of a knightly race; + So thy lineage tell to me." + +"A handsome smith my father was, + And Verland hight was he: +Bodild they call'd my mother fair; + Queen over countries three: + +"Skimming I call my noble steed, + Begot from the wild sea-mare: +Blank {f:23} do I call my haughty helm, + Because it glitters so fair: + +"Skrepping I call my good thick shield; + Steel shafts have furrow'd it o'er: +Mimmering have I nam'd my sword; + 'T is harden'd in heroes' gore: + +"And I am Vidrik Verlandson; + For clothes bright iron I wear: +Stand'st thou not up on thy long, long legs, + I'll pin thee down to thy lair: + +"Do thou stand up on thy long, long legs, + Nor look so dogged and grim; +The King holds out before the wood; + Thou shalt yield thy treasure to him." + +"All, all the gold that I possess, + I will keep with great renown; +I'll yield it at no little horse-boy's word, + To the best king wearing a crown." + +"So young and little as here I seem, + Thou shalt find me prompt in a fray; +I'll hew the head from thy shoulders off, + And thy much gold bear away." + +It was Langben the mighty Jutt, + With fury his heart was fir'd; +"Ride hence! ride hence! thou warrior youth, + If of life thou be not tir'd." + +Skimming sprang up, with both his legs, + Against the giant's side +Asunder went five of his rib-bones then, + And the fight began at that tide. + +It was Langben the lofty Jutt, + He wav'd his steel mace round; +He sent a blow after Vidrik; + But the mace struck deep in the ground. + +It was Langben the lofty Jutt, + Who had thought his foeman to slay, +But the blow fell short of Vidrik; + For the good horse bore him away. + +It was Langben the lofty Jutt, + That shouted in wild despair: +"Now lies my mace in the hillock fast, + As though 't were hammer'd in there!" + +Vidrik paus'd no moment's space; + So ready was he to assail: +"Upon him, Skimming, upon him once more! + Now, Mimmering, now prevail!" + +He seiz'd his sword in both his hands, + Unto Langben Giant he flew; +He struck him so hard in the hairy breast, + That the point his lungs went through. + +Now Langben Giant has got a wound, + And he's waken'd thoroughly now; +So gladly would he have paid it back, + But, alas! he knew not how. + +"Accursed be thou, young Vidrik! + And accurs'd thy piercing steel! +Thou hast given me, see, a wound in my breast, + Whence rise the pains I feel." + +"I'll hew thee, Giant, I'll hew thee as small + As leaves that are borne on the blast, +Except thou showest me all the gear, + That hid in the forest thou hast." + +"Forbear, O Vidrik Verlandson, + Strike me not cruelly dead! +And I will lead thee straight to my house, + That's thatch'd with gold so red." + +Vidrik rode, and the Giant crept, + So far through the forest ways, +They found the house with the red gold thatch'd; + It glitter'd like straw in a blaze. + +"Therein, therein are heaps of gold, + No King has a greater store; +Do thou remove the big black stone, + And lift from the hinges the door." + +With both hands Vidrik seiz'd the stone, + But to stir it in vain did he try; +The Giant took it with finger and thumb, + And lifted it up in the sky. + +"Now hear, now hear, thou warrior youth, + Thou canst wheel thy courser about; +But in every feat of manly strength + I could beat thee out and out." + +Then answer'd Vidrik Verlandson, + (He fear'd for himself some ill) +"'T is not the custom of any wise man + His strength on a stone to spill." + +"Therein, therein is much more gold + Than fifteen kings can show; +Hear me, Vidrik Verlandson, + Thou therein first shalt go." + +Then answer'd Vidrik Verlandson, + (For his cunning intent he saw) +"Thou shalt lead the way into thine own house, + For that is warrior-law." + +It was Langben the Giant then, + To the door he stoop'd down low: +It was Vidrik Verlandson + Cleft off his head at a blow. + +Away the quivering body he drew, + And propp'd it against an oak; +Then back he rode the long, long way, + He's thought of a wondrous joke. + +With giant's blood he besmear'd himself, + And besmear'd his steed all o'er; +Then back he rides to King Diderik, + Pretends to be wounded sore. + +"Here bide ye in peace, my companions good, + All under the grass-green hill; +Langben the Giant has smote me to day, + I doubt I shall fare but ill." + +"If thou from the Giant hast got a blow, + Thy life must be nigh its close; +We'll ride swift back to the halls of Bern, + No man more will we lose." + +"Now wend thee, bold King Diderik, + Wend into the wood with me; +And all the gold that the giant had, + That will I show to thee." + +"If thou hast slain the giant this day, + 'T will far be blaz'd in the land; +And the warrior lives not in this world, + 'Gainst whom thou may'st fear to stand." + +But what befel King Diderik's men? + When the giant they first perceiv'd, +They all stopp'd short, in the good green wood, + Of courage at once bereav'd. + +They thought the giant verily would + That moment after them stride: +Not one of them all would have battled with him; + Back would they all have hied. + +It was Vidrik Verlandson, + He laugh'd at their craven fear: +"How would ye have fac'd him when alive, + Ye dare not him, dead, go near? + +With his lance's haft the body he push'd, + The head came toppling down: +That the Giant was a warrior stark, + Forsooth, I am forc'd to own. + +Out took they then his ruddy gold, + And shar'd it amongst the band: +To Vidrik came the largest part, + For 't was earn'd with his good hand. + +Little car'd he for the booty, I ween, + But he thought of his meed of fame; +When men should say, in the Danish land, + That the Giant he overcame. + +So gladly rode they to Bern again; + King Diderik gladdest of all: +There caus'd he Vidrik Verlandson + To sit next him in the hall. + + + + +ELVIR HILL. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +Upon this Ballad Oehlenslaeger founded his "Elvir Shades," a translation +of which has already been given. + +I rested my head upon Elvir Hill's side, and my eyes were beginning to +slumber; +That moment there rose up before me two maids, whose charms would take +ages to number. + +One patted my face, and the other exclaim'd, while loading my cheek with +her kisses, +"Rise, rise, for to dance with you here we have sped from the undermost +caves and abysses. + +"Rise, fair-headed swain, and refuse not to dance; and I and my sister +will sing thee +The loveliest ditties that ever were heard, and the prettiest presents +will bring thee." + +Then both of them sang so delightful a song, that the boisterous river +before us +Stood suddenly quiet and placid, as though 't were afraid to disturb the +sweet chorus. + +The boisterous stream stood suddenly still, though accustom'd to foam and +to bellow; +And, fearless, the trout play'd along with the pike, and the pike play'd +with him as his fellow. + +The fishes, whose dwelling was deep in the flood, up, up from their +caverns did sally; +The gay little birds of the forest began to warble, forthwith, in the +valley. + +"Now, listen thou fair-headed swain, and if thou wilt stand up and dance +for a minute, +We'll teach thee to open the sorcerer's book, and to read all the Runic +that's in it. + +"The bear and the wolf thou shalt trammel, unto the thick stem of the +oak, at thy pleasure; +Before thee the dragon shall fly from his nest, and shall leave thee sole +lord of his treasure." + +Then about and around on the moonlight hill, in their fairy fashion they +sported, +While unmov'd sat the gallant and fair young swain, whom they, in their +wantonness, courted. + +"And wilt thou not grant us our civil request, proud stripling, and wilt +thou deny it? +By hell's ruddy blazes, our gold-handled knife shall lay thee for ever in +quiet." + +And if my good luck had not manag'd it so, that the cock crew out, then, +in the distance, +I should have been murder'd by them, on the hill, without power to offer +resistance. + +'T is therefore I counsel each young Danish swain, who may ride in the +forest so dreary, +Ne'er to lay down upon lone Elvir Hill though he chance to be ever so +weary. + + + + +WALDEMAR'S CHASE. + + +The following Ballad is merely a versification of one of the many feats +of Waldemar, the famed phantom hunter of the North, an account of whom, +and of Palnatoka and Groon the Jutt, both spectres of a similar +character, may be found in Thiele's Danske Folkesagn. + +Late at eve they were toiling on Harribee bank, + For in harvest men ne'er should be idle: +Towards them rode Waldemar, meagre and lank, + And he linger'd and drew up his bridle. + +"Success to your labour; and have ye to night + Seen any thing pass ye, while reaping?" +"Yes, yes;" said a peasant, "I saw something white, + Just now, through the corn-stubble creeping." + +"Which way did it go?" "Why methought to the beach." + Then off went Waldemar bounding; +A few minutes after, they heard a faint screech, + And the horn of the hunter resounding. + +Then back came he, laughing in horrible tone, + And the blood in their veins ran the colder, +When they saw that a fresh-slaughter'd mermaid was thrown + Athwart his proud barb's dappled shoulder. + +Said he, "I have chas'd her for seven score years, + As she landed to drink at the fountains." +No more did he deign to their terrified ears, + But gallop'd away to the mountains. + + + + +THE MERMAN. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +"Do thou, dear Mother, contrive amain +How Marsk Stig's daughter I may gain." + +She made him, of water, a noble steed, +Whose trappings were form'd from rush and reed. + +To a young knight chang'd she then her son; +To Mary's church at full speed he's gone. + +His foaming horse to the gate he bound, +And pac'd the church full three times round: + +When in he walk'd with his plume on high, +The dead men gave from their tombs a sigh: + +The priest heard that, and he clos'd his book; +"Methinks yon knight has a strange wild look." + +Then laugh'd the maiden beneath her sleeve; +"If he were my husband I should not grieve." + +He stepp'd over benches one and two: +"O, Marsk Stig's daughter, I doat on you." + +He stepp'd over benches two and three: +"O, Marsk Stig's daughter, come home with me." + +Then said the maid, without more ado, +"Here take my troth, I will go with you." + +They went from the church a bridal train, +And danc'd so gaily across the plain; + +They danc'd till they came to the strand, and then +They were forsaken by maids and men. + +"Now, Marsk Stig's daughter, sit down and rest; +To build a boat I will do my best." + +He built a boat of the whitest sand, +And away they went from the smiling land; + +But when they had cross'd the ninth green wave, +Down sunk the boat to the ocean cave! + +I caution ye, maids, as well as I can, +Ne'er give your troth to an unknown man. + + + + +THE DECEIVED MERMAN. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + +Fair Agnes alone on the sea-shore stood, +Then rose a Merman from out the flood: + +"Now, Agnes, hear what I say to thee, +Wilt thou my leman consent to be?" + +"O, freely that will I become, +If thou but take me beneath the foam." + +He stopp'd her ears, and he stopp'd her eyes, +And into the ocean he took his prize. + +The Merman's leman was Agnes there,-- +She bore him sons and daughters fair: + +One day by the cradle she sat and sang, +Then heard she above how the church bells rang: + +She went to the Merman, and kiss'd his brow; +"Once more to church I would gladly go." + +"And thou to church once more shalt go, +But come to thy babes back here below." + +He flung his arm her body around, +And he lifted her up unto England's ground. + +Fair Agnes in at the church door stepp'd, +Behind her mother, who sorely wept. + +"O Agnes, Agnes, daughter dear! +Where hast thou been this many a year?" + +"O, I have been deep, deep under the sea, +And liv'd with the Merman in love and glee." + +"And what for thy honour did he give thee, +When he made thee his leman beneath the sea?" + +"He gave me silver, he gave me gold, +And sprigs of coral my hair to hold." + +The Merman up to the church door came; +His eyes they shone like a yellow flame; + +His face was white, and his beard was green-- +A fairer demon was never seen. + +"Now, Agnes, Agnes, list to me, +Thy babes are longing so after thee." + +"I cannot come yet, here must I stay +Until the priest shall have said his say." + +And when the priest had said his say, +She thought with her mother at home she'd stay. + +"O Agnes, Agnes, list to me, +Thy babes are sorrowing after thee." + +"Let them sorrow, and sorrow their fill, +But back to them never return I will." + +"Think on them, Agnes, think on them all; +Think on the great one, think on the small." + +"Little, O little, care I for them all, +Or for the great one, or for the small." + +O, bitterly then did the Merman weep; +He hied him back to the foamy deep: + +But, often his shrieks and mournful cries, +At midnight's hour, from thence arise. + + + + +MISCELLANIES. + + +CANTATA. + + +This is Denmark's holyday; + Dance, ye maidens! + Sing, ye men! + Tune, ye harpers! + Blush, ye heroes! +This is Denmark's holyday. + + +ONE VOICE. + + +In right's enjoyment, in the arm of love, +Beneath the olive's shadow, +The Daneman sat; +Whilst wet and steaming wav'd the bloody flag +Above the regions of the sunny South. +Pure was our heaven,-- +Pure and blue; +For, with his pinions, angel Peace dispell'd +All reek and vapour from mild virtue's sphere; +Then lower'd Battle's blood-bespatter'd son +Upon our coast,-- +And haggard Envy lent to him her torch, +Which sparkled high with hell's sulphureous light, +Then fled the genius of peace, and wept. + + +A SECOND VOICE. + + +But mighty thunders peal'd; the earth it shook, +While rattled all the moss-grown giant stones, {f:24} +And Oldom's sunken grave-hill rais'd itself; +Then started Skiold and Frode, +And Svend, and Knud, and Waldemar, {f:25} +In copper hauberks up, and pointing to +Rust-spots of blood on faulchion and on shield-- +They vanish'd: +And in the Gothic aisles, high arch'd and dim, +Wild flutter'd of itself, the ancient banner +Which hung above a hero's bones; +The faulchion clatter'd loud and ceaselessly +Within the tomb of Christian the Fourth, {f:26} +By Tordenskiold's {f:27} chapel on the strand, +Wild rose the daring Mermaid's witching song; +The stones were loosen'd round about the grave +Where lay great Juul; +And Hvidtfeld, clad in a transparent mist, +With smiles cherubic beaming on his face, +Stray'd, arm in arm, with his heroic brothers, +Along the deep. + + +CHORUS. + + +We felt the presence of one and all; +The old flags wav'd in the arsenal, +A wondrous spirit went round, went round +The Northern ground. + + +ONE VOICE. + + +Then waken'd Thor, {f:28} +And drew around his loins the mighty belt +Of bear-sinews; +With love fraternal harden'd he his shield, +With eager haste he sharp'd his blunted glaive, +And, with the iron of his hammer, touch'd +Each Dane's and every Norman's breast-- +Shot his heroic flame therein, and smil'd! + + +MANY VOICES. + + +And Denmark and Norway smil'd. + + +LOUD CHORUS. + + +Upon the water, + Upon the land, +We boun'd for slaughter, + At Thor's command. + + +MAIDENS. + + +Then fell our tears so quickly, +We breath'd, we breath'd so thickly, +While scarce our lips could stammer forth +Prayers for you, and for the North. + + +MATRONS. + + +And we, and we, with breasts that smarted, + Knelt, lowly knelt, whilst firm ye stood, +From us and from affection parted, + In reek and smoke, in brothers' blood! + + +CHORUS OF MEN. + + +Tenderness comes from God; + Woman and man in its praise should sing; +But tenderness flies at honour's nod; + We offer all up to our land and King. + + +ONE VOICE. + + +What sang ye, warlike throngs? + Repeat, repeat this day, +One of the simple, nervous, songs +Ye murmur'd out, when, hot with wrongs, + Ye waited the coming fray. + + +UNIVERSAL CHORUS. + + +We love, we all love thee, beneficent Peace, &c. + + +SOLO. + + +Like the wave of the wild North main, +Foaming and frothing came on our foe; +Proud of his triumphs, proud of his train, +He thought to lay us low: +But, from Denmark's lines of oak, +A horrible, horrible volley outbroke; +Then tumbled his mast, +His courage fell fast; +And the wave, which resembled his furious mood, +Was now with his blood embrued. + + +CHORUS. + + +This is Denmark's holyday; + Dance, ye maidens! + Sing, ye men! + Tune, ye harpers! + Blush, ye heroes! +This is Denmark's holyday. + + +A VOICE. + + +But, hark! what sobbing and what mournful notes +Are mixing with our hymns of ardent joy! +Hush, hush, be still; +A band of white-rob'd maids approaches slow, +With lily chaplets round their yellow locks, +With heavy tear-drops in their sunken eye; +Broken and trembling sounds +The melancholy song, +Accompanied by harp-tones rising mild. + + +YOUTHFUL MAIDENS. + + +Love, with rosy fetter, + Held us firmly bound; +Pure unmix'd enjoyment + Grateful here we found. +Bosom, bosom meeting, + 'Gainst our youths we press'd; +Bright the moon arose, then, + Glad to see us blest. + +Denmark's honour beckon'd, + Loud the canon roar'd; +Perish'd in the battle + They whom we ador'd. +Sweet is, grave, thy slumber, + Free from care and noise; +Short are earthly sorrows,-- + Endless heaven's joys. + + +SUDDEN CHORUS OF THE SLAIN WARRIORS IS HEARD FROM ON HIGH. + + +From the heavenly, clear, invisible, home +Our voices come: +No joy can resemble the joy which reigns +In our seraph veins. +Lov'd ones, lov'd ones, weep for us not, +Soon shall ye here partake of our lot; +High o'er the stars' extremest line +The sun of affection more bright shall shine: +Brothers, brothers, 't is sweet to die +For the land of our birth, and the maid of our eye. +Blest are ye who like us shall fall; +The righteous Jehovah rewards, above, +Courage and love: +Hallelujah, peace be with you all! + + + +THE HAIL-STORM. +FROM THE NORSE. + + +Sigvald Jarl was a famous Sea Rover, who, when unengaged in his predatory +expeditions, resided at Jomsborg, in Denmark. He was the terror of the +Norwegian coasts, which he ravaged and pillaged almost at his pleasure. +Hacon Jarl, who at that time sat on the Norwegian throne, being informed +that Sigvald meditated a grand descent, and knowing that he himself was +unable to oppose him, had recourse to his God, Thorgerd, to whom he +sacrificed his son Erling. In what manner Thorgerd assisted him and his +forces, when the Danes landed, will best be learned from the bold song +which the circumstance gave rise to, and which the following is a feeble +attempt to translate. + +When from our ships we bounded, +I heard, with fear astounded, +The storm of Thorgerd's waking, +From Northern vapours breaking; +With flinty masses blended, +Gigantic hail descended, +And thick and fiercely rattled +Against us there embattled. + +To aid the hostile maces, +It drifted in our faces; +It drifted, dealing slaughter, +And blood ran out like water-- +Ran reeking, red, and horrid, +From batter'd cheek and forehead; +We plied our swords, but no men +Can stand 'gainst hail and foemen. + +And demon Thorgerd raging +To see us still engaging, +Shot, downward from the heaven, +His shafts of flaming levin; +Then sank our brave in numbers, +To cold eternal slumbers; +There lay the good and gallant, +Renown'd for warlike talent. + +Our captain, this perceiving, +The signal made for leaving, +And with his ship departed, +Downcast and broken-hearted; +War, death, and consternation, +Pursu'd our embarkation; +We did our best, but no men +Can stand 'gainst hail and foemen. + + + +THE ELDER-WITCH. + + +According to the Danish tradition, there is a female Elf in the elder +tree, which she leaves every midnight; and, having strolled among the +fields, returns to it before morning. + +Though tall the oak, and firm its stem, + Though far abroad its boughs are spread, + Though high the poplar lifts its head, +I have no song for them. + A theme more bright, more bright would be + The winsome, winsome elder tree, +Beneath whose shade I sit reclin'd;-- + It holds a witch within its bark, + A lovely witch who haunts the dark, +And fills with love my mind. + +When ghosts, at midnight, leave their graves, + And rous'd is every phantom thing; + When mermaids rise and sweetly sing +In concert with the waves; + When Palnatoka, {f:29} on his steed, + Pursues the elves across the mead, +Or gallops, gallops o'er the sea, + The witch within the elder's bark, + The lovely witch who haunts the dark, +Comes out, comes out to me. + +Of leaves the fairies make our bed; + The knight, who moulders 'neath the elm, {f:30} + Starts up with spear and rusted helm,-- +By him the grace is said; + And though her kiss is cold at times, + And does not scent of earthly climes, +Though glaring is her eye, yet still + The witch within the elder's bark, + The lovely witch who haunts the dark, +I prize, and ever will. + +Yet, once I lov'd a mortal maid, + And gaz'd, enraptur'd, on her charms, + Oft circled in each other's arms, +Together, here we stray'd;-- + But, soon, she found a fairer youth, + And I a fairer maid, forsooth! +And one more true, more true to me, + The witch within the elder's bark, + The lovely witch who haunts the dark, +Has been more true to me. + + + +ODE. +FROM THE GAELIC. + + + "Is luaimnach mo chodal an nochd." + +Oh restless, to night, are my slumbers; +Life yet I retain, but not gladness; +My heart in my bosom is wither'd, +And sorrow sits heavy upon me. +For cold, in her grave-hill, is lying +The maid whom I gaz'd on, so fondly, +Whose teeth were like chalk from the quarry, +Whose voice was more sweet than harp music. +Like foam that subsides on the water, +Just where the wild swan has been playing; +Like snow, by the sunny beam melted, +My love, thou wert gone on a sudden. +Salt tears I let fall in abundance, +When memory bringeth before me +That eye, like the placid blue heaven; +That cheek, like the rose in its glory. +Sweet object of warmest affection, +Why could not thy beauty protect thee? +Why, sparing so many a thistle, +Did Death cut so lovely a blossom? +Here pine I, forlorn and abandon'd, +Where once I was cheerful and merry: +No joy shall e'er shine on my visage, +Until my last hour's arrival. +O, like the top grain on the corn-ear, +Or, like the young pine, 'mong the bushes; +Or, like the moon, 'mong the stars shining, +Wert thou, O my love, amongst women! + + + +BEAR SONG. +FROM THE DANISH OF EVALD. + + +The squirrel that's sporting + Amid the green leaves, +Full oft, with its rustle, + The hunter deceives; +Who starts--and believing + That booty is nigh, +His heart, for a moment, + With pleasure beats high. + +"Now, courage!" he mutters, + And crouching below +A thunder-split linden, + He waits for his foe: +"Ha! joy to the hunter; + A monstrous bear +E'en now is approaching, + And bids me prepare. + +"Hark! hark! for the monarch + Of forests, ere long, +Will breathe out his bellow, + Deep-throated and strong:" +Thus saying, he gazes + Intently around; +But, death to his wishes! + Can hear not a sound: + +Except when, at moments, + The wind rising shrill +Wafts boughs from the bushes, + Across the lone hill. +Wo worth, to thee, squirrel, + Amid the green leaves, +Full oft thy loud rustle + The hunter deceives. + + + +NATIONAL SONG. +FROM THE DANISH OF EVALD. + + +King Christian stood beside the mast; + Smoke, mixt with flame, +Hung o'er his guns, that rattled fast +Against the Gothmen, as they pass'd: +Then sunk each hostile sail and mast + In smoke and flame. +"Fly!" said the foe: "fly! all that can, +Nor wage, with Denmark's Christian, + The dread, unequal game." + +Niels Juul look'd out, and loudly cried, + "Quick! now's the time:" +He hoisted up his banner wide, +And fore and aft his foemen plied; +And loud above the battle cried, + "Quick! now's the time." +"Fly!" said the foe, "'t is Fortune's rule, +To deck the head of Denmark's Juul + With Glory's wreath sublime." + +Once, Baltic, when the musket's knell + Rang through the sky, +Down to thy bosom heroes fell +And gasp'd amid the stormy swell; +While, from the shore, a piercing yell + Rang through the sky! +"God aids me," cried our Tordenskiold; +"Proud foes, ye are but vainly bold; + Strike, strike, to me, or fly!" + +Thou Danish path to fame and might, + Dark-rolling wave, +Receive a friend who holds as light +The perils of the stormy fight; +Who braves, like thee, the tempest's might; + Dark rolling wave, +O swiftly bear my bark along, +Till, crown'd with conquest, lull'd with song, + I reach my bourne--the grave. + + + +THE OLD OAK. + + +Here have I stood, the pride of the park, +In winter with snow on my frozen bark; +In spring 'mong the flowers that smiling she spread, +And among my own leaves when summer was fled. +Three hundred years my top I have rais'd, +Three hundred years I have sadly gaz'd +O'er Nature's wide extended scene; +O'er rushing rivers and meadows green, +For though I was always willing to rove, +I never could yet my firm foot move. + +They fell'd my brother, who stood by my side, +And flung out his arms so wide, so wide; +How envy I him, for how blest is he, +As the keel of a vessel he sails so free +Around the whole of the monstrous earth; +But I am still in the place of my birth. +I once was too haughty by far to complain, +But am become feeble through age and pain; +And therefore I often give vent to my woes, +When through my branches the wild wind blows. + +A night like this, so calm and clear, +I have not seen for many a year; +The milk-white doe and her tender fawn +Are skipping about on the moonlight lawn; +And there, on the verge of my time-worn root, +Two lovers are seated, and both are mute: +Her arm encircles his youthful neck, +For none are present their love to check. +This night would almost my sad heart cheer, +Had I one hope or one single fear. + + + +LINES +TO SIX-FOOT THREE. + + +A lad, who twenty tongues can talk +And sixty miles a day can walk; +Drink at a draught a pint of rum, +And then be neither sick nor dumb +Can tune a song, and make a verse, +And deeds of Northern kings rehearse +Who never will forsake his friend, +While he his bony fist can bend; +And, though averse to brawl and strife +Will fight a Dutchman with a knife. +O that is just the lad for me, +And such is honest six-foot three. + +A braver being ne'er had birth +Since God first kneaded man from earth: +O, I have cause to know him well, +As Ferroe's blacken'd rocks can tell. +Who was it did, at Suderoe, +The deed no other dar'd to do? +Who was it, when the Boff {f:31} had burst, +And whelm'd me in its womb accurst-- +Who was it dash'd amid the wave, +With frantic zeal, my life to save? +Who was it flung the rope to me? +O, who, but honest six-foot three! + +Who was it taught my willing tongue, +The songs that Braga {f:32} fram'd and sung? +Who was it op'd to me the store +Of dark unearthly Runic lore, +And taught me to beguile my time +With Denmark's aged and witching rhyme: +To rest in thought in Elvir shades, +And hear the song of fairy maids; +Or climb the top of Dovrefeld, +Where magic knights their muster held? +Who was it did all this for me? +O, who, but honest six-foot three! + +Wherever fate shall bid me roam, +Far, far from social joy and home; +'Mid burning Afric's desert sands, +Or wild Kamschatka's frozen lands; +Bit by the poison-loaded breeze, +Or blasts which clog with ice the seas; +In lowly cot or lordly hall, +In beggar's rags or robes of pall, +'Mong robber-bands or honest men, +In crowded town or forest den, +I never will unmindful be +Of what I owe to six-foot three. + +That form which moves with giant-grace; +That wild, though not unhandsome, face; +That voice which sometimes in its tone +Is softer than the wood-dove's moan, +At others, louder than the storm +Which beats the side of old Cairn Gorm; {f:33} +That hand, as white as falling snow, +Which yet can fell the stoutest foe; +And, last of all, that noble heart, +Which ne'er from honour's path would start, +Shall never be forgot by me-- +So farewell, honest six-foot three! + + + +NATURE'S TEMPERAMENTS. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + +SADNESS. + + +Lo, a pallid fleecy vapour + Far along the East is spread; +Every star has quench'd its taper, + Lately glimmering over head. +On the leaves, that bend so lowly, + Drops of crystal water gleam; +Yawning wide, the peasant slowly + Drives afield his sluggish team. +Dreary looks the forest, lacking + Song of birds that slumber mute; +No rough swain is yet attacking, + With his bill, the beech's root. +Night's terrific ghostly hour + Backward through time's circle flies; +No shrill clock from moss-grown tower + Bids the dead men wake and rise. +Wearied out with midnight riot + Mystic Nature slumbers now; +Mouldering bodies rest in quiet, + 'Neath their tomb-lids damp and low; +Sad and chill the wind is sighing + Through the reeds that skirt the pool, +All around looks dead or dying, + Wrapt in sorrow, clad in dool. + + +GLEE. + + +Roseate colours on heaven's high arch + Are beginning to mix with the blue and the gray, +Sol now commences his wonderful march, + And the forests' wing'd denizens sing from the spray. + Gaily the rose + Is seen to unclose + Each of her leaves to the brightening ray. + Waves on the lake + Rise, sparkle, and break: +O Venus, O Venus, thy shrine is prepar'd, + Far down in the valley o'erhung by the grove; +Where, all the day, Philomel warbles, unscar'd, + Her silver-ton'd ditty of pleasure and love. + +Innocence smiling out-carrols the lark, + And the bosom of guilt becomes tranquil again; +Nightmares and visions, the fiends of the dark, + Have abandon'd the blood and have flown from the brain. + Higher the sun + Up heaven has run, + Beaming so fierce that we feel him with pain; + Man, herb, and flower, + Droop under his power. +O Venus, O Venus, thy shrine is prepar'd, + Far down in the valley o'erhung by the grove +Where, all the day, Philomel warbles, unscar'd, + Her silver-ton'd ditty of pleasure and love. + + +MADNESS. + + +What darkens, what darkens?--'t is heaven's high roof: +What lightens?--'t is Heckla's flame, shooting aloof: +The proud, the majestic, the rugged old Thor, +The mightiest giant the North ever saw, +Transform'd to a mountain, stands there in the field, +With ice for his corslet, and rock for his shield; +With thunder for voice, and with fire for tongue, +He stands there, so frightful, with vapour o'erhung. +On that other side of the boisterous sea +Black Vulcan, as haughty as ever was he, +Stands, chang'd to a mountain, call'd Etna by name, +Which belches continually oceans of flame. +Much blood have they spilt, and much harm have they done, +For both, when the ancient religions were gone, +Combin'd their wild strength to destroy the new race, +Who were boldly beginning their shrines to deface. +O, Jesus of Nazareth, draw forth the blade +Of vengeance, and speed to thy worshippers' aid; +Beat down the old gods, cut asunder their mail-- +Amen!--brother Christians, why look ye so pale. + + + +THE VIOLET-GATHERER. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + +Pale the moon her light was shedding + O'er the landscape far and wide; +Calmly bright, all ills undreading, + Emma wander'd by my side. + +Night's sad birds their harsh notes utter'd, + Perching low among the trees; +Emma's milk-white kirtle flutter'd + Graceful in the rising breeze: + +Then, in sweetness more than mortal, + Sang a voice a plaintive air, +As we pass'd the church's portal, + Lo, a ghostly form stood there! + +"Emma, come, thy mother's calling; + Lone I lie in night and gloom, +Whilst the sun and moon-beams, falling, + Glance upon my marble tomb." + +Emma star'd upon the figure,-- + Wish'd to speak, but vainly tried, +Press'd my hand with loving vigour, + Trembled--faulter'd--gasp'd--and died! + +Home I bore my luckless maiden, + Home I bore her in despair; +Chilly blasts, with night-dew laden, + Rustled through her streaming hair. + +Plunging then amid the forest, + Soon I found the stately tree, +Under which, when heat was sorest, + She was wont to sit with me. + +Down my cheek ran tears in fever, + While with axe its stem I cut; +Soon it fell, and I with lever + Roll'd it straight to Emma's hut. + +Kiss'd her oft, and love empassion'd + Sung a song in wildest tones; +While the oaken boards I fashion'd, + Doom'd to hide her lovely bones. + +Thereupon I sought the bower, + Where she kept her single hive; +Morning shone on tree and flower, + All around me look'd alive. + +Stung by bees in thousand places, + Out I took the yellow comb; +Emma, deck'd in all her graces, + Past my vision seem'd to roam. + +Soon of wax I form'd a taper, + O'er my love it cast its ray, +'Till the night came, clad in vapour, + When in grave I laid her clay. + +Deep below me sank the coffin, + While my tears fell fast as rain; +Deep it sank, and I, full often, + Thought to heave it up again. + +Soon as e'er the stars, so merry, + Heaven's arch next night illum'd, +Sad I sought the cemetery, + Where my true love lay entomb'd. + +Then, in sweetness more than mortal, + Sang a voice a plaintive lay; +Underneath the church's portal + Emma stood in death array. + +"Louis! come! thy love is calling; + Lone I lie in night and gloom, +Whilst the sun and moon beams, falling, + Glance upon my lowly tomb." + +"Emma! dear!" I cried in gladness, + "Take me too beneath the sod; +Leave me not to pine in sadness, + Here on earth's detested clod." + +"Death should only strike the hoary, + Yet, my Louis, thou shalt die, +When the stars again in glory, + Shine upon the midnight sky." + +Tears bedeck'd her long eyelashes, + While she kiss'd my features wan; +Then, like flame that dies o'er ashes, + All at once the maid was gone. + +Therefore, pluck I painted violets, + Which shall strew my lifeless clay, +When, to night, the stars have call'd me + Unto joys that last for aye. + + + +ODE TO A MOUNTAIN-TORRENT. +FROM THE GERMAN OF STOLBERG. + + +How lovely art thou in thy tresses of foam, + And yet the warm blood in my bosom grows chill, +When yelling thou rollest thee down from thy home, + 'Mid the boom of the echoing forest and hill. + +The pine-trees are shaken--they yield to thy shocks, + And spread their vast ruin wide over the ground, +The rocks fly before thee--thou seizest the rocks, + And whirl'st them like pebbles contemptuously round. + +The sun-beams have cloth'd thee in glorious dyes, + They streak with the tints of the heavenly bow +Those hovering columns of vapour that rise + Forth from the bubbling cauldron below. + +But why art thou seeking the ocean's dark brine? + If grandeur makes happiness, sure it is found, +When forth from the depths of the rock-girdled mine + Thou boundest, and all gives response to thy sound. + +Beware thee, O torrent, of yonder dark sea, + For there thou must crouch beneath tyranny's rod, +Here thou art lonely, and lovely, and free,-- + Loud as a thunder-peal, strong as a god. + +True, it is pleasant, at eve or at noon, + To gaze on the sea and its far-winding bays, +When ting'd with the light of the wandering moon, + Or red with the gold of the midsummer rays. + +But, torrent, what is it? what is it?--behold + That lustre as nought but a bait and a snare, +What is the summer sun's purple and gold + To him who breathes not in pure freedom the air. + +Abandon, abandon, thy headlong career-- + But downward thou rushest--my words are in vain, +Bethink thee that oft-changing winds domineer + On the billowy breast of the time-serving main. + +Then haste not, O torrent, to yonder dark sea, + For there thou must crouch beneath tyranny's rod; +Here thou art lonely, and lovely, and free,-- + Loud as a thunder-peal, strong as a god. + + + +RUNIC VERSES. + + +O the force of Runic verses, + O the mighty strength of song +Cannot baffle all the curses + Which to mortal state belong. + +Slaughter'd chiefs, that buried under + Heaps of marble, long have lain, +Song can rend your tomb asunder, + Give ye life and strength again. + +When around his dying capture, + Fierce, the serpent draws his fold, +Song can make him, wild with rapture, + Straight uncoil, and bite the mould. + +When from keep and battled tower, + Flames to heaven upward strain, +Song has o'er them greater power, + Than the vapours dropping rain. + +It can quench the conflagration + Striding o'er the works of art; +But nor song nor incantation + Can appease love's cruel smart. + +O the force of Runic verses, + O the mighty strength of song +Cannot baffle all the curses + Which to mortal state belong. + + + +THOUGHTS ON DEATH. +FROM THE SWEDISH OF C. LOHMAN. + + +Perhaps 't is folly, but still I feel +My heart-strings quiver, my senses reel, +Thinking how like a fast stream we range +Nearer and nearer to yon dread change, +When soul and spirit filter away, +And leave nothing better than senseless clay. + +Yield, beauty, yield; for the grave does gape, +And horribly alter'd reflects thy shape,-- +For ah! think not those childish charms +Will rest unrifled in its cold arms, +And think not there, that the rose of love +Will bloom on thy features as here above. + +Let him who roams at vanity fair, +In robes that rival the tulip's glare, +Think on the chaplet of leaves which round +His fading forehead will soon be bound; +Think on each dirge the priests will say +When his cold corse is borne away. + +Let him who seeketh for wealth uncheck'd +By fear of labour--let him reflect, +The gold he wins will brightly shine, +When he has perish'd with all his line. +Though man may rave and vainly boast, +We are but ashes when at the most. + + + +BIRDS OF PASSAGE. +FROM THE SWEDISH. + + +So hot shines the sun upon Nile's yellow stream, + That the palm-trees can save us no more from his beam; +Now comes the desire for home, in full force, + And Northward our phalanx bends swiftly its course. + +Now dim underneath us, through distance we view + The green grassy earth, and the ocean's deep blue; +There tempests and frequent disasters arise, + Whilst free and untroubled we wend through the skies. + +Lo, high among mountains a meadow lies spread, + And there we alight, and get ready our bed; +There hatch we our eggs, and beneath the chill pole + We wait while the summer months over us roll. + +No hunter, desirous to make us his prey, + Invades our lone valley by night or by day; +But green-mantled fairies their merry routs hold, + And fearless the pigmy {f:34} there hammers its gold. + +But when pallid winter, again on the rocks + Shakes down in a shower the snow from his locks, +Then comes the desire for heat, in full force, + And Southward our phalanx bends swiftly its course. + +To the verdant Savannah, and palm-shaded plain, + Where the Nile rolls his water, we hurry again; +There rest we till summer's sun, waxing too hot, + Makes us wish for our native, our hill-girded spot. + + + +THE BROKEN HARP. + + +O thou, who, 'mid the forest trees, + With thy harmonious trembling strain, +Could'st change at once to soothing ease, + My love-sick bosom's cruel pain: +Thou droop'st in dreary silence now, + With shiver'd frame, and broken string, +While here, unhelp'd, beneath the bough + I sit, and feebly strive to sing. + +The moon no more illumes the ground; + In night and vapour dies my lay; +For with thy sweet and melting sound + Fled, all at once, her silver ray: +O soon, O soon, shall this sad heart, + Which beats so low, and bleeds so free, +O'ercome by its fell load of smart, + Be broke, O ruin'd harp, like thee! + + + +SCENES. + + +Observe ye not yon high cliff's brow, +Up which a wanderer clambers slow, +'T is by a hoary ruin crown'd, +Which rocks when shrill winds whistle round; +That is an ancient knightly hold,-- +Alas! it droops, deserted, cold; +And sad and cheerless seems to gaze, +Back, back, to yon heroic days, +When youthful Kemps, {f:35} completely arm'd, +And lovely maids around it swarm'd. + +You, in the tower, a hole may see; +A window there has ceas'd to be. +From that once lean'd a damsel bright, +In evening's red and fading light, +And star'd intently down the way, +Up which should come her lover gay: +But, time it flies on rapid wing-- +Far off a church is towering, +Within it stand two marble stones, +That rest above the lovers' bones. +But see, the wanderer, with pain, +Has reach'd the pile he wish'd to gain; +Whilst Sol, behind the ruin'd walls, +Down into sacred nature falls. + +See, there, two hostile nobles fight, +With tiger-rage and giant-might. +There's seen no smoke, there's heard no shot, +For guns and powder yet were not. +'T was custom then, when foemen warr'd, +To win or lose with spear and sword: +A wild heroic song they yell, +And each the other seeks to fell. +Oft, oft, her ownself to destroy, +Her own hand nature does employ. +There casts the hill up fire-flakes, +And Earth's gigantic body quakes: +There, lightnings through the high blue flash, +And ocean's billows wildly dash: +There, men 'gainst men their muscles strain, +And deal out death, and wounds, and pain. +O Nature! to thyself show less +Of hate, and more of tenderness. + +How dusky is the air around; +We are no more above the ground; +But, down we wend within the hill, +Whose springs our ears with hissings fill. +See, there, how rich the ruddy gold +Winds snakeways, 'midst the clammy mould +And hard green stone. By torches' ray, +The harvest there men mow away. +But, see ye not yon gath'ring cloud, +Which 'gainst them cometh paley proud; +That holds the spirit of the hill, +Who brings death in its hand so chill: +If down they do not quickly fall, +Most certainly 't will slay them all; +For sorely wrathful is its mood, +Because they break its solitude: +Because its treasure off they bear, +And fling light o'er its gloomy lair. +'T is white, and Kobbold is the name +Which it from oldest days does claim. + +Now, back at once into time we go, +For many a hundred years, I trow. +A gothic chamber salutes your sight: +A taper gleams feebly through the night; +A ghostly man by the board you see, +With his hand to his temples muses he: +Parchments, with age discolour'd and dun; +Ancient shields all written upon; +Tree-bark, bearing ciphers half defac'd; +Stones with Runes and characters grac'd; +Things of more worth than ye are aware, +On the mighty table are pil'd up there. +He gazes now in exstatic trance +Through the casement, out into nature's expanse. +Whene'er we sit at the lone midnight, +And stare out into the dubious light, +Whilst the pallid moon is peering o'er +Ruin'd cloister and crumbling tower, +Feelings so wondrous strange come o'er us; +The past, and the future, arise before us; +The present fadeth, unmark'd, away +In the garb of insignificancy. +He gazes up into nature's height, +The noble man with his eye so bright; +He gazes up to the starry skies, +Whither, sooner or later, we hope to rise; +And now he takes in haste the pen, +And the spirit of Oldom flows from it amain; +The scatter'd Goth-songs he changes unto +An Epic which maketh each bosom to glow. +Thanks to the old Monk, toiling thus-- +They call him Saxo Grammaticus. + +An open field before you lies, +A wind-burst o'er its bosom sighs, +Now all is still, all seems asleep; +'Midst of the field there stands a heap, +Upon the heap stand Runic stones, +Thereunder rest gigantic bones. +From Arild's time, that heap stands there, +But now 't is till'd with utmost care, +In order that its owner may +Thereoff reap golden corn one day. +Oft has he tried, the niggard soul, +The mighty stones away to roll, +As useless burdens of his ground; +But they for that too big were found. +See, see! the moon through cloud and rack +Looks down upon the letters black: +And when the ghost its form uprears +He shines upon its bursting tears-- +For oh! the moon's an ancient man, +Describe him, mortal tongue ne'er can, +He shines alike, serene and bright, +At midmost hour of witching night, +Upon the spot of love and glee, +And on the gloomy gallows-tree. +Upon each Rune behold him stare, +While off he hastes through fields of air; +He understands those signs, I'll gage, +Whose meaning lies in sunken age; +And if he were in speaking state, +No doubt the old man could relate +Strange things that have on earth occurr'd, +Of which fame ne'er has said a word; +But since with look, with look alone, +He cannot those events make known, +He waketh from his height sublime +Mere longing for the dark gone time. + + + +THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE. +FROM THE GERMAN. + + +This piece is not translated for the sentiments which it contains, but +for its poetical beauties. Although the path of human life is rough and +thorny, the mind may always receive consolation by looking forward to the +world to come. The mind which rejects a future state has to thank itself +for its utter misery and hopelessness. + +The evening shadows fall upon the grave +On which I sit; it is no common heap,-- +Below its turf are laid the bones of one, +Who, sick of life and misery, did quench +The vital spark which in his bosom burn'd. + +The shadows deepen, and the ruddy tinge +Which lately flooded all the western sky +Has now diminish'd to a single streak, +And here I sit, alone, and listen to +The noise of forests, and the hum of groves. + +This is the time to think of nature's God, +When birds and fountains, streams and woods, unite +Their various-sounding voices in his praise: +Shall man alone refuse to sing it--yes, +For man, alone, has nought to thank him for. + +There's not a joy he gives to us on earth +That is not dash'd with bitterness and gall, +Only when youth is past, and age comes on, +Do we find quiet--quiet is not bliss, +Then tell me, God, what I've to thank thee for. + +But to recur to him who rests beneath-- +He had a heart enthusiastic, warm, +And form'd for love--no prejudice dwelt there; +He roam'd about the world to find a heart +Which felt with his, he sought, and found it not. + +Or if he found it, providence stepp'd in, +And tore the cherish'd object from his sight, +Or fill'd its mind with visions weak and vain-- +Could he survive all this? ah, no! he died,-- +Died by the hand which injur'd none but him. + +And did he die unpitied and unwept,-- +Most probably, for there are fools who think +'T is crime in man to take what is his own-- +And 't was on account they laid him here, +Within this sweet, unconsecrated, spot. + +There comes a troop of maidens and of youths +Home from their labour--hark! they cease their song, +And, pointing to the grave, with trembling hands, +They make a circuit, thinking that in me +The ghost of the self-murderer they view-- +Which, fame says, wanders here. + + + + +LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. + + +The Right Honourable the Earl of Albemarle + +T. Amyot, Esq., _London_ + +F. Arden, Esq. _London_, 5 copies + +Mr. A. Austin + +The Right Rev. Father in God Henry Bathurst, Lord Bishop of Norwich + +Mr. W. Bacon + +Mr. A. Barnard + +Mr. P. Barnes + +Mr. Barwell + +Mr. Bell, _Diss_ + +N. Bolingbroke, Esq. + +J. Bowring, Esq., _Hackney_ + +W. Burrows, Esq., _Stoke_ + +Miss Burrows + +W. Burt, Esq. Jun. + +Thomas Campbell, Esq., London + +S. Clarke, Esq., _Berghapton_ + +Mr. T. Clarke + +Mr. P. Clarke + +Mr. P. Clayton + +N. Cobham, Esq. _Exeter_, 2 copies + +Rev. C. Codd, _Dereham_ + +J. H. Cole, Esq. + +Mrs. Coleman + +Mr. W. Cooper + +Mr. E. Cooper, _Dereham_ + +Mr. G. Cooper, _Dereham_ + +W. Cross, Esq. + +H. Custance, Esq., _Weston Longueville_ + +Rev. Custance + +E. Dashwood, Esq., _Colchester_ + +T. G. O'Donnahoo, Esq., _London_, 5 copies + +Mr. Doughty, _Brockdish_ + +T. Dyson, Esq., _Diss_ + +Mr. Elliot + +Dr. Evans + +F. Farr, Esq., _Beecles_ + +G. Fitzmaurice, Esq., _London_, 2 copies + +J. Fletcher, Esq., _London_ + +R. Fowler, Esq., _London_ + +J. Geldart, Esq. + +B. Girling. Esq., _Dereham_ + +Rev. W. Girling + +Mr. Green + +C. Greville, Esq. M.P. + +T. Gurdon, Esq., _Letton Hall_, _Suffolk_, 2 copies + +Mrs. Gurdon, 2 copies + +H. Gurney, Esq. M.P. + +R. H. Gurney, Esq. M.P. + +Miss Anne Gurney + +Mr. W. Hankes + +Capt. Hare, _Stow Hall_, 2 copies + +Mr. W. Harper + +J. Harvey, Esq. + +Sir R. J. Harvey + +G. Harvey, Esq. + +R. Hawkes, Esq. + +Mrs. Hawkes + +B. R. Haydon, Esq., _London_ + +W. Herring, Esq. + +Mr. Higham, _London_ + +Mr. Hobart + +Mr. Holly + +T. Hudson, Esq. + +Mr. R. Hull + +N. Islay, Esq., _Croydon_ + +Mr. G. Jay + +S. Johnson, Esq., _London_ + +P. Johnstone, Esq., _London_ + +Mr. Juby + +Rev. J. Kennedy, _Templemore_, _Tipperary_ + +Mr. R. Kerrison + +Mr. E. Kerrison + +Capt. Langford + +E. Lombe, Esq. + +Mrs. Lloyd, _Bawdeswell_ + +Miss Lloyd, _Bawdeswell_ + +Miss L. Lloyd, _Bawdeswell_ + +Miss E. Lloyd, _Bawdeswell_ + +Mr. R. Lloyd + +Mr. J. Lloyd, _Welsh Pool_ + +Mr. H. Marshall, _Ashby_ + +Mr. H. Marshall, _Norwich_ + +Mr. W. Matchett + +Rev. C. Millard + +Mr. Mills, _Pulham_ + +Mr. F. Mills + +A. Morrison, Esq., _Eaton Hall_ + +Mrs. Morrison + +G. Morse, Esq. + +Rev. G. Munnings, _Dereham_ + +J. Neales, Esq., _London_ + +Mr. Newton + +Mr. E. Newton + +Mr. W. Nichols + +Mr. B. Norgate + +T. Oliver, Esq., _Yarmouth_ + +C. S. Onley, Esq. M.P. + +J. Parkinson, Esq. + +Mr. P. Paterson, _Glasgow_ + +Mrs. J. Pertwee, _Fingringhoe Hall_ + +R. Plumptre, Esq. + +Mr. Press + +Mr. P. Pullen + +W. Quarles, Esq., _Foulsham_ + +W. Rackham, Esq. + +Mr. W. Roberts + +J. Robertson, Esq., _London_ + +W. Robertson, Esq., _London_ + +Etienne Compte de la Roche, _Brest_, 2 copies + +N. Simpson, Esq., _London_ + +W. Slous, Esq., _London_ + +Sir James Smith + +J. Sparham, Esq., _Palgrave_ + +Mr. W. Stark + +Mr. J. Stark + +J. Stewart, Esq. + +R. Stoughton, Esq., _Sparham_ + +Rev. A. T. Suckling + +Mr. P. Thompson, _London_ + +Mr. J. Thompson, _Dereham_ + +J. Timbs, Esq., _London_ + +Mr. G. Thurtell, _Eaton_ + +Mr. J. Thurtell + +Mr. B. Sadler + +S. Salter, Esq., _London_ + +Capt. R. Sayer + +P. Scott, Esq. + +Mr. Sendall + +Mrs. Simpson + +W. Simpson, Esq. Jun. + +W. W. Simpson, Esq., _London_ + +Mrs. E. Thurtell + +Mr. J. Turner, _London_ + +Mr. Turner + +J. Vincent, Esq., _London_ + +S. Weir, Esq., _Manchester_ + +Rev. G. Widrow, _Manchester_ + +Mr. Wilson + +Mr. Winter + +Mr. I. Wiseman + +Hon. Col. Wodehouse + +E. Wodehouse, Esq. M.P. + +D. Woods, Esq., _Dereham_ + +Mr. I. Young, _London_, 2 copies + +Mr. L. Young, _London_ + + + + +APPENDIX No. 1. +A Bibliographical Note by Clement Shorter. + + +George Borrow commenced his literary career with a translation of +Klinger's "Faustus" in 1825, and by a compilation of "Celebrated Trials" +in the same year. Both these books appeared in London while he was +engaged as a bookseller's hack, as described in "Lavengro." In 1826 +Borrow returned to Norwich, and there he issued from the printing-house +of S. Wilkin, in the Upper Haymarket, these "Romantic Ballads." He had +worked hard at collecting subscribers, and two hundred copies were +reserved for Norwich at half a guinea each copy; the remaining three +hundred out of an edition of five hundred were sent to London. Some of +these bear the imprint of John Taylor, Waterloo Place, Pall Mall, 1826, +while the remainder bear the imprint of Wightman & Cramp, of Paternoster +Row, in the same year. Dr. Knapp only knew of the Taylor edition, +because that is referred to in the correspondence. Copies, however, of +the Wightman & Cramp edition are in existence, and the title-page will be +found reproduced with those of the first and second issue in the opening +pages of this volume. Borrow sent copies to Lockhart, and Cunningham +advised gifts to other reviewers; but not a single review of the book +appeared. Yet his subscription list "amply paid all expenses," as Borrow +states in a letter to Cunningham. That list reveals the fact that such +diverse persons as Dr. Bathurst, Bishop of Norwich, and Thurtell, the +murderer of Mr. Weare, were among the Norwich subscribers, while Benjamin +Haydon, John Timbs, and Thomas Campbell paid their half-guineas from +London. Thurtell, we may add, was hanged before the book appeared. + + + + +APPENDIX No. 2. +Facsimile of Borrow's Manuscript from the Collection of Clement Shorter. + + +{i:Manuscript of The deceived Merman--part 1: borrow1.jpg} + +{i:Manuscript of The deceived Merman--part 2: borrow2.jpg} + + + + +Footnotes: + + +{f:1} The goddess of death--according to the Northern mythology. + +{f:2} The paradise of the Northern mythology. + +{f:3} Moe in Danish signifies Maid, and is pronounced nearly like "May." +May is Old English for Maid. + +{f:4} The Fairies.--Ellefolk. _Dan_. + +{f:5} Giants.--Jette. _Dan_. + +{f:6} Dovrefeld is the highest mountain in Norway, and in Europe. + +{f:7} Some of the many powers attributed to "Runic verses" will be found +described in the song so intituled, in the latter part of this volume. + +{f:8} Boune, to get ready. + +{f:9} Rede, advise. Raader.--Dan. + +{f:10} Woxen, grown. Voxen.--Dan. + +{f:11} Jesus Christ. + +{f:12} Grene shaw, green wood.--Old English. + +{f:13} Brute-carl, dyre-carl.--_Original_. + +{f:14} By this nose under the chin must be understood, that the elf has +so long and crooked a nose, that it reaches and turns up under his chin. +Crooked noses are, in all stories, allowed to be an ingredient of +fiendish physiognomy. + +{f:15} Svobt udi maard.--_Original_. + +{f:16} Slaae mig et mit Ledemod sonder. + +{f:17} Burly, strong. + +{f:18} Rok og teen. The Rok is no longer used in England, though still +common in the North. It is a hazle stick, more than a yard long, round +which the wool is wound. It is affixed to the side of the spinner, under +the left arm. + +{f:19} By scattering "Runes," or Runic letters, over graves, provided +they formed a particular rhyme, the ancient Scandinavians imagined that +the dead might be aroused. + +{f:20} Han laerer de Kiaempers Ryg at verke. + +{f:21} To ride at Dyst, to battle on horseback. + +{f:22} It was formerly the custom in Denmark, upon St. John's day, to +celebrate the arrival of Summer, by troops of youths and maids going out +into the woods, and thence returning bedecked with leaves and branches. +This ceremony was called "bringing Summer to town." + +{f:23} Blank, clear, shining.--_Dan_. + +{f:24} Called in Danish Kiaempe-steene; these stones either mark the +burial place of a warrior, or the spot where some very remarkable +circumstance has occurred. + +{f:25} These were ancient Danish monarchs renowned in song and tale, for +warlike exploits and strange adventures. Not far from the Bridge of Vaere +in the diocese of Roeskild, is King Frode's grave-hill, which, according +to tradition, contains immense treasures, and is the richest in all the +land. "Around the King's neck is a gold chain, so long that its other +end reaches round his feet." _See Thiele's Danske Folkesagn_. + +{f:26} Denmark's wisest and greatest king. He entertained a warm +friendship for James the First of England, and, attended by his court, +came to London to visit him. The ceremonies and rejoicings which this +event gave rise to, are well described in an old German book, at present +in the British Museum. + +{f:27} Tordenskiold Juul and Hvidtfeld--celebrated Danish admirals. The +memory of Tordenskiold is sacred among the peasantry, on account of the +victories obtained by him over the Swedes. It is reported of him in +Jutland, that when the shot of the enemy was directed thick and fast +against him, he would shake the leaden bullets from out the folds of his +clothes. + +{f:28} In the Northern mythology, the God of war and strength. He is +girded by a belt of bear-sinews, and bears a hammer called "Miolner," +which means the shatterer, and with which he destroys giants, demons, and +other foes of Odin the supreme God. + +{f:29} See preface to "Waldemar's Chase," p. 115. + +{f:30} It was frequently the practice of the ancient Norsemen, after +having entombed their dead kings and heroes, to plant oaks or other trees +over them, in order to prevent their remains being disturbed with +facility. In that sublimest of all poems, "The Incantation of Hervor," +is a passage to the following effect: + + Hervadr, Hiorvadr, Hrani and Angantyr, + I wake ye all under the roots of the trees. + +{f:31} Between the islands of Ferroe the Sea exhibits a phenomenon, +called, in the dialect of the Islanders, the Boff. Whilst the salt +stream runs strong and glassy through its narrow channel, it is suddenly +deformed by seven successive breakers, huge and foamy, which occur +without any apparent cause, and infallibly overwhelm any boat which may +chance to be in the way of their fury. + +{f:32} The ancient Northern god of music and poetry. + +{f:33} A mountain in the Scottish Highlands. + +{f:34} The Duergar, or Dwarf-elves, of Scandinavia are famous for the +dexterity with which they fabricate ornaments of every kind, from the +gold which they dig out of the depths of the hills. + +{f:35} Kemp, a warrior.--_Old Eng_. _Dan_. 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From the Old Danish +Elvir-shades. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger +The Heddybee-spectre. From the Old Danish +Sir John. From the Old Danish +May Asda. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger +Aager and Eliza. From the Old Danish +Saint Oluf. From the Old Danish +The Heroes of Dovrefeld. From the Old Danish +Svend Vonved. From the Old Danish +The Tournament. From the Old Danish +Vidrik Verlandson. From the Old Danish +Elvir Hill. From the Old Danish +Waldemar's Chase +The Merman. From the Old Danish +The Deceived Merman. From the Old Danish + +Miscellanies: + +Cantata +The Hail-storm. From the Norse +The Elder-witch +Ode. From the Gaelic +Bear song. From the Danish of Evald +National song. From the Danish of Evald +The Old Oak +Lines to Six-foot Three +Nature's Temperaments. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger +The Violet-gatherer. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger +Ode to a Mountain-torrent. From the German of Stolberg +Runic Verses +Thoughts on Death. From the Swedish of C. Lohman +Birds of Passage. From the Swedish +The Broken Harp +Scenes +The Suicide's Grave. From the German + + + +PREFACE + + + +The ballads in this volume are translated from the Works of +OEHLENSLAEGER, (a poet who is yet living, and who stands high in the +estimation of his countrymen,) and from the KIAEMPE VISER, a +collection of old songs, celebrating the actions of the ancient +heroes of Scandinavia. + +The old Danish poets were, for the most part, extremely rude in their +versification. Their stanzas of four or two lines have not the full +rhyme of vowel and consonant, but merely what the Spaniards call the +"assonante," or vowel rhyme, and attention seldom seems to have been +paid to the number of FEET on which the lines moved along. But, +however defective their poetry may be in point of harmony of numbers, +it describes, in vivid and barbaric language, scenes of barbaric +grandeur, which in these days are never witnessed; and, which, though +the modern muse may imagine, she generally fails in attempting to +pourtray, from the violent desire to be smooth and tuneful, +forgetting that smoothness and tunefulness are nearly synonymous with +tameness and unmeaningness. + +I expect shortly to lay before the public a complete translation of +the KIAEMPE VISER, made by me some years ago; and of which, I hope, +the specimens here produced will not give an unfavourable idea. + +It was originally my intention to publish, among the "Miscellaneous +Pieces," several translations from the Gaelic, formerly the language +of the western world; the noble tongue + + +"A labhair Padric' nninse Fail na Riogh. +'San faighe caomhsin Colum naomhta' n I." + + +Which Patrick spoke in Innisfail, to heathen chiefs of old +Which Columb, the mild prophet-saint, spoke in his island-hold - + + +but I have retained them, with one exception, till I possess a +sufficient quantity to form an entire volume. + + + +FROM ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, +TO GEORGE BORROW, +On his proposing to translate the 'Kiaepe Viser.' + + + +Sing, sing, my friend; breathe life again +Through Norway's song and Denmark's strain: +On flowing Thames and Forth, in flood, +Pour Haco's war-song, fierce and rude. +O'er England's strength, through Scotland's cold, +His warrior minstrels marched of old - +Called on the wolf and bird of prey +To feast on Ireland's shore and bay; +And France, thy forward knights and bold, +Rough Rollo's ravens croaked them cold. +Sing, sing of earth and ocean's lords, +Their songs as conquering as their swords; +Strains, steeped in many a strange belief, +Now stern as steel, now soft as grief - +Wild, witching, warlike, brief, sublime, +Stamped with the image of their time; +When chafed--the call is sharp and high +For carnage, as the eagles cry; +When pleased--the mood is meek, and mild, +And gentle, as an unweaned child. +Sing, sing of haunted shores and shelves, +St. Oluf and his spiteful elves, +Of that wise dame, in true love need, +Who of the clear stream formed the steed - +How youthful Svend, in sorrow sharp, +The inspired strings rent from his harp; +And Sivard, in his cloak of felt, +Danced with the green oak at his belt - +Or sing the Sorceress of the wood, +The amorous Merman of the flood - +Or elves that, o'er the unfathomed stream, +Sport thick as motes in morning beam - +Or bid me sail from Iceland Isle, +With Rosmer and fair Ellenlyle, +What time the blood-crow's flight was south, +Bearing a man's leg in its mouth. +Though rough and rude, those strains are rife +Of things kin to immortal life, +Which touch the heart and tinge the cheek, +As deeply as divinest Greek. +In simple words and unsought rhyme, +Give me the songs of olden time. + + + +THE DEATH-RAVEN. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + + +The silken sail, which caught the summer breeze, +Drove the light vessel through the azure seas; +Upon the lofty deck, Dame Sigrid lay, +And watch'd the setting of the orb of day: +Then, all at once, the smiling sky grew dark, +The breakers rav'd, and sinking seem'd the bark; +The wild Death-raven, perch'd upon the mast, +Scream'd 'mid the tumult, and awoke the blast. + +Dame Sigrid saw the demon bird on high, +And tear-drops started in her beauteous eye; +Her cheeks, which late like blushing roses bloom'd, +Had now the pallid hue of fear assum'd: +"O wild death-raven, calm thy frightful rage, +Nor war with one who warfare cannot wage. +Tame yonder billows, make them cease to roar, +And I will give thee pounds of golden ore." + +"With gold thou must not hope to pay the brave, +For gold I will not calm a single wave, +For gold I will not hush the stormy air, +And yet my heart is mov'd by thy despair; +Give me the treasure hid beneath thy belt, +And straight yon clouds in harmless rain shall melt, +And down I'll thunder, with my claws of steel. +Upon the merman clinging to your keel." + +"What I conceal'd beneath my girdle bear, +Is thine--irrevocably thine--I swear. +Thou hast refus'd a great and noble prey, +To get possession of my closet key. +Lo! here it is, and, when within thy maw, +May'st thou much comfort from the morsel draw!" +The polish'd steel upon the deck she cast, +And off the raven flutter'd from the mast. + +Then down at once he plung'd amid the main, +And clove the merman's frightful head in twain; +The foam-clad billows to repose he brought, +And tam'd the tempest with the speed of thought; +Then, with a thrice-repeated demon cry, +He soar'd aloft and vanish'd in the sky: +A soft wind blew the ship towards the land, +And soon Dame Sigrid reach'd the wish'd-for strand. + +Once, late at eve, she play'd upon her harp, +Close by the lake where slowly swam the carp; +And, as the moon-beam down upon her shone, +She thought of Norway, and its pine-woods lone. +"Yet love I Denmark," said she, "and the Danes, +For o'er them Alf, my mighty husband, reigns." +Then 'neath her girdle something mov'd and yearn'd, +And into terror all her bliss was turn'd. + +"Ah! now I know thy meaning, cruel bird . . . " +Long sat she, then, and neither spoke nor stirr'd. +Faint, through the mist which rob'd the sky in gray, +The pale stars glimmer'd from the milky way. +"Ah! now I know thy meaning, cruel bird . . . " +She strove in vain to breathe another word. +Above her head, its leaf the aspen shook - +Moist as her cheek, and pallid as her look. + +Full five months pass'd, ere she, 'mid night and gloom, +Brought forth with pain an infant from her womb: +They baptiz'd it, at midnight's murky hour, +Lest it should fall within the demon's power. +It was a boy, more lovely than the morn, +Yet Sigrid's heart with bitter care was torn. +Deep in a grot, through which a brook did flow, +With crystal drops they sprinkled Harrald's brow. + +He grew and grew, till upon Danish ground +No youth to match the stripling could be found; +He was at once so graceful and so strong - +His look was fire, and his speech was song. +When yet a child, he tam'd the battle steed, +And only thought of war and daring deed; +But yet Queen Sigrid nurs'd prophetic fears, +And when she view'd him, always swam in tears. + +One evening late, she lay upon her bed, +(King Alf, her noble spouse, was long since dead) +She felt so languid, and her aching breast +With more than usual sorrow was oppress'd. +Ah, then she heard a sudden sound that thrill'd +Her every nerve, and life's warm current chill'd:- +The bird of death had through the casement flown, +And thus he scream'd to her, in frightful tone: + +"The wealthy bird came towering, +Came scowering, +O'er hill and stream. +'Look here, look here, thou needy bird, +How gay my feathers gleam.' + +"The needy bird came fluttering, +Came muttering, +And sadly sang, +'Look here, look here, thou wealthy bird, +How loose my feathers hang.' + +"Remember, Queen, the stormy day, +When cast away +Thou wast so nigh:- +Thou wast the needy bird that day, +And unto me didst cry. + +"Death-raven now comes towering, +Comes scowering, +O'er hill and stream; +But when wilt thou, Dame Sigrid fair, +Thy plighted word redeem." + +A hollow moan from Sigrid's bosom came, +While he survey'd her with his eye of flame: +"Fly," said she; "demon monster, get thee hence! +My humble pray'r shall be my son's defence." +She cross'd herself, and then the fiend flew out; +But first, contemptuously he danc'd about, +And sang, "No pray'r shall save him from my rage; +In Christian blood my thirst I will assuage." + +Young Harrald seiz'd his scarlet cap, and cried, +"I'll probe the grief my mother fain would hide;" +Then, rushing into her apartment fair, +"O mother," said he, "wherefore sitt'st thou there, +Far from thy family at dead of night, +With lips so mute, and cheeks so ghastly white? +Tell me what lies so heavy at thy heart; +Grief, when confided, loses half its smart." + +"O Harrald," sigh'd she, yielding to his pray'r, +"Creatures are swarming in the earth and air, +Who, wild with wickedness, and hot with wrath, +Wage war on those who follow virtue's path. +One of those fiends is on the watch for thee, +Arm'd with a promise wrung by him from me: +His blood-shot eyes in narrow sockets roll, +And every night he leaves his mirksome hole. + +"He was a kind of God, in former days; +Kings worshipp'd him, and minstrels sang his praise; +But when Christ's doctrine through the dark North flam'd, +His, and all evil spirits' might was tam'd. +He now is but a raven; yet is still +Full strong enough to work on thee his will: +Lost is the wretch who in his power falls - +Vainly he shrieks, in vain for mercy calls." + +She whisper'd to him then, with bloodless lip, +What had befallen her on board the ship; +But youthful Harrald listen'd undismay'd, +And merely gripp'd the handle of his blade. +"My son," she murmur'd, when her tale was told, +"Fear withers me, but thou look'st blythe and bold." +The youth uplifted then his sparkling eye, +And said, whilst gazing on the moon-lit sky, + +"Once, my dear mother, at the close of day, +Among tall flowers in the grove I lay, +Soft sang the linnets from a thousand trees, +And, sweetly lull'd, I slumber'd by degrees. +Then, heaven's curtain was, methought, undrawn, +And, clad in hues that deck the brow of morn, +An angel slowly sank towards the earth, +Which seem'd to hail him with a smile of mirth. + +"He rais'd his hand, and bade me fix my eye +Upon a chain which, hanging from the sky, +Embrac'd the world; and, stretching high and low, +Clink'd, as it mov'd, the notes of joy and wo: +The links that came in sight were purpled o'er +Full frequently with what seem'd human gore; +Of various metals made, it clasp'd the mould, - +Steel clung to silver, iron clung to gold. + +"Then said the angel, with majestic air, - +'The chain of destiny thou seest there. +Accept whate'er it gives, and murmur not; +For hard necessity has cast each lot.' +He vanish'd--I awoke with sudden start, +But that strange dream was graven on my heart. +I go wherever fate shall please to call, - +Without God's leave, no fly to earth can fall." + +It thunders--and from midnight's mirky cloud, +Comes peal on peal reverberating loud: +The froth-clad breakers cast, with sullen roar, +A Scottish bark upon the whiten'd shore. +Straight to the royal palace hasten then +A lovely maid and thirty sea-worn men. +Minona, Scotland's princess, Scotland's boast, +The storm has driven to the Danish coast. + +Oft, while the train hew timber in the groves, +Minona, arm in arm, with Harrald roves. +Warm from his lip the words of passion flow; +Pure in her eyes the flames of passion glow. +One summer eve, upon a mossy bank, +Mouth join'd to mouth, and breast to breast, they sank: +The moon arose in haste to see their love, +And wild birds carroll'd from the boughs above. + +But now the ship, which seem'd of late a wreck, +Floats with a mast set proudly on her deck. +Minona kisses Harrald's blooming face, +Whilst he attends her to the parting place. +His bold young heart beats high against his side - +She sail'd away--and, like one petrified, +Full long he stood upon the shore, to view +The smooth keel slipping through the waters blue. + +Months pass, and Sigrid's sorrow disappears; +The wild death-raven's might no more she fears; +A gentle red bedecks her cheek again, +And briny drops her eye no longer stain. +"My Harrald stalks in manly size and strength; +Swart bird of darkness, I rejoice at length; +If thy curst claw could hurt my gallant son, +Long, long, ere this, the deed would have been done." + +But Harrald look'd so moody and forlorn, +And thus his mother he address'd one morn: +"Minona's face is equall'd by her mind; +Methinks she calls me from her hills of wind? +Give me a ship with men and gold at need, +And let me to her father's kingdom speed; +I'll soon return, and back across the tide +Bring thee a daughter, and myself a bride." + +Dame Sigrid promis'd him an answer soon, +And went that night, when risen was the moon, +Deep through the black recesses of the wood, +To where old Bruno's shelter'd cabin stood. +She enter'd--there he sat behind his board, +His woollen vestment girded by a cord; +The little lamp, which hung from overhead, +Gleam'd on the Bible-leaves before him spread. + +"Hail to thee, Father!--man of hoary age, +Thy Queen demands from thee thy counsel sage. +Young Harrald to a distant land will go, +And I his destiny would gladly know: +Thou read'st the stars,--O do the stars portend +That he shall come to an untimely end? +Take from his mother's heart this one last care, +And she will always name thee in her pray'r." + +The hermit, rising from his lonely nook, +With naked head, and coldly placid look, +Went out and gaz'd intently on the sky, +Whose lights were letters to his ancient eye. +"The stars," said he, "in friendly order stand, +One only, flashes like an angry brand:- +Thy Harrald, gentle Queen, will not be slain +Upon the EARTH, nor yet upon the MAIN." + +While thus the seer prophetically spoke, +A flush of joy o'er Sigrid's features broke: +"He'll not be slain on ocean or on land," +She said, and kiss'd the hermit's wrinkled hand; +"Why then, I'm happy, and my son is free +To mount his bark, and gallop through the sea: +Upon the grey stone he will sit as king, +When, in the grave, my bones are mouldering." + +The painted galley floats now in the creek - +Flags at her mast, and garlands at her beak; +High on the yard-arm hoisted is the sail, +Half spread it flutters in the evening gale. +The night before he goes, young Harrald stray'd +Into the wood where first he saw his maid: +Burning impatience fever'd all his blood, +He wish'd for wings to bear him o'er the flood. + +Then sigh'd the wind among the bushy grounds, +Far in the distance rose the yell of hounds: +The flame-wisps, starting from the sedge and grass, +Hung, 'mid the vapours, over the morass. +Up to him came a beldame, wildly drest, +Bearing a closely-folded feather-vest: +She smil'd upon him with her cheeks so wan, +Gave him the robe, and was already gone. + +Young Harrald, though astonish'd, has no fears; +The mighty garment in his hand he rears: +Of wond'rous lovely feathers it was made, +Which once the roc and ostrich had array'd. +He wishes much to veil in it his form, +And speed as rapidly as speeds the storm: +He puts it on, then seeks the open plain, - +Takes a short flight, and flutters back again. + +"Courage!" he cried, "I will no longer stay; +Scotland shall see me, ere the break of day." +Then like a dragon in the air he soars, +Startled from slumber, in his wake it roars. +His wings across the ocean take their flight; +Groves, cities, hills, have vanish'd from his sight, - +See! there he goes, lone rider of the sky, +Miles underneath him, black the billows lie. + +He hears a clapping on the midnight wind: +Speed, Harrald, speed! the raven is behind. +Flames from his swarthy-rolling eye are cast:- +"Ha! Harrald," scream'd he, "have we met at last?" +For the first time, the youth felt terror's force; +Pale grew his cheek, as that of clammy corse, +Chill was his blood, his nervous arm was faint, +While thus he stammer'd forth his lowly plaint: + +"I see it is in vain to strive with fate; +Thank God, my soul is far above thy hate; +But, ere my mortal part thou dost destroy, +Let me one moment of sweet bliss enjoy: +The fair unmatch'd Minona is my love, +For her I travell'd, fool-like, here above: +Let me fly to her with my last farewell, +And I am thine, ere morning decks the fell." + +Firmly the raven holding him in air, +Survey'd his prize with fiercely-rabid glare: +"Now is the time to wreak on thee my lust; +Yet thou shalt own that I am good and just." +Then from its socket, Harrald's eye he tore, +And drank a full half of the hero's gore:- +"Since I have mark'd thee, thou art free to go; +But loiter not when thou art there below." + +Young Harrald sinks with many a sob and tear, +Down from the sky to nature's lower sphere: +He rested long beneath the poplar tall, +Which grew up, under the red church's wall. +Then, rising slow, he feebly stagger'd on, +Till his Minona's bower he had won. +Trembling and sad he stood beside the door - +Pale as a spectre, and besprent with gore! + +"Minona, come, ere Harrald's youthful heart +Is burst by love and complicated smart. +Soon will his figure disappear from earth, +Yet we shall meet in heaven's halls of mirth: +Minona, come and give me one embrace, +That I may instantly my path retrace." +Thus warbles he in passion's wildest note, +While death each moment rattles in his throat. + +Minona came: "Almighty God!" she cried, +"My Harrald's ghost has wander'd o'er the tide; +Red clots of blood his yellow tresses streak, +Drops of the same are running down his cheek." +"Minona, love, survey me yet more near, +It is no shadow which accosts thee here; +Place thy warm hand upon my heart, and feel +Whether it beats for thee with slacken'd zeal." + +At once the current of her tears she stopp'd, +His arm upheld her, or the maid had dropp'd; +The roses faded from her face away, +And on her head the raven locks grew gray. +All he had borne, and what he yet must bear, +He murmurs to her whilst she trembles there: +The hero then with dying ardour press'd, +For the last time, his bosom to her breast. + +"Farewell! Minona, all my fears are flown, +And if I grieve, it is for thee alone: +Give me a kiss, and give me too a smile, +And let not tears that parting look defile. +Now will I drink the bitter draught of death, +And yield courageously my forfeit breath:- +Farewell! may heaven take thee in its care," +He said, and mounted swiftly in the air. + +She gaz'd; but he had vanish'd from her view; +She stood forsaken in the damp and dew, +Then dark emotion quiver'd in her eye, +And thus she pray'd, with hands uplifted high: +"Thou who wert vainly tempted in the wild, +Thou who wert always charitably mild, +Thou who mad'st Peter walk on billows blue, +Enable me my Harrald to pursue." + +Sunken already was the morning star, +The song of nightingales was heard afar, +The red sun peep'd above the mountain's brow, +And flowers scented all the vale below. +There came a youthful maiden, gaily drest, +Bearing upon her back a feather-vest; +Fondly she kiss'd Minona's features wan, +Gave her the robe, and then at once was gone. + +And straight Minona clothes in it her limbs, +And soaring upward through the ether swims: +To moan and sob, her madden'd breast disdains, +Too big for such low comfort are its pains. +The fowls that meet her in yon airy fields, +She clips in pieces with an axe she wields; +Each clanging pinion ceaselessly she plies, +But cannot meet the raven or his prize. + +She hears a faint shriek in the air below, +And, swift as eagle pounces on his foe, +Down, down, she dropp'd, and lighted on the shore, +Which far and wide was wet with Harrald's gore. +She smil'd so ruefully, but still was mute - +His good right hand was lying at her foot: +That pledge of truth, in love's unclouded day, +Was the sole remnant of the demon's prey. + +Deep in her breast she hid the bloody hand, +And bade adieu, for ever, to the land: +Again she scower'd through the airy path, +Her eyeballs terrible with madden'd wrath: +The raven-sorcerer at length she spied, +And soon her steel was with his hot blood dyed: +The huge black body, piecemeal, found a grave +Amid the bosom of the briny wave. + +The ocean billows fret and foam no more, +But softly rush towards the pebbled shore, +On which the lindens stand, in many a group, +With leafy boughs that o'er the waters droop. +There floats one single cloudlet in the blue, +Close where the pale moon shows her face anew: +It is Minona dying there that flies, - +She sinks not!--no--she mounts unto the skies. + + + +FRIDLEIF AND HELGA. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + + +The woods were in leaf, and they cast a sweet shade; +Among them walk'd Helga, the beautiful maid. + +The water is dashing o'er yon little stones; +She sat down beside it, and rested her bones. + +She sat down, and soon, from a bush that was near, +Sir Fridleif approach'd her with sword and with spear: + +"Ah, pity me, Helga, and fly me not now, +I live, only live, on the smile of thy brow: + +"In thy father's whole garden is found not a rose, +Which bright as thyself, and as beautiful grows." + +"Sir Fridleif, thy words are but meant to deceive, +Yet tell me what brings thee so late here at eve." + +"I cannot find rest, and I cannot find ease, +Though sweet sing the linnets among the wild trees; + +"If thou wilt but promise, one day to be mine, +No more shall I sorrow, no more shall I pine." + +She sank in his arms, and her cheeks were as red +As the sun when he sinks in his watery bed; + +But soon she arose from his loving embrace; +He walk'd by her side, through the wood, for a space. + +"Now listen, young Fridleif, the gallant and bold, +Take off from my finger this ring of red gold, + +Take off from my finger this ring of red gold, +And part with it not, till in death thou art cold." + +Sir Fridleif stood there in a sorrowful plight, +Salt tears wet his eyeballs, and blinded his sight. + +"Go home, and I'll come to thy father with speed, +And claim thee from him, on my mighty grey steed." + +Sir Fridleif, at night, through the thick forest rode, +He fain would arrive at his lov'd one's abode; + +His harness was clanking, his helm glitter'd sheen, +His horse was so swift, and himself was so keen: + +He reach'd the proud castle, and jump'd on the ground, +His horse to the branch of a linden he bound; + +He shoulder'd his mantle of grey otter skin, +And through the wide door, to Sir Erik went in. + +"Here sitt'st thou, Sir Erik, in scarlet array'd; +I've wedded thy daughter, the beautiful maid." + +"And who art thou, Rider? what feat hast thou done? +No nidering coward shall e'er be my son." + +"O far have I wander'd, renown'd is my name, +The heroes I conquer'd wherever I came: + +"Han Elland, 't is true, long disputed the ground, +But yet he receiv'd from my hand his death-wound." + +Sir Erik then alter'd his countenance quite, +And out hurried he, in the gloom of the night. + +"Fill high, little Kirstin, my best drinking cup, +And be the brown liquor with poison mixt up." + +She gave him the draught, and returning with speed, +"Young gallant," said he, "thou must taste my old mead." + +Sir Fridleif unbuckled his helmet and drank; +Sweat sprung from his forehead--his features grew blank. + +"I never have drain'd, since the day I was born, +A bitterer draught, from a costlier horn: + +"My course is completed, my life is summ'd up, +For treason I smell in the dregs of the cup." + +Sir Erik then said, while he stamp'd on the ground, +"Young knight, 't is thy fortune to die like a hound. + +"My best belov'd friend thou didst boast to have slain, +And I have aveng'd him by giving thee bane: + +"Not Helga, but Hela, {1} shall now be thy bride; +Dark blue are her cheeks, and she looks stony-eyed." + +"Sir Erik, thy words are both witty and wise, +And hell, when it has thee, will have a rich prize! + +"Convey unto Helga her gold ring so red; +Be sure to inform her when Fridleif is dead; + +"But flame shall give water, and marble shall bleed, +Before thou shalt win by this treacherous deed: + +"And I will not die like a hound, in the straw, +But go, like a hero, to Odin and Thor." + +He cut himself thrice, with his keen-cutting glaive, +And went to Valhalla, {2} the way of the brave. + +The knight bade his daughter come into the room: +"Look here, my sweet child, on thy merry bridegroom." + +She look'd on the body, and gave a wild start; +"O father, why hadst thou so cruel a heart?" + +She moan'd and lamented, she rav'd and she curst; +She look'd on her love, till her very eyes burst. + +At midnight, Sir Erik was standing there mute, +With two pallid corses beside his cold foot: + +He stood stiff and still; and when morning-light came, +He stood, like a post, without life in his frame. + +The youth and the maid were together interr'd, +Sir Erik could not from his posture be stirr'd: + +He stood there, as stiffly, for thirty long days, +And look'd on the earth with a petrified gaze. + +'T is said, on the night of the thirtieth long day, +To dust and to ashes he moulder'd away. + + + +SIR MIDDEL. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +So tightly was Swanelil lacing her vest, +That forth spouted milk, from each lily-white breast; +That saw the Queen-mother, and thus she begun: +"What maketh the milk from thy bosom to run?" +"O this is not milk, my dear mother, I vow; +It is but the mead I was drinking just now." +"Ha! out on thee minion! these eyes have their sight; +Would'st tell me that mead, in its colour, is white?" +"Well, well, since the proofs are so glaring and strong, +I own that Sir Middel has done me a wrong." +"And was he the miscreant? dear shall he pay, +For the cloud he has cast on our honour's bright ray; +I'll hang him up; yes, I will hang him with scorn, +And burn thee to ashes, at breaking of morn." +The maiden departed in anguish and wo, +And straight to Sir Middel it lists her to go; +Arriv'd at the portal, she sounded the bell, +"Now wake thee, love, if thou art living and well." +Sir Middel he heard her, and sprang from his bed; +Not knowing her voice, in confusion he said, +"Away: for I have neither candle nor light, +And I swear that no mortal shall enter this night!" +"Now busk ye, Sir Middel, in Christ's holy name; +I fly from my mother, who knows of my shame; +She'll hang thee up; yes, she will hang thee with scorn, +And burn me to ashes, at breaking of morn." +"Ha! laugh at her threat'nings, so empty and wild; +She neither shall hang me, nor burn thee, my child: +Collect what is precious, in jewels and garb, +And I'll to the stable and saddle my barb." +He gave her the cloak, that he us'd at his need, +And he lifted her up, on the broad-bosom'd steed. +The forest is gain'd, and the city is past, +When her eyes to the heaven she wistfully cast. +"What ails thee, dear maid? we had better now stay, +For thou art fatigu'd by the length of the way." +"I am not fatigu'd by the length of the way; +But my seat is uneasy, in truth, I must say." +He spread, on the cold earth, his mantle so wide; +"Now rest thee, my love, and I'll watch by thy side." +"O Jesus, that one of my maidens were near! +The pains of a mother are on me, I fear." +"Thy maidens are now at a distance from thee, +And thou art alone in the forest with me." +"'Twere better to perish, again and again, +Than thou should'st stand by me, and gaze on my pain." +"Then take off thy kerchief, and cover my head, +And perhaps I may stand in the wise-woman's stead." +"O Christ, that I had but a draught of the wave! +To quench my death-thirst, and my temples to lave." +Sir Middel was to her so tender and true, +And he fetch'd her the drink in her gold-spangled shoe. +The fountain was distant, and when he drew near, +Two nightingales sat there and sang in his ear: +"Thy love, she is dead, and for ever at rest, +With two little babes that lie cold on her breast." +Such was their song; but he heeded them not, +And trac'd his way back to the desolate spot; +But oh, what a spectacle burst on his view! +For all they had told him was fatally true. +He dug a deep grave by the side of a tree, +And buried therein the unfortunate three. +As he clamp'd the mould down with his iron-heel'd boot +He thought that the babies scream'd under his foot: +Then placing his weapon against a grey stone, +He cast himself on it, and died with a groan. +Ye maidens of Norway, henceforward beware! +For love, when unbridled, will end in despair. + + + +ELVIR-SHADES. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + + +A sultry eve pursu'd a sultry day; +Dark streaks of purple in the sky were seen, +And shadows half conceal'd the lonely way; + +I spurr'd my courser, and more swiftly rode, +In moody silence, through the forests green, +Where doves and linnets had their lone abode: + +It was my fate to reach a brook, at last, +Which, by sweet-scented bushes fenc'd around, +Defiance bade to heat and nipping blast. + +Inclin'd to rest, and hear the wild birds' song, +I stretch'd myself upon that brook's soft bound, +And there I fell asleep and slumber'd long; + +And only woke, O wonder, to perceive +A gold-hair'd maiden, as a snowdrop pale, +Her slender form from out the ground upheave: + +Then fear o'ercame me, and this daring heart +Beat three times audibly against my mail; +I wish'd to speak, but could no sound impart. + +And see! another maid rose up and took +Some drops of water from the foaming rill, +And gaz'd upon me with a wistful look. + +Said she, "What brings thee to this lonely place? +But do not fear, for thou shalt meet no ill; +Thou steel-clad warrior, full of youth and grace." + +"No;" sang the other, in delightful tone, +"But thou shalt gaze on prodigies which ne'er +To man's unhallow'd eye have yet been shown." + +The brook which lately brawl'd among the trees +Stood still, the murmur of that song to hear; +No green leaf stirr'd, and fetter'd seem'd the breeze. + +The thrush, upstarting in the distant dell, +Shook its brown wing, with golden streaks array'd, +And ap'd the witch-notes, as they rose and fell. + +Bright gleam'd the lake's broad sheet of liquid blue, +Where, with the rabid pike, the troutling play'd; +The rose unlock'd its folded leaves anew, + +And blush'd, besprinkled with the night's cold tear. +Once more the lily rais'd its head and smil'd, +All ghastly white, as when it decks the bier. + +Though sweet she sang, my fears were not the less, +For in her accents there was something wild, +Which I can feel, 't is true, but not express. + +"Come with us," sang she, "deep below the earth, +Where sun ne'er burns, and storm-winds never rave; +Come with us to our halls of princely mirth, + +"There thou shalt learn from us the Runic lay; +But dip thee, first, in yonder crystal wave, +Which binds thee to the Elfin race for aye: + +"Though painted flowers on earth's breast abound, +Yet we have far more lovely ones below; +Like grass the chrysolites there strew the ground." + +"O come," the other syren did exclaim, +"For rubies there more red than roses grow - +The sapphir's blue the violet puts to shame." + +I rais'd my eyes to heaven's starry dome, +And gripp'd my faulchion with convulsive might, +Resolv'd no witchcraft should my mind o'ercome. + +My lengthen'd silence vex'd the maidens sore: +"Wilt thou detain us here the live-long night, +Or must we, stripling, proffer something more? + +"Taught by us, thou shalt bind the rugged bear, - +Seize on the mighty dragon's heap of gold, - +And slay the cockatrice while in her lair! + +"But from thy breast the blood we will suck out, +Unless thou follow us beneath the mould! +Decide, decide, nor longer pause in doubt!" + +Cold sweat I shed, and as, with trembling hand, +I strove to whirl my beaming faulchion round, +It sank, enthrall'd by magic's potent band. + +Each witch drew nigh, with dagger high uprear'd; +Just then a cock, beyond the wild wood's bound, +Crew loud--and in the earth they disappear'd. + +I flung myself upon my frighten'd barb, +Just as the shades began to grow less murk, +And sun-beams clad the sky in gayer garb. + +Let each young warrior from such places fly: +Disease and death beneath the flowers lurk; +And elves would suck the warm blood from his eye. + + + +THE HEDDYBEE-SPECTRE. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +I clomb in haste my dappled steed, +And gallop'd far o'er mount and mead; +And when the day drew nigh its close, +I laid me down to take repose. + +I laid me down to take repose, +And slumbers sweet fell o'er my brows: +And then, methought, as there I slept, +From out the ground the dead man leapt. + +Said he, "If thou art valiant, Knight, +My murder soon will see the light; +For thou wilt ride to Heddybee, +Where live my youthful brothers three: + +"And there, too, thou wilt surely find +My father dear and mother kind; +And there sits Kate, my much-loved wife, +Who with her women took my life. + +"They chok'd me, as in bed I lay, +Then wrapp'd me in a truss of hay; +And bore me out at dead of night, +And laid me in this lonely height. + +"The Groom, who lately clean'd my stall, +Now struts and vapours through my hall, - +Eats gaily with my silver knife, +And sleeps with Kate, my much-lov'd wife. + +"His place is highest at the board; +But what is most to be deplor'd, +He gives my babes so little bread, +And mocks them now their sire is dead. + +"Clad in my clothes he proudly stalks +Along the shady forest-walks; +And, arm'd with bow and hunting spear, +He shoots my birds and stabs my deer. + +"Were I alive, to meet him now, +All underneath the linden bough, +With no one nigh, my wrath to check, +I'd wring his head from off his neck! + +"But hie thee hence to Heddybee, +Where live my youthful brothers three; +First tell them all--then stab the groom - +Allow my wife a milder doom." + + + +SIR JOHN. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +Sir Lave to the island stray'd; +He wedded there a lovely maid: +"I'll have her yet," said John. + +He brought her home across the main, +With knights and ladies in the train: +"I'm close behind," said John. + +They plac'd her on the bridal seat; +Sir Lave bade them drink and eat: +"Aye: that we will," said John. + +The servants led her then to bed, +But could not loose her girdle red! +"I can, perhaps," said John. + +He shut the door with all his might; +He lock'd it fast, and quench'd the light: +"I shall sleep here," said John. + +A servant to Sir Lave hied; - +"Sir John is sleeping with the bride:" +"Aye, that I am," said John. + +Sir Lave to the chamber flew: +"Arise, and straight the door undo!" +"A likely thing!" said John. + +He struck with shield, he struck with spear - +"Come out, thou Dog, and fight me here!" +"Another time," said John. + +"And since thou with my bride hast lain, +To our good king I will complain." +"That thou canst do," said John. + +As soon as e'er the morning shone, +Sir Lave sought our monarch's throne; +I'll go there too," said John. + +"O King, chastise this wicked wight, +For with my wife he slept last night." +"'T is very true," said John. + +"Since ye two love one pretty face, +Your lances must decide the case." +"With all my heart," said John. + +The sun on high was shining bright, +And thousands came to see the fight: +"Lo! here I am:" said John. + +The first course that they ran so free, +Sir John's horse fell upon his knee: +"Now help me God!" said John. + +The next course that they ran, in ire, +Sir Lave fell among the mire. +"He's dead enough!" said John. + +The victor to the castle hied, +And there in tears he found the bride: +"Thou art my own," said John. + +That night, forgetting all alarms, +Again she blest him in her arms. +"I have her now!" said John. + + + +MAY {3} ASDA. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + + +May Asda is gone to the merry green wood; +Like flax was each tress on her temples that stood; +Her cheek like the rose-leaf that perfumes the air; +Her form, like the lily-stalk, graceful and fair: + +She mourn'd for her lover, Sir Frovin the brave, +For he had embark'd on the boisterous wave; +And, burning to gather the laurels of war, +Had sail'd with King Humble to Orkney afar: + +At feast and at revel, wherever she went, +Her thoughts on his perils and dangers were bent; +No joy has the heart that loves fondly and dear - +No pleasure save when the lov'd object is near! + +May Asda walk'd out in the bonny noon-tide, +And roam'd where the beeches grew up in their pride; +She sat herself down on the green sloping hill, +Where liv'd the Erl-people, {4} and where they live still: + +Then trembled the turf, as she sat in repose, +And straight from the mountain three maidens arose; +And with them a loom, and upon it a woof, +As white as the snow when it falls on the roof. + +Of red shining gold was the fairy-loom made; +They sang and they danc'd, and their swift shuttles play'd; +Their song was of death, and their song was of life, +It sounded like billows in tumult and strife. + +They gave her the woof, with a sorrowful look, +And vanish'd like bubbles that burst on the brook; +But deep in the mountain was heard a sweet strain, +As the lady went home to her bower again. + +The web was unfinish'd; she wove and she spun, +Nor rested a moment, until it was done; +And there was enough, when the work was complete, +To form for a dead man a shirt or a sheet. + +The heroes return'd from the well-foughten field, +And bore home Sir Frovin's corse, laid on a shield; +Sad sight for the maid! but she still was alert, +And sew'd round the body the funeral shirt: + +And when she had come to the very last stitch, +Her feelings, so long suppress'd, rose to a pitch, +The cold clammy sweat from her features outbroke; +Death struck her, and meekly she bow'd to the stroke. + +She rests with her lover now deep in the grave, +And o'er them the beeches their mossy boughs wave; +There sing the Erl-maidens their ditties aloud, +And dance while the merry moon peeps from the cloud. + + + +AAGER AND ELIZA. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +Have ye heard of bold Sir Aager, +How he rode to yonder isle; +There he saw the sweet Eliza, +Who upon him deign'd to smile. + +There he married sweet Eliza, +With her lands and ruddy gold - +Wo is me! the Monday after, +Dead he lay beneath the mould! + +In her bower sat Eliza; +Rent the air with shriek and groan; +All which heard the good Sir Aager, +Underneath the granite stone. + +Up his mighty limbs he gather'd, +Took the coffin on his back; +And to fair Eliza's bower +Hasten'd, by the well-known track. + +On her chamber's lowly portal, +With his fingers long and thin, +Thrice he tapp'd, and bade Eliza +Straightway let her bridegroom in! + +Straightway answer'd fair Eliza, +"I will not undo my door +Till I hear thee name sweet Jesus, +As thou oft hast done before." + +"Rise, O rise, my own Eliza, +And undo thy chamber door; +I can name the name of Jesus, +As I once could do before." + +Up then rose the sweet Eliza, - +Up she rose, and twirl'd the pin. +Straight the chamber door flew open, +And the dead man glided in. + +With her comb she comb'd his ringlets, +For she felt but little fear: +On each lock that she adjusted +Fell a hot and briny tear. + +"Listen, now, my good Sir Aager, +Dearest bridegroom, all I crave +Is to know how it goes with thee, +In that lonely place, the grave?" + +"Every time that thou rejoicest, +And thy breast with pleasure heaves, +Then that moment is my coffin +Lin'd with rose and laurel leaves. + +"Every time that thou art shedding +From thine eyes the briny flood, +Then that moment is my coffin +Fill'd with black and loathsome blood. + +"Heard I not the red cock crowing, +Distant far upon the wind? +Down to dust the dead are going, +And I may not stop behind. + +"Heaven's ruddy portals open, - +Daylight bursts upon my view; +Though the word be hard to utter, +I must bid thee, love, adieu!" + +Up his mighty limbs he gather'd, +Took the coffin on his back, +To the church-yard straight he hasten'd +By the well-known, beaten, track. + +Up then rose the sweet Eliza; +Tear-drops on her features stood, +While her lover she attended +Through the dark and dreary wood. + +When they reach'd the lone enclosure, +(Last, sad, refuge of the dead) - +From the cheeks of good Sir Aager +All the lovely colour fled: + +"Listen, now, my sweet Eliza, +If my peace be dear to thee: +Never, then, from this time forward, +Shed a single tear for me. + +"Turn thy lovely eyes to heaven, +Where the stars are beaming pale; +Thou canst tell me, then, for certain, +If the night begins to fail." + +When she turn'd her eyes to heaven, +All with stars besprinkled o'er, +In the earth the dead man glided, +And she never saw him more. + +Homeward went the sweet Eliza; +Oh, her heart was chill and cold:- +Wo is me! the Monday after, +Dead she lay beneath the mould! + + + +SAINT OLUF. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +St. Oluf was a mighty king, +Who rul'd the Northern land; +The holy Christian faith he preach'd, +And taught it, sword in hand. + +St. Oluf built a lofty ship, +With sails of silk so fair; +"To Hornelummer I must go, +And see what's passing there." + +"O do not go," the seamen said, +"To yonder fatal ground, +Where savage Jutts, {5} and wicked elves, +And demon sprites, abound." + +St. Oluf climb'd the vessel's side; +His courage nought could tame! +"Heave up, heave up the anchor straight; +Let's go in Jesu's name. + +"The cross shall be my faulchion now - +The book of God my shield; +And, arm'd with them, I hope and trust +To make the demons yield." + +And swift, as eagle cleaves the sky, +The gallant vessel flew; +Direct for Hornelummer's rock, +Through ocean's wavy blue. + +'T was early in the morning tide +When she cast anchor there; +And, lo! the Jutt stood on the cliff, +To breathe the morning air: + +His eyes were like the burning beal - +His mouth was all awry; +The truth I tell, and say he stood +Full twenty cubits high: + +His beard was like a horse's mane, +And down his bosom roll'd; +The claws that fenc'd his finger ends +Were frightful to behold. + +"I never yet have seen," he cried, +"A ship come near my strand, +That here to shore I could not drag, +By putting out my hand." + +The good St. Oluf smil'd thereat, +And thus address'd his crew: +"Now hold your tongues, and well observe +What I'm about to do." + +The giant stretch'd his mighty arm; +The ship was nigh his own; +But when St. Oluf rais'd the cross, +He sank knee-deep in stone. + +"Here am I, sunk knee-deep in stone! +My legs I cannot move; +But, since my back and fists are free, +My might thou yet shalt prove." + +"Be still, be still, thou noisy guest - +Be still for evermore; +Become a rock and beetle there, +Above the billows hoar." + +Up started then, from out the hill, +The demon's hoary wife; +She curs'd the king a thousand times, +And brandish'd high her knife. + +Sore wonder'd then the little elves, +Who sat within the hill, +To see their mother, all at once, +Stand likewise stiff and still: + +"'T is done," they cried, "by yonder wight, +Who rides upon the waves; +Let's wade out to him, through the surf, +And beat him with our staves." + +At Hornelummer happen'd then, +What happen'd ne'er before; +The elfins wish'd to leave the hill, +And could not find a door: + +They ran their heads against the wall, +And tried to break it through; +They could not break the solid rock, +But broke their necks in lieu. + +Now, thanks to God, and Jesus Christ, +And good St. Oluf's arm, +To Hornelummer we can sail +Without mishap or harm. + + + +THE HEROES OF DOVREFELD. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +On Dovrefeld, {6} in Norway, +Were once together seen +The twelve heroic brothers +Of Ingeborg, the queen: + +And they were all magicians, +Possest of mighty art, +Who freely read the Runic, +And knew the rhyme by heart. {7} + +The first could turn the lightning, +And quench its ruddy gleam: +The second, with a whisper, +Could still the running stream: + +The third beneath the water +Could dive like any fish: +The fourth could get provision +By striking on his dish: + +The fifth upon the gold harp +So pleasantly could play, +That all the men who heard him +Began to dance away: + +The sixth, he had a bugle, +And when he blew a blast, +The stoutest of his foemen +Would fly before him fast: + +The seventh, unimpeded, +Through solid hills could roam: +The eighth could walk the ocean, +When billows were in foam: + +The ninth could draw, by magic, +The fishes from the deep: +The tenth was never weary, +Nor overcome by sleep: + +The eleventh bound the dragon +Which crept among the grass; +And all he wish'd to happen +Was sure to come to pass: + +The twelfth, who was reputed +The wisest of the band, +Knew what was going forward +In every foreign land. + +And now, forsooth, I tell ye, +Who listen to my strain, +That such a set of brothers +Will ne'er be seen again. + + + +SVEND VONVED. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +Grimm, in the preface to his German translation of the Kiaempe Viser, +characterizes this Ballad in the following magnificent words:- + + +"Seltsam ist das Lied von dem Held Vonved. Unter dem Empfang des +Zauberseegens und mit rathselhaften Worten, dass er nie wiederkehre +oder dann den Tod seines Vaters rachen musse, reitet er aus. Lange +sieht er keine Stadt und keinen Menschen, dann, wer sich ihm entgegen +stelit, den wirft er nieder, den Hirten legt er seine Rathsel vor +uber das edelste und abscheuungswurdigste, ubar den Gang der Sonne +und die Ruhe des Todten: wer sie nicht Iost, den erschlagt er; +trotzig sitzt er unter den Helden, ihre Anerbietungen gefallen ihm +nicht, er reitet heim, erschlagt zwolf Zauberweiber, die ihm entgegen +kommen, dann seine Mutter, endlich zernichtet er auch sein +Saitenspiel, damit kein Wohllaut mehr den wilden Sinn besanftige. Es +scheint dieses Lied vor allen in einer eigenen Bedeutung gedichtet, +und den Mismuth eines zerstorten herumirrenden Gemuths anzuzeigen, +das seine Rathsel will gelost haben: es ist die Angst eines Menschen +darin ausgedruckt, der die Flugel, die er fuhlt, nicht frei bewegen +kann, und der, wenn ihn diese Angst peinigt, gegen alles, auch gegen +sein Liebstes, wuthen muss. Dieser Charakter scheint dem Norden +gantz eigenthumlich; in dem seltsamen Leben Konigs Sigurd des +Jerusalemfahrers, auch in Shakspeare's Hamlet ist etwas ahnliches." + + +"Singular is the song of the hero Vonved. After having received the +magic blessing, he rides out, darkly hinting that he must never +return, or have avenged the death of his father. For a long time he +sees no city and no man; he then overthrows whomsoever opposes him; +he lays his enigmas before the herdsmen, concerning that which is +most grand, and that which is most horrible; concerning the course of +the sun and the repose of the dead; he who cannot explain them is +slaughtered. Haughtily he sits among the heroes--their invitations +do not please him--he rides home--slays twelve sorceresses who come +against him--then his mother, and at last he demolishes his harp, so +that no sweet sound shall in future soften his wild humour. This +song, more than any of the rest, seems to be composed with a meaning +of its own; and shows the melancholy of a ruined, wandering mind, +which will have its enigmas cleared up! The anguish of a man is +expressed therein, who cannot move freely the wings which he feels; +and, who, when this anguish torments him, is forced to deal out +destruction against all--even against his best-beloved. Such a +character seems to be quite the property of the North. In the +strange life of King Sigurd, the wanderer to Jerusalem, and likewise +in Shakspeare's Hamlet, there is something similar." + + +Svend Vonved sits in his lonely bower; +He strikes his harp with a hand of power; +His harp return'd a responsive din; +Then came his mother hurrying in: +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +In came his mother Adeline, +And who was she, but a queen, so fine: +"Now hark, Svend Vonved! out must thou ride, +And wage stout battle with knights of pride. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Avenge thy father's untimely end; +To me, or another, thy gold harp lend; +This moment boune {8} thee, and straight begone! +I rede {9} thee, do it, my own dear son." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side; +He fain will battle with knights of pride. +"When may I look for thee once more here? +When roast the heifer, and spice the beer?" +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"When stones shall take, of themselves, a flight, +And ravens' feathers are woxen {10} white, +Then may'st thou expect Svend Vonved home: +In all my days, I will never come." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +His mother took that in evil part: +"I hear, young gallant, that mad thou art; +Wherever thou goest, on land or sea, +Disgrace and shame shall attend on thee." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He kiss'd her thrice, with his lips of fire: +"Appease, O mother, appease thine ire; +Ne'er wish me any mischance to know, +For thou canst not tell how far I may go." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Then I will bless thee, this very day; +Thou never shalt perish in any fray; +Success shall be in thy courser tall; +Success in thyself, which is best of all. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Success in thy hand, success in thy foot, +In struggle with man, in battle with brute; +The holy God and Saint Drotten {11} dear +Shall guide and watch thee through thy career. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"They both shall take thee beneath their care, +Then surely thou never shalt evily fare: +See yonder sword of steel so white, +No helm nor shield shall resist its bite." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved took up the word again - +"I'll range the mountain, and rove the plain, +Peasant and noble I'll wound and slay; +All, all, for my father's wrong shall pay." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved bound his sword to his side, +He fain will battle with knights of pride; +So fierce and strange was his whole array, +No mortal ventur'd to cross his way. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +His helm was blinking against the sun, +His spurs were clinking his heels upon, . . . +His horse was springing, with bridle ringing, +While sat the warrior wildly singing. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He rode a day, he rode for three, +No town nor city he yet could see; +"Ha!" said the youth, "by my father's hand, +There is no city in all this land." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He rode and lilted, he rode and sang, +Then met he by chance Sir Thule Vang; +Sir Thule Vang, with his twelve sons bold, +All cas'd in iron, the bright and cold. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved took his sword from his side, +He fain would battle with knights so tried; +The proud Sir Thule he first ran through, +And then, in succession, his sons he slew. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side, +It lists him farther to ride, to ride; +He rode along by the grene shaw; {12} +The Brute-carl {13} there with surprise he saw. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +A wild swine sat on his shoulders broad, +Upon his bosom a black bear snor'd; +And about his fingers, with hair o'erhung, +The squirrel sported, and weasel clung. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Now, Brute-carl, yield thy booty to me, +Or I will take it by force from thee. +Say, wilt thou quickly thy beasts forego, +Or venture with me to bandy a blow? +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Much rather, much rather, I'll fight with thee, +Than thou my booty should'st get from me; +I never was bidden the like to do, +Since good King Esmer in fight I slew." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"And did'st thou slay King Esmer fine? +Why, then thou slewest dear father mine; +And soon, full soon, shalt thou pay for him, +With the flesh hackt off from thy every limb!" +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +They drew a circle upon the sward; +They both were dour, as the rocks are hard; +Forsooth, I tell you, their hearts were steel'd, - +The one to the other no jot would yield. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +They fought for a day,--they fought for two, - +And so on the third they were fain to do; +But ere the fourth day reach'd the night, +The Brute-carl fell, and was slain outright. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side, +Farther and farther he lists to ride: +He rode at the foot of a hill so steep, +There saw he a herd as he drove the sheep. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Now tell me, Herd, and tell me fair, +Whose are the sheep thou art driving there? +And what is rounder than a wheel? +And where do they eat the holiest meal?" +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Where does the fish stand up in the flood? +And where is the bird that's redder than blood? +Where do they mingle the best, best, wine? +And where with his knights does Vidrik dine?" +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +There sat the herd, he sat in thought; +To ne'er a question he answer'd aught. +Svend gave him a stroke, a stroke so sore, +That his lung and his liver came out before. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +On, on went he, till more sheep he spied; +The herd sat, too, by a deep pit's side. +"Now tell me, Herd, and tell me fair, +Whose are the sheep thou art tending there?" +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"See yonder house, with turret and tower, +There feasting serves to beguile the hour; +There dwells a man, Tygge Nold by name, +With his twelve fair sons, who are knights of fame." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Enough, Sir Herd; now lend an ear - +Go, tell Tygge Nold to come out here." +From his breast Svend Vonved a gold ring drew; +At the foot of the herd the gold ring he threw. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +And as Svend Vonved approach'd the spot, +His booty among them they 'gan to allot. +Some would have his polish'd glaive, +Others, his harness, or courser brave. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved stops, in reflection deep; +He thought it best he his horse should keep: +His hauberk and faulchion he will not lose, +Much rather to fight the youth will choose. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Had'st thou twelve sons to the twelve thou hast, +And cam'st in the midst of them charging me fast, +Sooner should'st thou wring water from steel, +Than thou in such fashion with me should'st deal. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He prick'd with his spur his courser tall, +Which sprang, at once, over the gate and wall. +Tygge Nold there he has stretch'd in blood, +And his twelve sons too, that beside him stood. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Then turn'd he his steed, in haste, about, - +Svend Vonved, the knight, so youthful and stout; +Forward he went o'er mountain and moor, +No mortal he met, which vex'd him sore. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He came, at length, to another flock, +Where a herd sat combing his yellow lock: +"Now listen, Herd, with the fleecy care; +Listen, and give me answers fair." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"What is rounder than a wheel? +Where do they eat the holiest meal? +Where does the sun go down to his seat? +And where do they lay the dead man's feet?" +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"What fills the valleys one and all? +What is cloth'd best in the monarch's hall? +What cries more loud than cranes can cry? +And what can in whiteness the swan outvie? +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Who on his back his beard does wear? +Who 'neath his chin his nose does bear? +What's more black than the blackest sloe? +And what is swifter than a roe? +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Where is the bridge that is most broad? +What is, by man, the most abhorr'd? +Where leads, where leads, the highest road up? +And say, where the hottest of drink they sup." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"The sun is rounder than a wheel. +They eat at the altar the holiest meal. +The sun in the West goes down to his seat: +And they lay to the East the dead man's feet. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Snow fills the valleys, one and all. +Man is cloth'd best in the monarch's hall. +Thunder cries louder than cranes can cry. +Angels in whiteness the swan outvie. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"His beard on his back the lapwing wears. +His nose 'neath his chin the elfin bears. {14} +More black is sin than the blackest sloe: +And thought is swifter than any roe. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Ice is, of bridges, the bridge most broad. +The toad is, of all things, the most abhorr'd. +To paradise leads the highest road up: +And in hell the hottest of drink they sup." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Now hast thou given me answers fair, +To each and all of my questions rare; +And now, I pray thee, be my guide, +To the nearest spot where warriors bide." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"To Sonderborg I'll show thee straight, +Where drink the heroes early and late: +There thou wilt find of knights a crew, +Haughty of heart, and hard to subdue." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +With a bright gold ring was his arm array'd, +Full fifteen pounds that gold ring weigh'd, +That has he given the herd, for a meed, +Because he will show him the knights with speed. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved enter'd the castle yard; +There Randulph, wrapt in his skins, {15} kept guard: +"Ho! Caitiff, ho! with shield and brand, +What art thou doing in this my land?" +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"I will, I will, with my single hand, +Take from thee, Knave, the whole of thy land: +I will, I will, with my single toe, +Lay thee and each of thy castles low." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Thou shalt not, with thy single hand, +Take from me, Hound, an inch of my land; +And far, far less, shalt thou, with thy toe, +Lay me or one of my castles low. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Thou shalt not e'er, with finger of thine, +Strike asunder one limb of mine; {16} +I am for thee too woxen and stark, +As thou, to thy cost, shalt quickly mark." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved unsheath'd his faulchion bright, +With haughty Randulph he fain will fight; +Randulph he there has slain in his might, +And Strandulph too, with full good right. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +The rest against him came out pell-mell, +Then slew he Carl Ege, the fierce and fell:- +He slew the great, he slew the small; +He slew till his foes were slaughter'd all. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side, +It lists him farther to ride, to ride; +He found upon the desolate wold +A burly {17} knight, of aspect bold. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Now tell me, Rider, noble and good, +Where does the fish stand up in the flood? +Where do they mingle the best, best wine? +And where with his knights does Vidrik dine?" +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"The fish in the East stands up in the flood. +They drink in the North the wine so good. +In Halland's hall does Vidrik dine, +With his swains around, and his warriors fine." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +From his breast Svend Vonved a gold ring drew; +At the foot of the knight the gold ring he threw: +"Go! say thou wert the very last man +Who gold from the hand of Svend Vonved wan." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved came where the castle rose; +He bade the watchmen the gate unclose: +As none of the watchmen obey'd his cry, +He sprang at once over the ramparts high. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He tied his steed to a ring in the wall, +Then in he went to the wide stone hall; +Down he sat at the head of the board, +To no one present he utter'd a word. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He drank and he ate, he ate and he drank, +He ask'd no leave, and return'd no thank; +"Ne'er have I been on Christian ground +Where so many curst tongues were clanging round." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +King Vidrik spoke to good knights three: +"Go, bind that lowering swain for me; +Should ye not bind the stranger guest, +Ye will not serve me as ye can best." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Should'st thou send three, and twenty times three, +And come thyself to lay hold of me; +The son of a dog thou wilt still remain, +And yet to bind me have tried in vain. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Esmer, my father, who lies on his bier, +And proud Adeline, my mother so dear, +Oft and strictly have caution'd me +To waste no breath upon hounds like thee." +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"And was King Esmer thy father's name, +And Adeline that of his virtuous Dame? +Thou art Svend Vonved, the stripling wild, +My own dear sister's only child. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Svend Vonved, wilt thou bide with me here? +Honour awaits thee, and costly cheer; +Whenever it lists thee abroad to wend, +Upon thee shall knights and swains attend. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +"Silver and gold thou never shalt lack, +Or helm to thy head, or mail to thy back;" +But to this and the like he would lend no ear, +And home to his mother he now will steer. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Svend Vonved gallop'd along the way; +To fancies dark was his mind a prey: +Riding he enter'd the castle yard +Where stood twelve witches wrinkled and scarr'd: +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +There stood they all, with spindle and rok, {18} - +Each over the shinbone gave him a knock: +Svend turn'd his steed, in fury, round; +The witches he there has hew'd to the ground. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +He hew'd the witches limb from limb, +So little mercy they got from him; +His mother came out, and was serv'd the same, +Into fifteen pieces he hackt her frame. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + +Then in he went to his lonely bower, +There drank he the wine, the wine of power: +His much-lov'd harp he play'd upon +Till the strings were broken, every one. +Look out, look out, Svend Vonved. + + + +THE TOURNAMENT. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +This is one of those Ballads which, from the days of Arild, have been +much sung in Denmark: we find in it the names and bearings of most +of those renowned heroes, who are mentioned separately in other +poems. It divides itself into two parts;--the first, which treats of +the warrior's bearings, has a great resemblance to the 178th chapter +of the Vilkina Saga, as likewise has the last part, wherein the Duel +is described, to the 180th and 181st chapters of the same. + +I cannot here forbear quoting and translating what Anders Sorensen +Vedel, the good old Editor of the first Edition of the Kiaempe Viser, +which appeared in 1591, says concerning the apparently superhuman +performances of the heroes therein celebrated. + +"Hvad ellers Kiaempernes Storlemhed Styrke og anden Vilkaar berorer, +som overgaaer de Menneskers der nu leve deres Vaext og Kraft, det +Stykke kan ikke her noksom nu forhandles, men skal i den Danske +Kronikes tredie Bog videligere omtales. Thi det jo i Sandhed +befindes og bevises af adskillige Documenter og Kundskab, at disse +gamle Hellede, som de kaldes, have levet fast laenger, og vaeret +mandeligere storre staerkere og hoiere end den gemene Mand er, som nu +lever paa denne Dag." + +"That part which relates to these Warriors' size, strength, or other +qualities, so far surpassing the stature and powers of the men who +now exist, cannot be here sufficiently treated upon, but shall be +further discussed in the third Book of the Danish Chronicles: for, +in truth, it is discovered and proved from various documents and +sources, that these old heroes, as they are called, lived much +longer, and were manlier, stouter, stronger, and taller, than man at +the present day." + +Six score there were, six score and ten, +From Hald that rode that day; +And when they came to Brattingsborg +They pitch'd their pavilion gay. + +King Nilaus stood on the turret's top, +Had all around in sight: +"Why hold those heroes their lives so cheap, +That it lists them here to fight? + +"Now, hear me, Sivard Snaresvend; +Far hast thou rov'd, and wide, +Those warriors' weapons thou shalt prove, +To their tent thou must straightway ride." + +It was Sivard Snaresvend, +To the broad tent speeded he then: +"I greet ye fair, in my master's name, +All, all, ye Dane king's men. + +"Now, be not wroth that here I come; +I come as a warrior, free: +The battle together we soon will prove; +Let me your bearings see." + +There stands upon the first good shield +A lion, so fierce and stark, +With a crown on his head, of the ruddy gold, +That is King Diderik's mark. + +There shine upon the second shield +A hammer and pincers bright; +Them carries Vidrik Verlandson, +Ne'er gives he quarter in fight. + +There shines upon the third good shield +A falcon, blazing with gold; +And that by Helled Hogan is borne; +No knight, than he, more bold. + +There shines upon the fourth good shield +An eagle, and that is red; +Is borne by none but Olger, the Dane; +He strikes his foemen dead. + +There shines upon the fifth good shield +A couchant hawk, on a wall; +That's borne by Master Hildebrand; +He tries, with heroes, a fall. + +And now comes forth the sixth good shield +A linden is thereupon; +And that by young Sir Humble is borne, +King Abelon's eldest son. + +There shines upon the seventh good shield +A spur, of a fashion so free; +And that is borne by Hogan, the less, +Because he will foremost be. + +There shines upon the eighth good shield +A gray wolf, meagre and gaunt; +Is borne by youthful Ulf van Jern; +Beware how him you taunt! + +There shine upon the ninth good shield +Three arrows, and white are they; +Are borne by Vidrik Stageson, +And trust that gallant you may. + +There shines upon the tenth good shield +A fiddle, and 'neath it a bow; +That's borne by Folker Spillemand; +For drink he will sleep forego. + +There shines upon the eleventh shield +A dragon that looks so dire; +Is carried by Orm, the youthful swain; +He trembles at no man's ire. + +And, now, behold the twelfth good shield, +And upon it a burning brand; +Is borne by stout Sir Vifferlin +Through many a prince's land. + +There stands upon the thirteenth shield +A sprig of the mournful yew; +That's borne by Harrald Griskeson; +And he's a comrade true. + +There stand upon the fourteenth shield +A cloak, and a mighty staff; +And them bore Alsing, the stalwart monk, +When he beat his foes to chaff. + +And now comes forth the fifteenth shield, +And upon it three naked blades +Are borne by good King Esmer's sons, +In their wars and furious raids. + +There stands upon the sixteenth shield, +With coal-black pinion, a crow; +That's borne by rich Count Raadengaard; +The dark Runes well can he throw. {19} + +There shines upon the seventeenth shield +A horse, so stately and high, +Is borne by Count Sir Guncelin; +"Slay! slay! bide not," is his cry. + +There shine upon the eighteenth shield +A man, and a fierce wild boar, +Are borne by the Count of Lidebierg; +His blows fall heavy and sore. + +There shines upon the nineteenth shield +A hound, at the stretch of his speed; +Is borne by Oisten Kiaempe, bold; +He risks his neck without heed. + +There shines upon the twentieth shield, +Among branches, a rose, so gay; +Wherever Sir Nordman comes in war, +He bears bright honour away. + +There shines on the one-and-twentieth shield +A vase, and of copper 't is made; +That's borne by Mogan Sir Olgerson; +He wins broad lands with his blade. + +And now comes forth the next good shield, +With a sun dispelling the mirk; +And that by Asbiorn Milde is borne; +He sets the knights' backs at work. {20} + +There shines on the three-and-twentieth shield +An arm, in a manacle bound; +And that by Alvor Sir Lange is borne, +To the heroes he hands mead round. + +Now comes the four-and-twentieth shield, +And a bright sword there you see; +And that by Humble Sir Jerfing is borne; +Full worthy of that is he. + +There shines upon the next good shield +A goss-hawk, striking his game; +That's borne by a knight, the best of all - +Sir Iver Blaa is his name. + +Now comes the six-and-twentieth shield, +A jav'lin there you spy; +Is borne by little Mimring Tan; +From no one will he fly. + +Such knights and bearings as were there, +And who can them all relate; +It was Sivard, the Snaresvend; +No longer he deign'd to wait. + +"If there be one of the Dane king's men, +Who at Dyst {21} is willing to ride, +Let him, I pray, without pause or delay, +Meet me by the wild wood's side. + +"The man among you, ye Danish court men, +Who at Dyst has won most meeds; +Him I am ready to fight, this day, +For both of our noble steeds." + +The heroes cast the die on the board; +The die it roll'd so wide: +"Since, young Sir Humble, it stops by thee, +'Gainst Sivard thou must ride." + +Sir Humble struck his hand on the board; +No longer he lists to play: +I tell you, forsooth, that the rosy hue +From his cheek fast faded away. + +"Now, hear me, Vidrik Verlandson; +Thou art so free a man; +Do lend me Skimming, thy horse, this day; +I'll pledge for him what I can: + +"Eight good castles, in Birting's land, +As pledges for him I'll set; +My sister too, the lily-cheek'd maid, +A fairer thou ne'er hast met: + +"Eight good castles, and eight good knights; +I'd scorn to offer thee less: +If Skimming should meet any hurt this day, +My sister thou shalt caress." + +"If yonder mountains all were gold, +And yonder streams were wine; +The whole for Skimming I would not take; +I bless God he is mine. + +"Sivard is a purblind swain; +Sees not to his faulchion's end: +If Skimming were hurt thou couldst not pay me +With the help of thy every friend. + +"The sword it whirls in Sivard's hand, +As whirl the sails of the mill; +If thou take Skimming 'gainst that wild fool, +'T is sorely against my will." + +Humble, he sat him on Skimming's back, +So gallantly can he ride; +But Skimming thought it passing strange +That a spur was clapt to his side. + +The first course that together they rode, +So strong were the knightly two, +Asunder went Humble's saddle-ring, +And a furlong his good shield flew. + +"Methinks thou art a fair young swain, +And well thy horse canst ride; +Dismount thee, straight, and gird up thy steed; +I am willing for thee to bide." + +The second course that together they rode +Was worthy of knights renown'd; +Then both their saddles burst in two, +And Humble was sent to the ground. + +"Now have I cast thee from thy steed, +Thy courser by right is mine; +But, tell me, youthful and gallant swain, +Who art thou, and of what line? + +"Now have I won from thee the prize, +And Skimming belongs to me; +But, tell me, youthful and gallant swain, +What parents gave birth to thee?" + +"Abelon is my father's name; +He sits upon Birting's throne: +Queen Ellina my mother is, +And that for truth is known. + +"Queen Ellina my mother is - +A Queen whom all admire; +Good King Abelon Haardestaal, +So call they my hoary sire. + +"And who am I, but Humble, the young, +A knight of Birting's land; +Of hero race, whose fame extends +To the wide earth's farthest strand." + +"If Abelon be thy father's name, +The courser I straight restore; +Thou art, I find, my very good friend; +I knew thee not, youth, before. + +"If Queen Ellina thy mother is, +Then Skimming thou hast rewon; +Thou art, indeed, my very good friend; +Thou art my sister's son. + +"Take both the shield ropes, take them straight, +And bind me to yon oak tree; +Then hie thee back to King Diderik, +And say thou hast conquer'd me." + +In came Humble, the youthful knight, +Was clad in a kirtle, green; +"O! I have got my courser again, +And have bound the warrior keen." + +In came Humble, with boot and spur, +He cast on the table his sword: +"Sivard stands in the green wood bound, +He speaks not a single word. + +"O, I have been to the wild forest, +And have seiz'd the warrior stark; +Sivard there was taken by me, +And tied to the oak's rough bark." + +"Now hear me, young Sir Humble, the knight, +'T is plain a jest is meant, +Whenever Sivard was bound by thee, +'T was done with his own consent." + +It was Vidrik Verlandson, +And he would fain know all. +"O, I will ride to the wood, and see +How Sivard endures his thrall." + +Vidrik spoke to his burly groom: +"Go, saddle me Skimming gray, +For I will ride to the wood, and hear +What Sivard himself will say." + +Sivard stands in the good green wood, +There sees he Vidrik ride: +"If Vidrik finds me bounden here, +He'll hew my rib-bones from my side." + +Then loud laugh'd Vidrik Verlandson, +And Skimming began to neigh, +For Sivard rooted the oak tree up; +He dar'd no longer stay. + +The queen she sat in the high, high, loft, +And thence look'd far and wide: +"O there comes Sivard Snaresvend, +With a stately oak at his side." + +Then loud laugh'd fair Queen Gloriant, +As she look'd on Sivard full: +"Thou wert, no doubt, in great, great need, +When thou such flowers didst pull." + +The King he stood at the castle gate, +In his robes and kingly crown: +"O there comes Sivard Snaresvend, +And he brings us Summer to town."{22} + +Now dance the heroes by Brattingsborg; +They dance in their coats of felt; +There dances Sivard, the purblind swain, +With an oak tree under his belt. + + + +VIDRIK VERLANDSON. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +King Diderik sits in the halls of Bern, +And he boasts of his deeds of might; +So many a swain in battle he's fell'd, +And taken so many a knight. + +King Diderik sits in the halls of Bern, +And he strikes his moony shield; +"O, would that I knew of a hero now, +'Gainst whom I could take the field." + +Then answer'd Master Hildebrand, +(For he knew all things best,) +"There sleeps a Giant at Birtingsberg; +Dar'st thou disturb his rest?" + +"Now, hear me, Master Hildebrand; +Thou art huge in body and limb; +Thou foremost shall ride, in the wood, this day, +And bear our challenge to him." + +Then answer'd Master Hildebrand, +So careful a knight was he; +"Not so, my Lord, will I do, this day, +For the wages delight not me." + +Then out spoke Vidrik Verlandson, +And he spoke in wrathful mood; +"O, I'll be first of the band, this day, +All through the Birting wood." + +Then out spoke Vidrik Verlandson, +And he spoke with lofty pride; +"The smith he forg'd me a faulchion good, +That can steel, like cloth, divide." + +They were three hundred valorous knights, +Unto Birting's land that rode; +They go in quest of Langben the Jutt, +To the gloomy wood, his abode. + +Then out spoke Vidrik Verlandson; +"A wondrous game we'll play; +For I will ride in the green wood first, +If ye'll but trust me away." + +Then answer'd bold King Diderik, +He answer'd hastily then; +"When thou therein shalt have found the Jutt +Come back for me and my men." + +It was Vidrik Verlandson, +In the forest alone he sped; +And there he found so little a way, +Which up to the Giant led. + +It was Vidrik Verlandson, +He came unto Birting's hill; +There black and dread lay Langben the Jutt, +He lay stretch'd out, and still. + +It was Vidrik Verlandson, +With his lance touch'd him on the knee; +"Wake up! wake up! now Langben the Jutt, +Thou sleepest full sound, I see." + +"Here have I lain, for many a year, +'Mid the leaf and the dew-wet herb; +But never, till now, came a warrior by, +That has dar'd my sleep to disturb." + +"Here stand I, Vidrik Verlandson, +With a sword, so good, at my side; +I came to wake thee up from thy sleep, +Betide whatever betide." + +It was Langben the Giant, then, +Turn'd up the white of his eye; +"O, whence can come this warrior youth, +Who such bold words lets fly? + +"But hear, but hear, thou warrior youth; +I will not do battle with thee, +Except thou prove of a knightly race; +So thy lineage tell to me." + +"A handsome smith my father was, +And Verland hight was he: +Bodild they call'd my mother fair; +Queen over countries three: + +"Skimming I call my noble steed, +Begot from the wild sea-mare: +Blank {23} do I call my haughty helm, +Because it glitters so fair: + +"Skrepping I call my good thick shield; +Steel shafts have furrow'd it o'er: +Mimmering have I nam'd my sword; +'T is harden'd in heroes' gore: + +"And I am Vidrik Verlandson; +For clothes bright iron I wear: +Stand'st thou not up on thy long, long legs, +I'll pin thee down to thy lair: + +"Do thou stand up on thy long, long legs, +Nor look so dogged and grim; +The King holds out before the wood; +Thou shalt yield thy treasure to him." + +"All, all the gold that I possess, +I will keep with great renown; +I'll yield it at no little horse-boy's word, +To the best king wearing a crown." + +"So young and little as here I seem, +Thou shalt find me prompt in a fray; +I'll hew the head from thy shoulders off, +And thy much gold bear away." + +It was Langben the mighty Jutt, +With fury his heart was fir'd; +"Ride hence! ride hence! thou warrior youth, +If of life thou be not tir'd." + +Skimming sprang up, with both his legs, +Against the giant's side +Asunder went five of his rib-bones then, +And the fight began at that tide. + +It was Langben the lofty Jutt, +He wav'd his steel mace round; +He sent a blow after Vidrik; +But the mace struck deep in the ground. + +It was Langben the lofty Jutt, +Who had thought his foeman to slay, +But the blow fell short of Vidrik; +For the good horse bore him away. + +It was Langben the lofty Jutt, +That shouted in wild despair: +"Now lies my mace in the hillock fast, +As though 't were hammer'd in there!" + +Vidrik paus'd no moment's space; +So ready was he to assail: +"Upon him, Skimming, upon him once more! +Now, Mimmering, now prevail!" + +He seiz'd his sword in both his hands, +Unto Langben Giant he flew; +He struck him so hard in the hairy breast, +That the point his lungs went through. + +Now Langben Giant has got a wound, +And he's waken'd thoroughly now; +So gladly would he have paid it back, +But, alas! he knew not how. + +"Accursed be thou, young Vidrik! +And accurs'd thy piercing steel! +Thou hast given me, see, a wound in my breast, +Whence rise the pains I feel." + +I'll hew thee, Giant, I'll hew thee as small +As leaves that are borne on the blast, +Except thou showest me all the gear, +That hid in the forest thou hast." + +"Forbear, O Vidrik Verlandson, +Strike me not cruelly dead! +And I will lead thee straight to my house, +That's thatch'd with gold so red." + +Vidrik rode, and the Giant crept, +So far through the forest ways, +They found the house with the red gold thatch'd; +It glitter'd like straw in a blaze. + +"Therein, therein are heaps of gold, +No King has a greater store; +Do thou remove the big black stone, +And lift from the hinges the door." + +With both hands Vidrik seiz'd the stone, +But to stir it in vain did he try; +The Giant took it with finger and thumb, +And lifted it up in the sky. + +"Now hear, now hear, thou warrior youth, +Thou canst wheel thy courser about; +But in every feat of manly strength +I could beat thee out and out." + +Then answer'd Vidrik Verlandson, +(He fear'd for himself some ill) +"'T is not the custom of any wise man +His strength on a stone to spill." + +"Therein, therein is much more gold +Than fifteen kings can show; +Hear me, Vidrik Verlandson, +Thou therein first shalt go." + +Then answer'd Vidrik Verlandson, +(For his cunning intent he saw) +"Thou shalt lead the way into thine own house, +For that is warrior-law." + +It was Langben the Giant then, +To the door he stoop'd down low: +It was Vidrik Verlandson +Cleft off his head at a blow. + +Away the quivering body he drew, +And propp'd it against an oak; +Then back he rode the long, long way, +He's thought of a wondrous joke. + +With giant's blood he besmear'd himself, +And besmear'd his steed all o'er; +Then back he rides to King Diderik, +Pretends to be wounded sore. + +"Here bide ye in peace, my companions good, +All under the grass-green hill; +Langben the Giant has smote me to day, +I doubt I shall fare but ill." + +"If thou from the Giant hast got a blow, +Thy life must be nigh its close; +We'll ride swift back to the halls of Bern, +No man more will we lose." + +"Now wend thee, bold King Diderik, +Wend into the wood with me; +And all the gold that the giant had, +That will I show to thee." + +"If thou hast slain the giant this day, +'T will far be blaz'd in the land; +And the warrior lives not in this world, +'Gainst whom thou may'st fear to stand." + +But what befel King Diderik's men? +When the giant they first perceiv'd, +They all stopp'd short, in the good green wood, +Of courage at once bereav'd. + +They thought the giant verily would +That moment after them stride: +Not one of them all would have battled with him; +Back would they all have hied. + +It was Vidrik Verlandson, +He laugh'd at their craven fear: +"How would ye have fac'd him when alive, +Ye dare not him, dead, go near? + +With his lance's haft the body he push'd, +The head came toppling down: +That the Giant was a warrior stark, +Forsooth, I am forc'd to own. + +Out took they then his ruddy gold, +And shar'd it amongst the band: +To Vidrik came the largest part, +For 't was earn'd with his good hand. + +Little car'd he for the booty, I ween, +But he thought of his meed of fame; +When men should say, in the Danish land, +That the Giant he overcame. + +So gladly rode they to Bern again; +King Diderik gladdest of all: +There caus'd he Vidrik Verlandson +To sit next him in the hall. + + + +ELVIR HILL. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +Upon this Ballad Oehlenslaeger founded his "Elvir Shades," a +translation of which has already been given. + + +I rested my head upon Elvir Hill's side, and my eyes were beginning +to slumber; +That moment there rose up before me two maids, whose charms would +take ages to number. + +One patted my face, and the other exclaim'd, while loading my cheek +with her kisses, +"Rise, rise, for to dance with you here we have sped from the +undermost caves and abysses. + +"Rise, fair-headed swain, and refuse not to dance; and I and my +sister will sing thee +The loveliest ditties that ever were heard, and the prettiest +presents will bring thee." + +Then both of them sang so delightful a song, that the boisterous +river before us +Stood suddenly quiet and placid, as though 't were afraid to disturb +the sweet chorus. + +The boisterous stream stood suddenly still, though accustom'd to foam +and to bellow; +And, fearless, the trout play'd along with the pike, and the pike +play'd with him as his fellow. + +The fishes, whose dwelling was deep in the flood, up, up from their +caverns did sally; +The gay little birds of the forest began to warble, forthwith, in the +valley. + +"Now, listen thou fair-headed swain, and if thou wilt stand up and +dance for a minute, +We'll teach thee to open the sorcerer's book, and to read all the +Runic that's in it. + +"The bear and the wolf thou shalt trammel, unto the thick stem of the +oak, at thy pleasure; +Before thee the dragon shall fly from his nest, and shall leave thee +sole lord of his treasure." + +Then about and around on the moonlight hill, in their fairy fashion +they sported, +While unmov'd sat the gallant and fair young swain, whom they, in +their wantonness, courted. + +"And wilt thou not grant us our civil request, proud stripling, and +wilt thou deny it? +By hell's ruddy blazes, our gold-handled knife shall lay thee for +ever in quiet." + +And if my good luck had not manag'd it so, that the cock crew out, +then, in the distance, +I should have been murder'd by them, on the hill, without power to +offer resistance. + +'T is therefore I counsel each young Danish swain, who may ride in +the forest so dreary, +Ne'er to lay down upon lone Elvir Hill though he chance to be ever so +weary. + + + +WALDEMAR'S CHASE. + + + +The following Ballad is merely a versification of one of the many +feats of Waldemar, the famed phantom hunter of the North, an account +of whom, and of Palnatoka and Groon the Jutt, both spectres of a +similar character, may be found in Thiele's Danske Folkesagn. + + +Late at eve they were toiling on Harribee bank, +For in harvest men ne'er should be idle: +Towards them rode Waldemar, meagre and lank, +And he linger'd and drew up his bridle. + +"Success to your labour; and have ye to night +Seen any thing pass ye, while reaping?" +"Yes, yes;" said a peasant, "I saw something white, +Just now, through the corn-stubble creeping." + +"Which way did it go?" "Why methought to the beach." +Then off went Waldemar bounding; +A few minutes after, they heard a faint screech, +And the horn of the hunter resounding. + +Then back came he, laughing in horrible tone, +And the blood in their veins ran the colder, +When they saw that a fresh-slaughter'd mermaid was thrown +Athwart his proud barb's dappled shoulder. + +Said he, "I have chas'd her for seven score years, +As she landed to drink at the fountains." +No more did he deign to their terrified ears, +But gallop'd away to the mountains. + + + +THE MERMAN. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +"Do thou, dear Mother, contrive amain +How Marsk Stig's daughter I may gain." + +She made him, of water, a noble steed, +Whose trappings were form'd from rush and reed. + +To a young knight chang'd she then her son; +To Mary's church at full speed he's gone. + +His foaming horse to the gate he bound, +And pac'd the church full three times round: + +When in he walk'd with his plume on high, +The dead men gave from their tombs a sigh: + +The priest heard that, and he clos'd his book; +"Methinks yon knight has a strange wild look." + +Then laugh'd the maiden beneath her sleeve; +"If he were my husband I should not grieve." + +He stepp'd over benches one and two: +"O, Marsk Stig's daughter, I doat on you." + +He stepp'd over benches two and three: +"O, Marsk Stig's daughter, come home with me." + +Then said the maid, without more ado, +"Here take my troth, I will go with you." + +They went from the church a bridal train, +And danc'd so gaily across the plain; + +They danc'd till they came to the strand, and then +They were forsaken by maids and men. + +"Now, Marsk Stig's daughter, sit down and rest; +To build a boat I will do my best." + +He built a boat of the whitest sand, +And away they went from the smiling land; + +But when they had cross'd the ninth green wave, +Down sunk the boat to the ocean cave! + +I caution ye, maids, as well as I can, +Ne'er give your troth to an unknown man. + + + +THE DECEIVED MERMAN. +FROM THE OLD DANISH. + + + +Fair Agnes alone on the sea-shore stood, +Then rose a Merman from out the flood: + +"Now, Agnes, hear what I say to thee, +Wilt thou my leman consent to be?" + +"O, freely that will I become, +If thou but take me beneath the foam." + +He stopp'd her ears, and he stopp'd her eyes, +And into the ocean he took his prize. + +The Merman's leman was Agnes there, - +She bore him sons and daughters fair: + +One day by the cradle she sat and sang, +Then heard she above how the church bells rang: + +She went to the Merman, and kiss'd his brow; +"Once more to church I would gladly go." + +"And thou to church once more shalt go, +But come to thy babes back here below." + +He flung his arm her body around, +And he lifted her up unto England's ground. + +Fair Agnes in at the church door stepp'd, +Behind her mother, who sorely wept. + +"O Agnes, Agnes, daughter dear! +Where hast thou been this many a year?" + +"O, I have been deep, deep under the sea, +And liv'd with the Merman in love and glee." + +"And what for thy honour did he give thee, +When he made thee his leman beneath the sea?" + +"He gave me silver, he gave me gold, +And sprigs of coral my hair to hold." + +The Merman up to the church door came; +His eyes they shone like a yellow flame; + +His face was white, and his beard was green - +A fairer demon was never seen. + +"Now, Agnes, Agnes, list to me, +Thy babes are longing so after thee." + +"I cannot come yet, here must I stay +Until the priest shall have said his say." + +And when the priest had said his say, +She thought with her mother at home she'd stay. + +"O Agnes, Agnes, list to me, +Thy babes are sorrowing after thee." + +"Let them sorrow, and sorrow their fill, +But back to them never return I will." + +"Think on them, Agnes, think on them all; +Think on the great one, think on the small." + +"Little, O little, care I for them all, +Or for the great one, or for the small." + +O, bitterly then did the Merman weep; +He hied him back to the foamy deep: + +But, often his shrieks and mournful cries, +At midnight's hour, from thence arise. + + + + +MISCELLANIES. + + + + +CANTATA. + + + +This is Denmark's holyday; +Dance, ye maidens! +Sing, ye men! +Tune, ye harpers! +Blush, ye heroes! +This is Denmark's holyday. + +ONE VOICE. + +In right's enjoyment, in the arm of love, +Beneath the olive's shadow, +The Daneman sat; +Whilst wet and steaming wav'd the bloody flag +Above the regions of the sunny South. +Pure was our heaven, - +Pure and blue; +For, with his pinions, angel Peace dispell'd +All reek and vapour from mild virtue's sphere; +Then lower'd Battle's blood-bespatter'd son +Upon our coast, - +And haggard Envy lent to him her torch, +Which sparkled high with hell's sulphureous light, +Then fled the genius of peace, and wept. + +A SECOND VOICE. + +But mighty thunders peal'd; the earth it shook, +While rattled all the moss-grown giant stones, {24} +And Oldom's sunken grave-hill rais'd itself; +Then started Skiold and Frode, +And Svend, and Knud, and Waldemar, {25} +In copper hauberks up, and pointing to +Rust-spots of blood on faulchion and on shield - +They vanish'd: +And in the Gothic aisles, high arch'd and dim, +Wild flutter'd of itself, the ancient banner +Which hung above a hero's bones; +The faulchion clatter'd loud and ceaselessly +Within the tomb of Christian the Fourth, {26} +By Tordenskiold's {27} chapel on the strand, +Wild rose the daring Mermaid's witching song; +The stones were loosen'd round about the grave +Where lay great Juul; +And Hvidtfeld, clad in a transparent mist, +With smiles cherubic beaming on his face, +Stray'd, arm in arm, with his heroic brothers, +Along the deep. + +CHORUS. + +We felt the presence of one and all; +The old flags wav'd in the arsenal, +A wondrous spirit went round, went round +The Northern ground. + +ONE VOICE. + +Then waken'd Thor, {28} +And drew around his loins the mighty belt +Of bear-sinews; +With love fraternal harden'd he his shield, +With eager haste he sharp'd his blunted glaive, +And, with the iron of his hammer, touch'd +Each Dane's and every Norman's breast - +Shot his heroic flame therein, and smil'd! + +MANY VOICES. + +And Denmark and Norway smil'd. + +LOUD CHORUS. + +Upon the water, +Upon the land, +We boun'd for slaughter, +At Thor's command. + +MAIDENS. + +Then fell our tears so quickly, +We breath'd, we breath'd so thickly, +While scarce our lips could stammer forth +Prayers for you, and for the North. + +MATRONS. + +And we, and we, with breasts that smarted, +Knelt, lowly knelt, whilst firm ye stood, +From us and from affection parted, +In reek and smoke, in brothers' blood! + +CHORUS OF MEN. + +Tenderness comes from God; +Woman and man in its praise should sing; +But tenderness flies at honour's nod; +We offer all up to our land and King. + +ONE VOICE. + +What sang ye, warlike throngs? +Repeat, repeat this day, +One of the simple, nervous, songs +Ye murmur'd out, when, hot with wrongs, +Ye waited the coming fray. + +UNIVERSAL CHORUS. + +We love, we all love thee, beneficent Peace, &c. + +SOLO. + +Like the wave of the wild North main, +Foaming and frothing came on our foe; +Proud of his triumphs, proud of his train, +He thought to lay us low: +But, from Denmark's lines of oak, +A horrible, horrible volley outbroke; +Then tumbled his mast, +His courage fell fast; +And the wave, which resembled his furious mood, +Was now with his blood embrued. + +CHORUS. + +This is Denmark's holyday; +Dance, ye maidens! +Sing, ye men! +Tune, ye harpers! +Blush, ye heroes! +This is Denmark's holyday. + +A VOICE. + +But, hark! what sobbing and what mournful notes +Are mixing with our hymns of ardent joy! +Hush, hush, be still; +A band of white-rob'd maids approaches slow, +With lily chaplets round their yellow locks, +With heavy tear-drops in their sunken eye; +Broken and trembling sounds +The melancholy song, +Accompanied by harp-tones rising mild. + +YOUTHFUL MAIDENS. + +Love, with rosy fetter, +Held us firmly bound; +Pure unmix'd enjoyment +Grateful here we found. +Bosom, bosom meeting, +'Gainst our youths we press'd; +Bright the moon arose, then, +Glad to see us blest. + +Denmark's honour beckon'd, +Loud the canon roar'd; +Perish'd in the battle +They whom we ador'd. +Sweet is, grave, thy slumber, +Free from care and noise; +Short are earthly sorrows, - +Endless heaven's joys. + +SUDDEN CHORUS OF THE SLAIN WARRIORS IS HEARD FROM ON HIGH. + +From the heavenly, clear, invisible, home +Our voices come: +No joy can resemble the joy which reigns +In our seraph veins. +Lov'd ones, lov'd ones, weep for us not, +Soon shall ye here partake of our lot; +High o'er the stars' extremest line +The sun of affection more bright shall shine: +Brothers, brothers, 't is sweet to die +For the land of our birth, and the maid of our eye. +Blest are ye who like us shall fall; +The righteous Jehovah rewards, above, +Courage and love: +Hallelujah, peace be with you all! + + + +THE HAIL-STORM. +FROM THE NORSE. + + + +Sigvald Jarl was a famous Sea Rover, who, when unengaged in his +predatory expeditions, resided at Jomsborg, in Denmark. He was the +terror of the Norwegian coasts, which he ravaged and pillaged almost +at his pleasure. Hacon Jarl, who at that time sat on the Norwegian +throne, being informed that Sigvald meditated a grand descent, and +knowing that he himself was unable to oppose him, had recourse to his +God, Thorgerd, to whom he sacrificed his son Erling. In what manner +Thorgerd assisted him and his forces, when the Danes landed, will +best be learned from the bold song which the circumstance gave rise +to, and which the following is a feeble attempt to translate. + + +When from our ships we bounded, +I heard, with fear astounded, +The storm of Thorgerd's waking, +From Northern vapours breaking; +With flinty masses blended, +Gigantic hail descended, +And thick and fiercely rattled +Against us there embattled. + +To aid the hostile maces, +It drifted in our faces; +It drifted, dealing slaughter, +And blood ran out like water - +Ran reeking, red, and horrid, +From batter'd cheek and forehead; +We plied our swords, but no men +Can stand 'gainst hail and foemen. + +And demon Thorgerd raging +To see us still engaging, +Shot, downward from the heaven, +His shafts of flaming levin; +Then sank our brave in numbers, +To cold eternal slumbers; +There lay the good and gallant, +Renown'd for warlike talent. + +Our captain, this perceiving, +The signal made for leaving, +And with his ship departed, +Downcast and broken-hearted; +War, death, and consternation, +Pursu'd our embarkation; +We did our best, but no men +Can stand 'gainst hail and foemen. + + + +THE ELDER-WITCH. + + + +According to the Danish tradition, there is a female Elf in the elder +tree, which she leaves every midnight; and, having strolled among the +fields, returns to it before morning. + + +Though tall the oak, and firm its stem, +Though far abroad its boughs are spread, +Though high the poplar lifts its head, +I have no song for them. +A theme more bright, more bright would be +The winsome, winsome elder tree, +Beneath whose shade I sit reclin'd; - +It holds a witch within its bark, +A lovely witch who haunts the dark, +And fills with love my mind. + +When ghosts, at midnight, leave their graves, +And rous'd is every phantom thing; +When mermaids rise and sweetly sing +In concert with the waves; +When Palnatoka, {29} on his steed, +Pursues the elves across the mead, +Or gallops, gallops o'er the sea, +The witch within the elder's bark, +The lovely witch who haunts the dark, +Comes out, comes out to me. + +Of leaves the fairies make our bed; +The knight, who moulders 'neath the elm, {30} +Starts up with spear and rusted helm, - +By him the grace is said; +And though her kiss is cold at times, +And does not scent of earthly climes, +Though glaring is her eye, yet still +The witch within the elder's bark, +The lovely witch who haunts the dark, +I prize, and ever will. + +Yet, once I lov'd a mortal maid, +And gaz'd, enraptur'd, on her charms, +Oft circled in each other's arms, +Together, here we stray'd; - +But, soon, she found a fairer youth, +And I a fairer maid, forsooth! +And one more true, more true to me, +The witch within the elder's bark, +The lovely witch who haunts the dark, +Has been more true to me. + + + +ODE. +FROM THE GAELIC. + + + +"Is luaimnach mo chodal an nochd." + + +Oh restless, to night, are my slumbers; +Life yet I retain, but not gladness; +My heart in my bosom is wither'd, +And sorrow sits heavy upon me. +For cold, in her grave-hill, is lying +The maid whom I gaz'd on, so fondly, +Whose teeth were like chalk from the quarry, +Whose voice was more sweet than harp music. +Like foam that subsides on the water, +Just where the wild swan has been playing; +Like snow, by the sunny beam melted, +My love, thou wert gone on a sudden. +Salt tears I let fall in abundance, +When memory bringeth before me +That eye, like the placid blue heaven; +That cheek, like the rose in its glory. +Sweet object of warmest affection, +Why could not thy beauty protect thee? +Why, sparing so many a thistle, +Did Death cut so lovely a blossom? +Here pine I, forlorn and abandon'd, +Where once I was cheerful and merry: +No joy shall e'er shine on my visage, +Until my last hour's arrival. +O, like the top grain on the corn-ear, +Or, like the young pine, 'mong the bushes; +Or, like the moon, 'mong the stars shining, +Wert thou, O my love, amongst women! + + + +BEAR SONG. +FROM THE DANISH OF EVALD. + + + +The squirrel that's sporting +Amid the green leaves, +Full oft, with its rustle, +The hunter deceives; +Who starts--and believing +That booty is nigh, +His heart, for a moment, +With pleasure beats high. + +"Now, courage!" he mutters, +And crouching below +A thunder-split linden, +He waits for his foe: +"Ha! joy to the hunter; +A monstrous bear +E'en now is approaching, +And bids me prepare. + +"Hark! hark! for the monarch +Of forests, ere long, +Will breathe out his bellow, +Deep-throated and strong:" +Thus saying, he gazes +Intently around; +But, death to his wishes! +Can hear not a sound: + +Except when, at moments, +The wind rising shrill +Wafts boughs from the bushes, +Across the lone hill. +Wo worth, to thee, squirrel, +Amid the green leaves, +Full oft thy loud rustle +The hunter deceives. + + + +NATIONAL SONG. +FROM THE DANISH OF EVALD. + + + +King Christian stood beside the mast; +Smoke, mixt with flame, +Hung o'er his guns, that rattled fast +Against the Gothmen, as they pass'd: +Then sunk each hostile sail and mast +In smoke and flame. +"Fly!" said the foe: "fly! all that can, +Nor wage, with Denmark's Christian, +The dread, unequal game." + +Niels Juul look'd out, and loudly cried, +"Quick! now's the time:" +He hoisted up his banner wide, +And fore and aft his foemen plied; +And loud above the battle cried, +"Quick! now's the time." +"Fly!" said the foe, "'t is Fortune's rule, +To deck the head of Denmark's Juul +With Glory's wreath sublime." + +Once, Baltic, when the musket's knell +Rang through the sky, +Down to thy bosom heroes fell +And gasp'd amid the stormy swell; +While, from the shore, a piercing yell +Rang through the sky! +"God aids me," cried our Tordenskiold; +"Proud foes, ye are but vainly bold; +Strike, strike, to me, or fly!" + +Thou Danish path to fame and might, +Dark-rolling wave, +Receive a friend who holds as light +The perils of the stormy fight; +Who braves, like thee, the tempest's might; +Dark rolling wave, +O swiftly bear my bark along, +Till, crown'd with conquest, lull'd with song, +I reach my bourne--the grave. + + + +THE OLD OAK. + + + +Here have I stood, the pride of the park, +In winter with snow on my frozen bark; +In spring 'mong the flowers that smiling she spread, +And among my own leaves when summer was fled. +Three hundred years my top I have rais'd, +Three hundred years I have sadly gaz'd +O'er Nature's wide extended scene; +O'er rushing rivers and meadows green, +For though I was always willing to rove, +I never could yet my firm foot move. + +They fell'd my brother, who stood by my side, +And flung out his arms so wide, so wide; +How envy I him, for how blest is he, +As the keel of a vessel he sails so free +Around the whole of the monstrous earth; +But I am still in the place of my birth. +I once was too haughty by far to complain, +But am become feeble through age and pain; +And therefore I often give vent to my woes, +When through my branches the wild wind blows. + +A night like this, so calm and clear, +I have not seen for many a year; +The milk-white doe and her tender fawn +Are skipping about on the moonlight lawn; +And there, on the verge of my time-worn root, +Two lovers are seated, and both are mute: +Her arm encircles his youthful neck, +For none are present their love to check. +This night would almost my sad heart cheer, +Had I one hope or one single fear. + + + +LINES +TO SIX-FOOT THREE. + + + +A lad, who twenty tongues can talk +And sixty miles a day can walk; +Drink at a draught a pint of rum, +And then be neither sick nor dumb +Can tune a song, and make a verse, +And deeds of Northern kings rehearse +Who never will forsake his friend, +While he his bony fist can bend; +And, though averse to brawl and strife +Will fight a Dutchman with a knife. +O that is just the lad for me, +And such is honest six-foot three. + +A braver being ne'er had birth +Since God first kneaded man from earth: +O, I have cause to know him well, +As Ferroe's blacken'd rocks can tell. +Who was it did, at Suderoe, +The deed no other dar'd to do? +Who was it, when the Boff {31} had burst, +And whelm'd me in its womb accurst - +Who was it dash'd amid the wave, +With frantic zeal, my life to save? +Who was it flung the rope to me? +O, who, but honest six-foot three! + +Who was it taught my willing tongue, +The songs that Braga {32} fram'd and sung? +Who was it op'd to me the store +Of dark unearthly Runic lore, +And taught me to beguile my time +With Denmark's aged and witching rhyme: +To rest in thought in Elvir shades, +And hear the song of fairy maids; +Or climb the top of Dovrefeld, +Where magic knights their muster held? +Who was it did all this for me? +O, who, but honest six-foot three! + +Wherever fate shall bid me roam, +Far, far from social joy and home; +'Mid burning Afric's desert sands, +Or wild Kamschatka's frozen lands; +Bit by the poison-loaded breeze, +Or blasts which clog with ice the seas; +In lowly cot or lordly hall, +In beggar's rags or robes of pall, +'Mong robber-bands or honest men, +In crowded town or forest den, +I never will unmindful be +Of what I owe to six-foot three. + +That form which moves with giant-grace; +That wild, though not unhandsome, face; +That voice which sometimes in its tone +Is softer than the wood-dove's moan, +At others, louder than the storm +Which beats the side of old Cairn Gorm; {33} +That hand, as white as falling snow, +Which yet can fell the stoutest foe; +And, last of all, that noble heart, +Which ne'er from honour's path would start, +Shall never be forgot by me - +So farewell, honest six-foot three! + + + +NATURE'S TEMPERAMENTS. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + + +SADNESS. + +Lo, a pallid fleecy vapour +Far along the East is spread; +Every star has quench'd its taper, +Lately glimmering over head. +On the leaves, that bend so lowly, +Drops of crystal water gleam; +Yawning wide, the peasant slowly +Drives afield his sluggish team. +Dreary looks the forest, lacking +Song of birds that slumber mute; +No rough swain is yet attacking, +With his bill, the beech's root. +Night's terrific ghostly hour +Backward through time's circle flies; +No shrill clock from moss-grown tower +Bids the dead men wake and rise. +Wearied out with midnight riot +Mystic Nature slumbers now; +Mouldering bodies rest in quiet, +'Neath their tomb-lids damp and low; +Sad and chill the wind is sighing +Through the reeds that skirt the pool, +All around looks dead or dying, +Wrapt in sorrow, clad in dool. + +GLEE. + +Roseate colours on heaven's high arch +Are beginning to mix with the blue and the gray, +Sol now commences his wonderful march, +And the forests' wing'd denizens sing from the spray. +Gaily the rose +Is seen to unclose +Each of her leaves to the brightening ray. +Waves on the lake +Rise, sparkle, and break: +O Venus, O Venus, thy shrine is prepar'd, +Far down in the valley o'erhung by the grove; +Where, all the day, Philomel warbles, unscar'd, +Her silver-ton'd ditty of pleasure and love. + +Innocence smiling out-carrols the lark, +And the bosom of guilt becomes tranquil again; +Nightmares and visions, the fiends of the dark, +Have abandon'd the blood and have flown from the brain. +Higher the sun +Up heaven has run, +Beaming so fierce that we feel him with pain; +Man, herb, and flower, +Droop under his power. +O Venus, O Venus, thy shrine is prepar'd, +Far down in the valley o'erhung by the grove +Where, all the day, Philomel warbles, unscar'd, +Her silver-ton'd ditty of pleasure and love. + +MADNESS. + +What darkens, what darkens?--'t is heaven's high roof: +What lightens?--'t is Heckla's flame, shooting aloof: +The proud, the majestic, the rugged old Thor, +The mightiest giant the North ever saw, +Transform'd to a mountain, stands there in the field, +With ice for his corslet, and rock for his shield; +With thunder for voice, and with fire for tongue, +He stands there, so frightful, with vapour o'erhung. +On that other side of the boisterous sea +Black Vulcan, as haughty as ever was he, +Stands, chang'd to a mountain, call'd Etna by name, +Which belches continually oceans of flame. +Much blood have they spilt, and much harm have they done, +For both, when the ancient religions were gone, +Combin'd their wild strength to destroy the new race, +Who were boldly beginning their shrines to deface. +O, Jesus of Nazareth, draw forth the blade +Of vengeance, and speed to thy worshippers' aid; +Beat down the old gods, cut asunder their mail - +Amen!--brother Christians, why look ye so pale. + + + +THE VIOLET-GATHERER. +FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. + + + +Pale the moon her light was shedding +O'er the landscape far and wide; +Calmly bright, all ills undreading, +Emma wander'd by my side. + +Night's sad birds their harsh notes utter'd, +Perching low among the trees; +Emma's milk-white kirtle flutter'd +Graceful in the rising breeze: + +Then, in sweetness more than mortal, +Sang a voice a plaintive air, +As we pass'd the church's portal, +Lo, a ghostly form stood there! + +"Emma, come, thy mother's calling; +Lone I lie in night and gloom, +Whilst the sun and moon-beams, falling, +Glance upon my marble tomb." + +Emma star'd upon the figure, - +Wish'd to speak, but vainly tried, +Press'd my hand with loving vigour, +Trembled--faulter'd--gasp'd--and died! + +Home I bore my luckless maiden, +Home I bore her in despair; +Chilly blasts, with night-dew laden, +Rustled through her streaming hair. + +Plunging then amid the forest, +Soon I found the stately tree, +Under which, when heat was sorest, +She was wont to sit with me. + +Down my cheek ran tears in fever, +While with axe its stem I cut; +Soon it fell, and I with lever +Roll'd it straight to Emma's hut. + +Kiss'd her oft, and love empassion'd +Sung a song in wildest tones; +While the oaken boards I fashion'd, +Doom'd to hide her lovely bones. + +Thereupon I sought the bower, +Where she kept her single hive; +Morning shone on tree and flower, +All around me look'd alive. + +Stung by bees in thousand places, +Out I took the yellow comb; +Emma, deck'd in all her graces, +Past my vision seem'd to roam. + +Soon of wax I form'd a taper, +O'er my love it cast its ray, +'Till the night came, clad in vapour, +When in grave I laid her clay. + +Deep below me sank the coffin, +While my tears fell fast as rain; +Deep it sank, and I, full often, +Thought to heave it up again. + +Soon as e'er the stars, so merry, +Heaven's arch next night illum'd, +Sad I sought the cemetery, +Where my true love lay entomb'd. + +Then, in sweetness more than mortal, +Sang a voice a plaintive lay; +Underneath the church's portal +Emma stood in death array. + +"Louis! come! thy love is calling; +Lone I lie in night and gloom, +Whilst the sun and moon beams, falling, +Glance upon my lowly tomb." + +"Emma! dear!" I cried in gladness, +"Take me too beneath the sod; +Leave me not to pine in sadness, +Here on earth's detested clod." + +"Death should only strike the hoary, +Yet, my Louis, thou shalt die, +When the stars again in glory, +Shine upon the midnight sky." + +Tears bedeck'd her long eyelashes, +While she kiss'd my features wan; +Then, like flame that dies o'er ashes, +All at once the maid was gone. + +Therefore, pluck I painted violets, +Which shall strew my lifeless clay, +When, to night, the stars have call'd me +Unto joys that last for aye. + + + +ODE TO A MOUNTAIN-TORRENT. +FROM THE GERMAN OF STOLBERG. + + + +How lovely art thou in thy tresses of foam, +And yet the warm blood in my bosom grows chill, +When yelling thou rollest thee down from thy home, +'Mid the boom of the echoing forest and hill. + +The pine-trees are shaken--they yield to thy shocks, +And spread their vast ruin wide over the ground, +The rocks fly before thee--thou seizest the rocks, +And whirl'st them like pebbles contemptuously round. + +The sun-beams have cloth'd thee in glorious dyes, +They streak with the tints of the heavenly bow +Those hovering columns of vapour that rise +Forth from the bubbling cauldron below. + +But why art thou seeking the ocean's dark brine? +If grandeur makes happiness, sure it is found, +When forth from the depths of the rock-girdled mine +Thou boundest, and all gives response to thy sound. + +Beware thee, O torrent, of yonder dark sea, +For there thou must crouch beneath tyranny's rod, +Here thou art lonely, and lovely, and free, - +Loud as a thunder-peal, strong as a god. + +True, it is pleasant, at eve or at noon, +To gaze on the sea and its far-winding bays, +When ting'd with the light of the wandering moon, +Or red with the gold of the midsummer rays. + +But, torrent, what is it? what is it?--behold +That lustre as nought but a bait and a snare, +What is the summer sun's purple and gold +To him who breathes not in pure freedom the air. + +Abandon, abandon, thy headlong career - +But downward thou rushest--my words are in vain, +Bethink thee that oft-changing winds domineer +On the billowy breast of the time-serving main. + +Then haste not, O torrent, to yonder dark sea, +For there thou must crouch beneath tyranny's rod; +Here thou art lonely, and lovely, and free, - +Loud as a thunder-peal, strong as a god. + + + +RUNIC VERSES. + + + +O the force of Runic verses, +O the mighty strength of song +Cannot baffle all the curses +Which to mortal state belong. + +Slaughter'd chiefs, that buried under +Heaps of marble, long have lain, +Song can rend your tomb asunder, +Give ye life and strength again. + +When around his dying capture, +Fierce, the serpent draws his fold, +Song can make him, wild with rapture, +Straight uncoil, and bite the mould. + +When from keep and battled tower, +Flames to heaven upward strain, +Song has o'er them greater power, +Than the vapours dropping rain. + +It can quench the conflagration +Striding o'er the works of art; +But nor song nor incantation +Can appease love's cruel smart. + +O the force of Runic verses, +O the mighty strength of song +Cannot baffle all the curses +Which to mortal state belong. + + + +THOUGHTS ON DEATH. +FROM THE SWEDISH OF C. LOHMAN. + + + +Perhaps 't is folly, but still I feel +My heart-strings quiver, my senses reel, +Thinking how like a fast stream we range +Nearer and nearer to yon dread change, +When soul and spirit filter away, +And leave nothing better than senseless clay. + +Yield, beauty, yield; for the grave does gape, +And horribly alter'd reflects thy shape, - +For ah! think not those childish charms +Will rest unrifled in its cold arms, +And think not there, that the rose of love +Will bloom on thy features as here above. + +Let him who roams at vanity fair, +In robes that rival the tulip's glare, +Think on the chaplet of leaves which round +His fading forehead will soon be bound; +Think on each dirge the priests will say +When his cold corse is borne away. + +Let him who seeketh for wealth uncheck'd +By fear of labour--let him reflect, +The gold he wins will brightly shine, +When he has perish'd with all his line. +Though man may rave and vainly boast, +We are but ashes when at the most. + + + +BIRDS OF PASSAGE. +FROM THE SWEDISH. + + + +So hot shines the sun upon Nile's yellow stream, +That the palm-trees can save us no more from his beam; +Now comes the desire for home, in full force, +And Northward our phalanx bends swiftly its course. + +Now dim underneath us, through distance we view +The green grassy earth, and the ocean's deep blue; +There tempests and frequent disasters arise, +Whilst free and untroubled we wend through the skies. + +Lo, high among mountains a meadow lies spread, +And there we alight, and get ready our bed; +There hatch we our eggs, and beneath the chill pole +We wait while the summer months over us roll. + +No hunter, desirous to make us his prey, +Invades our lone valley by night or by day; +But green-mantled fairies their merry routs hold, +And fearless the pigmy {34} there hammers its gold. + +But when pallid winter, again on the rocks +Shakes down in a shower the snow from his locks, +Then comes the desire for heat, in full force, +And Southward our phalanx bends swiftly its course. + +To the verdant Savannah, and palm-shaded plain, +Where the Nile rolls his water, we hurry again; +There rest we till summer's sun, waxing too hot, +Makes us wish for our native, our hill-girded spot. + + + +THE BROKEN HARP. + + + +O thou, who, 'mid the forest trees, +With thy harmonious trembling strain, +Could'st change at once to soothing ease, +My love-sick bosom's cruel pain: +Thou droop'st in dreary silence now, +With shiver'd frame, and broken string, +While here, unhelp'd, beneath the bough +I sit, and feebly strive to sing. + +The moon no more illumes the ground; +In night and vapour dies my lay; +For with thy sweet and melting sound +Fled, all at once, her silver ray: +O soon, O soon, shall this sad heart, +Which beats so low, and bleeds so free, +O'ercome by its fell load of smart, +Be broke, O ruin'd harp, like thee! + + + +SCENES. + + + +Observe ye not yon high cliff's brow, +Up which a wanderer clambers slow, +'T is by a hoary ruin crown'd, +Which rocks when shrill winds whistle round; +That is an ancient knightly hold, - +Alas! it droops, deserted, cold; +And sad and cheerless seems to gaze, +Back, back, to yon heroic days, +When youthful Kemps, {35} completely arm'd, +And lovely maids around it swarm'd. + +You, in the tower, a hole may see; +A window there has ceas'd to be. +From that once lean'd a damsel bright, +In evening's red and fading light, +And star'd intently down the way, +Up which should come her lover gay: +But, time it flies on rapid wing - +Far off a church is towering, +Within it stand two marble stones, +That rest above the lovers' bones. +But see, the wanderer, with pain, +Has reach'd the pile he wish'd to gain; +Whilst Sol, behind the ruin'd walls, +Down into sacred nature falls. + +See, there, two hostile nobles fight, +With tiger-rage and giant-might. +There's seen no smoke, there's heard no shot, +For guns and powder yet were not. +'T was custom then, when foemen warr'd, +To win or lose with spear and sword: +A wild heroic song they yell, +And each the other seeks to fell. +Oft, oft, her ownself to destroy, +Her own hand nature does employ. +There casts the hill up fire-flakes, +And Earth's gigantic body quakes: +There, lightnings through the high blue flash, +And ocean's billows wildly dash: +There, men 'gainst men their muscles strain, +And deal out death, and wounds, and pain. +O Nature! to thyself show less +Of hate, and more of tenderness. + +How dusky is the air around; +We are no more above the ground; +But, down we wend within the hill, +Whose springs our ears with hissings fill. +See, there, how rich the ruddy gold +Winds snakeways, 'midst the clammy mould +And hard green stone. By torches' ray, +The harvest there men mow away. +But, see ye not yon gath'ring cloud, +Which 'gainst them cometh paley proud; +That holds the spirit of the hill, +Who brings death in its hand so chill: +If down they do not quickly fall, +Most certainly 't will slay them all; +For sorely wrathful is its mood, +Because they break its solitude: +Because its treasure off they bear, +And fling light o'er its gloomy lair. +'T is white, and Kobbold is the name +Which it from oldest days does claim. + +Now, back at once into time we go, +For many a hundred years, I trow. +A gothic chamber salutes your sight: +A taper gleams feebly through the night; +A ghostly man by the board you see, +With his hand to his temples muses he: +Parchments, with age discolour'd and dun; +Ancient shields all written upon; +Tree-bark, bearing ciphers half defac'd; +Stones with Runes and characters grac'd; +Things of more worth than ye are aware, +On the mighty table are pil'd up there. +He gazes now in exstatic trance +Through the casement, out into nature's expanse. +Whene'er we sit at the lone midnight, +And stare out into the dubious light, +Whilst the pallid moon is peering o'er +Ruin'd cloister and crumbling tower, +Feelings so wondrous strange come o'er us; +The past, and the future, arise before us; +The present fadeth, unmark'd, away +In the garb of insignificancy. +He gazes up into nature's height, +The noble man with his eye so bright; +He gazes up to the starry skies, +Whither, sooner or later, we hope to rise; +And now he takes in haste the pen, +And the spirit of Oldom flows from it amain; +The scatter'd Goth-songs he changes unto +An Epic which maketh each bosom to glow. +Thanks to the old Monk, toiling thus - +They call him Saxo Grammaticus. + +An open field before you lies, +A wind-burst o'er its bosom sighs, +Now all is still, all seems asleep; +'Midst of the field there stands a heap, +Upon the heap stand Runic stones, +Thereunder rest gigantic bones. +From Arild's time, that heap stands there, +But now 't is till'd with utmost care, +In order that its owner may +Thereoff reap golden corn one day. +Oft has he tried, the niggard soul, +The mighty stones away to roll, +As useless burdens of his ground; +But they for that too big were found. +See, see! the moon through cloud and rack +Looks down upon the letters black: +And when the ghost its form uprears +He shines upon its bursting tears - +For oh! the moon's an ancient man, +Describe him, mortal tongue ne'er can, +He shines alike, serene and bright, +At midmost hour of witching night, +Upon the spot of love and glee, +And on the gloomy gallows-tree. +Upon each Rune behold him stare, +While off he hastes through fields of air; +He understands those signs, I'll gage, +Whose meaning lies in sunken age; +And if he were in speaking state, +No doubt the old man could relate +Strange things that have on earth occurr'd, +Of which fame ne'er has said a word; +But since with look, with look alone, +He cannot those events make known, +He waketh from his height sublime +Mere longing for the dark gone time. + + + +THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE. +FROM THE GERMAN. + + + +This piece is not translated for the sentiments which it contains, +but for its poetical beauties. Although the path of human life is +rough and thorny, the mind may always receive consolation by looking +forward to the world to come. The mind which rejects a future state +has to thank itself for its utter misery and hopelessness. + + +The evening shadows fall upon the grave +On which I sit; it is no common heap, - +Below its turf are laid the bones of one, +Who, sick of life and misery, did quench +The vital spark which in his bosom burn'd. + +The shadows deepen, and the ruddy tinge +Which lately flooded all the western sky +Has now diminish'd to a single streak, +And here I sit, alone, and listen to +The noise of forests, and the hum of groves. + +This is the time to think of nature's God, +When birds and fountains, streams and woods, unite +Their various-sounding voices in his praise: +Shall man alone refuse to sing it--yes, +For man, alone, has nought to thank him for. + +There's not a joy he gives to us on earth +That is not dash'd with bitterness and gall, +Only when youth is past, and age comes on, +Do we find quiet--quiet is not bliss, +Then tell me, God, what I've to thank thee for. + +But to recur to him who rests beneath - +He had a heart enthusiastic, warm, +And form'd for love--no prejudice dwelt there; +He roam'd about the world to find a heart +Which felt with his, he sought, and found it not. + +Or if he found it, providence stepp'd in, +And tore the cherish'd object from his sight, +Or fill'd its mind with visions weak and vain - +Could he survive all this? ah, no! he died, - +Died by the hand which injur'd none but him. + +And did he die unpitied and unwept, - +Most probably, for there are fools who think +'T is crime in man to take what is his own - +And 't was on account they laid him here, +Within this sweet, unconsecrated, spot. + +There comes a troop of maidens and of youths +Home from their labour--hark! they cease their song, +And, pointing to the grave, with trembling hands, +They make a circuit, thinking that in me +The ghost of the self-murderer they view - +Which, fame says, wanders here. + + + +LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. + + + +The Right Honourable the Earl of Albemarle +T. Amyot, Esq., London +F. Arden, Esq. London, 5 copies +Mr. A. Austin +The Right Rev. Father in God Henry Bathurst, Lord Bishop of Norwich +Mr. W. Bacon +Mr. A. Barnard +Mr. P. Barnes +Mr. Barwell +Mr. Bell, Diss +N. Bolingbroke, Esq. +J. Bowring, Esq., Hackney +W. Burrows, Esq., Stoke +Miss Burrows +W. Burt, Esq. Jun. +Thomas Campbell, Esq., London +S. Clarke, Esq., Berghapton +Mr. T. Clarke +Mr. P. Clarke +Mr. P. Clayton +N. Cobham, Esq. Exeter, 2 copies +Rev. C. Codd, Dereham +J. H. Cole, Esq. +Mrs. Coleman +Mr. W. Cooper +Mr. E. Cooper, Dereham +Mr. G. Cooper, Dereham +W. Cross, Esq. +H. Custance, Esq., Weston Longueville +Rev. Custance +E. Dashwood, Esq., Colchester +T. G. O'Donnahoo, Esq., London, 5 copies +Mr. Doughty, Brockdish +T. Dyson, Esq., Diss +Mr. Elliot +Dr. Evans +F. Farr, Esq., Beecles +G. Fitzmaurice, Esq., London, 2 copies +J. Fletcher, Esq., London +R. Fowler, Esq., London +J. Geldart, Esq. +B. Girling. Esq., Dereham +Rev. W. Girling +Mr. Green +C. Greville, Esq. M.P. +T. Gurdon, Esq., Letton Hall, Suffolk, 2 copies +Mrs. Gurdon, 2 copies +H. Gurney, Esq. M.P. +R. H. Gurney, Esq. M.P. +Miss Anne Gurney +Mr. W. Hankes +Capt. Hare, Stow Hall, 2 copies +Mr. W. Harper +J. Harvey, Esq. +Sir R. J. Harvey +G. Harvey, Esq. +R. Hawkes, Esq. +Mrs. Hawkes +B. R. Haydon, Esq., London +W. Herring, Esq. +Mr. Higham, London +Mr. Hobart +Mr. Holly +T. Hudson, Esq. +Mr. R. Hull +N. Islay, Esq., Croydon +Mr. G. Jay +S. Johnson, Esq., London +P. Johnstone, Esq., London +Mr. Juby +Rev. J. Kennedy, Templemore, Tipperary +Mr. R. Kerrison +Mr. E. Kerrison +Capt. Langford +E. Lombe, Esq. +Mrs. Lloyd, Bawdeswell +Miss Lloyd, Bawdeswell +Miss L. Lloyd, Bawdeswell +Miss E. Lloyd, Bawdeswell +Mr. R. Lloyd +Mr. J. Lloyd, Welsh Pool +Mr. H. Marshall, Ashby +Mr. H. Marshall, Norwich +Mr. W. Matchett +Rev. C. Millard +Mr. Mills, Pulham +Mr. F. Mills +A. Morrison, Esq., Eaton Hall +Mrs. Morrison +G. Morse, Esq. +Rev. G. Munnings, Dereham +J. Neales, Esq., London +Mr. Newton +Mr. E. Newton +Mr. W. Nichols +Mr. B. Norgate +T. Oliver, Esq., Yarmouth +C. S. Onley, Esq. M.P. +J. Parkinson, Esq. +Mr. P. Paterson, Glasgow +Mrs. J. Pertwee, Fingringhoe Hall +R. Plumptre, Esq. +Mr. Press +Mr. P. Pullen +W. Quarles, Esq., Foulsham +W. Rackham, Esq. +Mr. W. Roberts +J. Robertson, Esq., London +W. Robertson, Esq., London +Etienne Compte de la Roche, Brest, 2 copies +N. Simpson, Esq., London +W. Slous, Esq., London +Sir James Smith +J. Sparham, Esq., Palgrave +Mr. W. Stark +Mr. J. Stark +J. Stewart, Esq. +R. Stoughton, Esq., Sparham +Rev. A. T. Suckling +Mr. P. Thompson, London +Mr. J. Thompson, Dereham +J. Timbs, Esq., London +Mr. G. Thurtell, Eaton +Mr. J. Thurtell +Mr. B. Sadler +S. Salter, Esq., London +Capt. R. Sayer +P. Scott, Esq. +Mr. Sendall +Mrs. Simpson +W. Simpson, Esq. Jun. +W. W. Simpson, Esq., London +Mrs. E. Thurtell +Mr. J. Turner, London +Mr. Turner +J. Vincent, Esq., London +S. Weir, Esq., Manchester +Rev. G. Widrow, Manchester +Mr. Wilson +Mr. Winter +Mr. I. Wiseman +Hon. Col. Wodehouse +E. Wodehouse, Esq. M.P. +D. Woods, Esq., Dereham +Mr. I. Young, London, 2 copies +Mr. L. Young, London + + + +Footnotes: + +{1} The goddess of death--according to the Northern mythology. + +{2} The paradise of the Northern mythology. + +{3} Moe in Danish signifies Maid, and is pronounced nearly like +"May." May is Old English for Maid. + +{4} The Fairies.--Ellefolk. Dan. + +{5} Giants.--Jette. Dan. + +{6} Dovrefeld is the highest mountain in Norway, and in Europe. + +{7} Some of the many powers attributed to "Runic verses" will be +found described in the song so intituled, in the latter part of this +volume. + +{8} Boune, to get ready. + +{9} Rede, advise. Raader.--Dan. + +{10} Woxen, grown. Voxen.--Dan. + +{11} Jesus Christ. + +{12} Grene shaw, green wood.--Old English. + +{13} Brute-carl, dyre-carl.--Original. + +{14} By this nose under the chin must be understood, that the elf +has so long and crooked a nose, that it reaches and turns up under +his chin. Crooked noses are, in all stories, allowed to be an +ingredient of fiendish physiognomy. + +{15} Svobt udi maard.--Original. + +{16} Slaae mig et mit Ledemod sonder. + +{17} Burly, strong. + +{18} Rok og teen. The Rok is no longer used in England, though +still common in the North. It is a hazle stick, more than a yard +long, round which the wool is wound. It is affixed to the side of +the spinner, under the left arm. + +{19} By scattering "Runes," or Runic letters, over graves, provided +they formed a particular rhyme, the ancient Scandinavians imagined +that the dead might be aroused. + +{20} Han laerer de Kiaempers Ryg at verke. + +{21} To ride at Dyst, to battle on horseback. + +{22} It was formerly the custom in Denmark, upon St. John's day, to +celebrate the arrival of Summer, by troops of youths and maids going +out into the woods, and thence returning bedecked with leaves and +branches. This ceremony was called "bringing Summer to town." + +{23} Blank, clear, shining.--Dan. + +{24} Called in Danish Kiaempe-steene; these stones either mark the +burial place of a warrior, or the spot where some very remarkable +circumstance has occurred. + +{25} These were ancient Danish monarchs renowned in song and tale, +for warlike exploits and strange adventures. Not far from the Bridge +of Vaere in the diocese of Roeskild, is King Frode's grave-hill, +which, according to tradition, contains immense treasures, and is the +richest in all the land. "Around the King's neck is a gold chain, so +long that its other end reaches round his feet." See Thiele's Danske +Folkesagn. + +{26} Denmark's wisest and greatest king. He entertained a warm +friendship for James the First of England, and, attended by his +court, came to London to visit him. The ceremonies and rejoicings +which this event gave rise to, are well described in an old German +book, at present in the British Museum. + +{27} Tordenskiold Juul and Hvidtfeld--celebrated Danish admirals. +The memory of Tordenskiold is sacred among the peasantry, on account +of the victories obtained by him over the Swedes. It is reported of +him in Jutland, that when the shot of the enemy was directed thick +and fast against him, he would shake the leaden bullets from out the +folds of his clothes. + +{28} In the Northern mythology, the God of war and strength. He is +girded by a belt of bear-sinews, and bears a hammer called "Miolner," +which means the shatterer, and with which he destroys giants, demons, +and other foes of Odin the supreme God. + +{29} See preface to "Waldemar's Chase," p. 115. + +{30} It was frequently the practice of the ancient Norsemen, after +having entombed their dead kings and heroes, to plant oaks or other +trees over them, in order to prevent their remains being disturbed +with facility. In that sublimest of all poems, "The Incantation of +Hervor," is a passage to the following effect: + + +Hervadr, Hiorvadr, Hrani and Angantyr, +I wake ye all under the roots of the trees. + +{31} Between the islands of Ferroe the Sea exhibits a phenomenon, +called, in the dialect of the Islanders, the Boff. Whilst the salt +stream runs strong and glassy through its narrow channel, it is +suddenly deformed by seven successive breakers, huge and foamy, which +occur without any apparent cause, and infallibly overwhelm any boat +which may chance to be in the way of their fury. + +{32} The ancient Northern god of music and poetry. + +{33} A mountain in the Scottish Highlands. + +{34} The Duergar, or Dwarf-elves, of Scandinavia are famous for the +dexterity with which they fabricate ornaments of every kind, from the +gold which they dig out of the depths of the hills. + +{35} Kemp, a warrior.--Old Eng. Dan. Kiempe. + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg eText Romantic Ballads et al diff --git a/old/rmbdd10.zip b/old/rmbdd10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0166620 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rmbdd10.zip |
