Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.Shakspeare—Tempest.
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
Shakspeare—Tempest.
Dayafter day thus glided on without much variation, though not so heavily as formerly. One evening Brandomann said to her, “Your mornings must still be wearisome to you; perhaps it might give you pleasure to travel around this little island; when such shall be your wish, summon aloud your carriage, with the snow-white deer, (that which brought you hither,) and it will instantly attend your command.” The princess was impatient, till the next morning gave her an opportunity of indulging this new pleasure;—forwhen our pleasures are few, every little variation is hailed as a new one;—she sprung lightly from her couch, and, with beaming eyes and a throbbing heart, ascended her chariot, which, at her wish, waited at the gates of the marble palace. For some hours she was delighted to be borne swiftly by the coursers of light through flowery vales and blooming gardens; but at length grew weary of the silence and monotony which every where surrounded her, and the inability to utter or reply to an observation. The deer looked at her with their intelligent eyes, and seemed to understand her feelings. “Yes, turn then, my lovely deer,” she replied in answer to their silent interrogatory; “bear me again to my home.” She entered the marble hall. It was many days since she no longer startled at the clap of thunder which announced the approach of Brandomann, and now she heard it with pleasure. “You have been amused to-day,” said he to her as he entered. “Not much,” she replied; “although I blush to say so; I would be happy if I could, yet I cannot help feeling that solitude is melancholy.” “Alas! yes,” replied the lord of the Maelstrom; “but there are companions to whom it is preferable. If I did not fear offending by my presumption.”—He was eagerly interrupted by Ildegarda, who accepted the embryo offer with delight; and her manner had such an effect upon the monster, that again the princess repented her condescension. He made ample amends for his hideous joy, however, on the following day, when attending Ildegarda on her journey, by his timid and gentle modesty. Mounted on his coal-black steed, he respectfully followed her brilliant chariot, and never, except in answer to her summons,ventured to approach her side. The princess was naturally generous, and this conduct secured her confidence. She now encouraged him to converse, called him frequently to her side, and took pleasure in calling forth and listening to his observations. On their return to the palace, a huge raven flew down from a tree upon the shoulder of Brandomann, and whispered something in his ear; the latter immediately turned to Ildegarda: “Princess,” he said, “the only friends who ever enliven this solitude by visiting me, are now on the island; will you permit them to attend you at supper?” Ildegarda consented joyfully: the thought of once more seeing human beings filled her spirit with rapture; and, hastening to her apartment, she spent the intervening time in dressing her lovely person to the utmost advantage, not only for her own sake, but also to do honour to the taste and generosity of Brandomann, who had been most lavish in his preparations for her toilet. At length she descended, and, with a palpitating heart, entered the hall. At the door she was met by Brandomann himself, who courteously led her forward to present her to his guests—they rose to receive her—but imagine the astonishment of Ildegarda!—No words can do justice to her surprise, as she surveyed the assembled party: neither knight nor lady, spirit nor fiend, greeted her entrance,—but on one side stood an enormous wild boar—on the other a beautiful white she-goat—in front stood the eight-legged steed of Odin—and the two ravens, whom she had seen on her landing on the island, had perched themselves with infinite gravity upon Brandomann’s club. The princess turned to her friend, and was about to demand an explanation,when she was prevented by the beautiful goat, who, with an air at once kind and dignified, welcomed her to the island, which she said was happy under the government of the good Brandomann, the favourite of Odin, and whom all good spirits loved: the boar made her his best bow—Sleipner assured her of his devotion—the ravens were happy in the honour of her acquaintance—and Ildegarda, after replying to each of these extraordinary visitors, recovered something of her composure, and smilingly sat down to supper with her company. She was about to apologise for the want of proper fare, when she beheld them supplied with their own particular dishes by the same unseen attendants who so assiduously waited upon her. Oats and hay, in a silver manger, were placed before Sleipner—a huge tray of nuts and acorns sallied in, and stood stationary at the tusks of the boar—a salad was the supper of the white goat—and a raw beef-steak was provided for the accommodation of the ravens. The princess began to be amused with her situation and company, and listened to their conversation with considerable interest: Mumin and Hugo, the raven messengers of Odin, were talking over some of the divinities of Asgard; and Sleipner mentioned a journey which Thor the Thunderer intended shortly to take upon his back, to correct the impious inhabitants of Jutland, who, since the ascension of the murderer Feggo to his brother’s throne, had totally neglected his worship. “Is the murdered prince in Asgard?” demanded Brandomann. “He has a magnificent palace in Valasciolf,” replied the huge boar, “where he resides among the other heroes and the divine family and ministers of Odin, andwith them usually spends his nights at the banquet in Valhalla; but he is not a favourite warrior there: if he was no more amiable on earth than he is in heaven, I am not surprised at his wife’s wishing to get rid of him. Hamlet is also there, and almost as unpopular as his father. Can you imagine it possible, he spends all his time with Forsete at Glitner, and has grown so wise and disputacious, that he is continually instructing Odin himself; nay, the other morning, just before the sounding for the combat, he spoke so learnedly to that blind Horror, whom we dare not name out of heaven, and who is already sufficiently inclined to mischief, that Thor, provoked, lifted up his mallet to knock out the shadow of his brains,—but Balder interfered, and his eloquence and Lofna’s smile restored peace to heaven.”
“And how go on the happy Scaldres;” demanded Brandomann; “what is become of the unlucky Hiarn, whose skill in singing gained him a crown?” “He is singer-in-chief in Valhalla,” replied Sleipner; “and indeed his strains well deserve this distinction. But see,” he continued; “the princess looks to you for an explanation: take your harp, Brandomann, and let it tell the story of Hiarn.” “I obey you,” replied the lord of the Maelstrom; and caught up his harp and sung—
THE LEGEND OF HIARN.
The heart of the monarch was savage and wild,And his red hand with life-blood was gory;He spared not the matron, he spared not the child,Proud youth, nor the head that was hoary.
Then Hiarn arose—and his melody’s voice,As over the wild harp it swept,Brought relief to the land, bade its nobles rejoice,For the dark monarch listened—and wept!
And his sorrow was holy, for into his heartThose tones tender pity had flung—And Fate whisper’d, “Thy soul shall with music depart”—So he died, while the sweet harper sung.
Then Hiarn was king—for the fierce nobles cameSubdued by his powers alone,They crowned his bright brow, proclaimed his great name,And lowlily knelt at his throne.
Then Hiarn was king, and—
“Alackaday!” said the boar, who did not appear to have any very great taste for music, and who was beginning besides to be weary of Brandomann’s dismal ditty; “alas! for the poor harper; it is a pity, after such a glorious opening, the close of his history should have been so dismal.” “What was it?” demanded Ildegarda; “tell me, I pray you, what was the fate of Hiarn?” “A prince of the blood,” replied the courteous boar, “the warrior Fridleff, who did not understand music, challenged the crown from Hiarn: he was too good a musician to make any thing but a contemptible soldier, so, as might have been expected, he sunk under the first blow of Fridleff. But, grieve not for him, charming princess, he is well rewarded for his short period of suffering; a throne in Asgard—a palace dome in Valasciolf—are surely higher blessings than even reigning in Denmark”—“Serimnor!” said the white goat, interrupting the conversation, and pointing with her horns to the stars, which were now rapidly gemming the heavens; “see, the lights in the palaces of Asgard are lit—the deities and heroes are on their way to Valhalla—let us not keep them waiting, but hasten to supper, lest we should offend the Highest by our presumption.” Thus saying, she departed, aftera friendly good-night to the princess, and a promise to spend many evenings with her in the island. Serimnor, deeply engaged at that moment in a dispute with Brandomann about the politics of Jutland, did not remark her departure, but was reminded of it, to the no small astonishment of Ildegarda, in a very extraordinary manner; a gigantic pair of hands, the right brandishing an enormous carving knife, coolly entered the folding doors, and, seizing the throat of the luckless Serimnor, without any sort of notice or preparation, cut it from one side to the other, just as he was pronouncing the names of Harwendil and Feggo, which, from the suddenness of this manœuvre, burst through the gaping orifice in his throat, instead of by the usual channel of communication—the mouth. The terror of Ildegarda, who had begun to esteem the polite and obliging Serimnor, was greatly increased by the extraordinary coolness of Brandomann, who stood looking on as if nothing particular had happened, and only discontinued his speech when the body of the poor boar was dragged from the apartment by the murderous pair of hands. It seemed as if the whole party had been in a conspiracy to frighten the timid Ildegarda; for, on the disappearance of the boar, Sleipner started up, and, snorting till fire darted from his nostrils and eyes, sprung up into the air, and pawing, and dashing, and foaming, ascended up to the clouds through the roof of the palace, which parted to give him passage,—while the two ravens flew screaming out of the window. Brandomann had disappeared in the bustle, and, as he did not attend her on the following morning, she waited with much uneasy impatience for an explanation in the evening: this was given bythe good-natured boar himself, who had marked her anxiety, and hurried first to the palace in order to relieve it. He thanked her for the interest she took in what appeared to be his suffering; “But grieve not, loveliest of maidens,” said the gallant beast, “at an event which is to me but the consummation of my glory: every night thus I die without pain, and my flesh is served up to the banquet of the gods,—while my spirit enjoys a blissful sleep, from which it awakes in the morning to animate the same form in which it was clothed the day before. The beautiful goat whom you saw, is the immortal Heidruna, whose milk is the hydromel served up to the table of Odin. She alone, last night, was punctual to her engagement, while the rest of the party, enchanted by your beauty, forgot the hour, and had some difficulty to reach Valhalla in time to avoid the reproach of Odin.” Scarcely was this explanation given, ere Heidruna herself entered, attended by the ravens and Sleipner, who apologised for their hasty departure the evening before; and a moment after, the clap of thunder announced the approach of Brandomann. The whole party now sat contentedly down to supper, infinitely pleased with themselves and each other; and perhaps it would have been difficult to find one more happy, or its members bearing more sincere good will towards each other. The next day was the first of the month, and the princess hastened to avail herself of the magic gift of Brandomann. With intense anxiety she raised the curtain, and her heart throbbed with delight to behold her father in health and spirits, well armed, and travelling, attended by a band of gallant warriors, who appeared to be anxious for his safety. Ildegardalooked at him with rapture, and new feelings of gratitude to Brandomann gave the evening which followed this happy morning, fresh charms in her eyes, and made her confinement in the desolate island, with none but the ugliest of orangutangs for a constant companion, no longer either gloomy or dreadful.
One morning, while surveying together the beauties of the island in a sentimental walk, Brandomann asked the princess if she had now entirely resigned herself to the lot of total seclusion in the island of the Maelstrom. “I may, and do sometimes regret the halls of my fathers,” replied the tender Ildegarda. “But when I reflect from what miseries my devotion has preserved my beloved country, and still more beloved father, I feel that I ought not to complain. Neither am I insensible of what I owe to you; and I acknowledge that, without any other motive, your generous protection of me and care of my happiness deserves the sacrifice even of these regrets: I am willing to make it, and should even rejoice in an opportunity that would allow me to convince you of my sincerity.” “You have, then, (and permit me to say I hope it,) banished from your heart the remembrance of Haldane?” said the monster. “Alas! no,” replied Ildegarda, bursting into tears of tenderness at his recollection; “that can I never do; and it is the certainty of his loss that enables me so well to support this destiny: but do not let this disturb you—the recollection of Haldane will never interrupt my gratitude to you.” “And you could resolve upon fresh sacrifices if they were demanded of you?” inquired Brandomann. “I could,” replied the princess. Brandomann paused—he lookedsadly and earnestly, at Ildegarda, and then, as with a violent effort, flung himself at her feet, and tremblingly demanded, “Princess, will you become my wife?” A shriek of horror, and a look of unmeasured abhorrence, was the only reply of the hapless Ildegarda; and too plainly these tokens spoke to the unfortunate Brandomann. He calmed his agitation—arose from her feet, and spoke kindly and steadily to tranquillise her. “Do not hate me, beautiful sovereign of my destiny,” said he, “that thus I am compelled to add to your inquietudes. Yet be not alarmed needlessly; I adore you, but no force shall be put upon your inclinations: forgive me, if, impelled by a power I dare not disobey, I am sometimes obliged to give you pain by this question. But fear not—my wishes shall be sacrificed to yours—I would not receive that hand, dear as it would be, unless voluntarily presented by yourself.”
The princess took courage at this declaration of her hideous lover. She knew he was a monster of his word; and she thought if he would not receive her hand till she presented it, she should be safe from the infliction of such a husband. Assuring him, therefore, that she was far from hating him, and expressing with warmth the sentiments she really felt for her grim admirer, the poor monster was somewhat comforted, which Ildegarda was not sorry to remark; for if Brandomann was ugly when he was gay, he was ten thousand times more so when in sorrow. They returned to the palace in tolerable spirits, and in the evening Ildegarda took an opportunity of depositing her perplexities in the bosom of the respectable white goat, for whom she began to experience something of filial affection. Heidrunaconsoled the princess by her unqualified praises of the honour and sincerity of Brandomann, and her firm conviction that Ildegarda would never be molested by his fondness; although Heidruna thought, and could not help telling her young friend, that in the world she might have matched herself with many a greater beast than Brandomann: but, as this was entirely a matter of opinion, she rather soothed the princess than contradicted her. The good Serimnor interrupted thetête-à-tête, and fully seconded the opinion of Heidruna, both as to the honour and goodness of the lord monster of Moskoe. “You observe,” said he to Ildegarda, “that he has been admitted among the Scaldres, an order which generally requires perfection from its aspirants; and great must his virtues be, when the unbounded ugliness of his person could not outweigh them, nor conceal the richness and beauty of his mind. He is also, as we are, the descendant of Odin, and peculiarly favoured by the mightiest of the gods, and his son Thor, the thunderbolt: he enjoys extensive power, and many prerogatives not granted to the more beautiful children of nature, to compensate for the imprisonment of such a spirit in so hideous and detestable a frame. Were it possible to overcome your natural repugnance, you would have no reason to regret the change; but should your aversion be invincible, you will have nothing to fear, since he will continue to you the tenderest and humblest of lovers, and we shall always remain your friends.”
The princess thanked the friendly boar for his kind assurance, and they separated for the night in increased good will towards each other. In a few days after this conversation, Brandomannsought the princess in her chamber. “A storm is gathering above the whirlpool,” said he; “its effects will be terrific—our friends are collected to watch its progress—shall we follow them to the coast? If it will interest you, I will raise my magic tent upon the top of the highest rock, and, sheltered even from the slightest drops of rain, you shall see the storm in its terrors, and the fiends unseen of mortal eyes, who increase its horrors and sport in its bosom.” Ildegarda accepted the invitation, and the rein-deer swiftly bore their light and lovely burthen to the rocks, accompanied by Brandomann, whose eight-legged steed would far have outstripped the nimble coursers of the princess, but for the frequent checks of his rider. Arrived at the point of rock, they beheld the waters raging around them, (for the island was seated in the midst of the gulf,) but with less violence than Ildegarda had expected: she remarked this to her attendant. “The waters are now at their height,” replied Brandomann; “and for one quarter of an hour it will be tolerably calm, but the power of the storm will be tremendous when that short interval shall be past: many, deceived by the calm, venture out while it lasts, and encounter certain destruction at its close.” Ildegarda continued watching for the termination of the delusive calm, when her meditations were interrupted by the arrival of Heidruna, Serimnor, and the ravens: they arranged themselves round the chariot of the princess, and, protected from the storm by the magic tent of Brandomann, stood watching its progress in silent anxiety. The deceitful calm, as the lord of the island had predicted, was of no long duration. In a few minutes the brightness of Balderwas entirely obscured; the wind chorus began, and swept low and sullenly over the waters, which now rose upwards, gently murmuring, as if they were the echoes of the distant song. “Listen, Ildegarda,” said Brandomann; “to you it is given to hear the secrets and wonders of the earth, in recompense for being thus shut out from its more social intercourse: listen, and you will hear the unknown song of the winds: hark! how it rises from an immeasurable distance, and yet you can distinguish their voices, and the words they utter. Now they come nearer—hush!”
THE SONG OF THE WINDS.
From the couch of the billowsThe hollow bedWhere ocean pillowsHis giant head—
From secret caves,Where ancient NightSleeps secureFrom staring light—From the breast
Of the trembling earth,Scorning rest,We have our birth.Up, up, upward, murmuringly,Up, up, upward, still go we.
From wild Hecla’s burning cells,Where the giant mother dwells,Who to Lok, in days of yore,Sin and death and horror bore—From the Geyser’s boiling springs,We soar, upborne on rushing wings,Singing louder as we go,Blow, ye wild winds, louder blow!Up from the Dolstein still rise we,Where about us rolled the sea,And beneath, for ever whirled,The master spirit of the world—From the raging Dofrefeld,Where green Niord’s feast is held—From the land of eternal snow,Blow, ye wild winds, louder blow!
We come, we come! the forests wave,As above their tops we rave.Blow winds, blow! the crashing treeOf our might shall the witness be;The staggering ship, and the broken mast,Heaving, rended, sinking last;And the crash of falling towers,Speak our presence, and our powers.Blow winds, blow! to heaven ascending,Clashing, crashing, crushing, rending,Wrath on earth and ocean pouring,O’er the scared world, raging, roaring.
“The storm is indeed terrific now,” said Ildegarda; “I can almost see it in the air, as it scatters the clouds before it: look how the waters rise to meet it, roaring with the fury and force of the cataract!” Amid the uproar, she thought she distinguished other noises than those of the tempest—a sound like the howls and shrieks of pain: she noticed the circumstance to Brandomann. “You are right,” he replied; “look yonder, where a desperate battle is waging, in despite of this scene of tempest. A bear has swum from this mountain territory of Hilseggen to prey upon the flocks of Suarven, one of the few islands in this gulf which is inhabited; a single gallant shepherd has attacked him, but I fear the bear has the mastery: see! the shepherd has lost his staff, and the monster grapples with him closely—he hugs him fiercely!—Is there no way by which I can save him? What, ho! shepherd!—what, ho!—loosen yourself from the grasp of your enemy and fly—stand on the very edge of the rock, and let him spring against you!—So,so—the fellow fears me no less than the bear, yet he obeys—he is crouching—his enemy runs—plunges—ah! ah!—he has lost his balance and dashes headlong into the stream—well, run, shepherd!—He stays not to sing the death-song for his foe.—Good night, friend bear, you will sup with the fish of the Maelstrom to-night!” While they looked on, they beheld the savage animal struggling for his life against the dreadful current, but in vain; borne onward, despite of his roarings, he was soon over the terrible pool, and then whirled rapidly round, till he was sucked down into the bosom of the dismal gulf, which, sages have written, penetrates the globe. Ildegarda pitied the poor bear, whose love of mutton had occasioned him so miserable a fate; but a new wonder now claimed her attention and diverted her thoughts from his sorrows: this was another island, slowly arising from the bottom of the lake, and covered with sea-weeds, becoming stationary at no great distance from Moskoe. Before Ildegarda could point it out to her companions, Serimnor advanced hastily towards Brandomann. “There is mischief abroad, dear brother,” said he; “this storm is not of Niord’s raising. Some friend beloved of Odin, and abhorred of Lok, is certainly in danger; for look who are sporting in the tempest.” He pointed to the bosom of the gulf and to the rocky shore of Otterholm. In the centre of the one, Ildegarda beheld the head of a monstrous serpent reared above the waves, and surveying with fiery eyes the distant sea; and on the other a hideous wolf, with his attention fixed in the same direction, and howling in concert with the storm. The princess shuddered, and, for the first time in her life, drewnearer to Brandomann for protection. “You have nothing to fear, dearest,” said he, “from these monsters whom you behold; they are indeed your foes and mine, for they are the children of Lok, and the enemies of Odin; but they have no power over you, and mine, by the gift of their conqueror, is greater than their own. He whom you see in the waters is the giant snake, whose folds of sin encircle the guilty earth, and who now, from its centre, is bidding defiance to some noble foe of his evil father. Fenris, the wolf-dog, guard of hell, appears only when mischief is in the air, to increase, by his cries and the horror of his form, the fears and the danger of his victim. I deem some hapless vessel has approached too near this coast during the calm, and now the storm will drag it to destruction. But let us watch—Hugo and Mumin, stretch out your pinions—fly over the waters, and tell me what you descry.” The messengers of Odin obeyed—they flew over the bosom of the lake—then out towards the boundless and ungirt ocean: suddenly they returned. “A sail! a sail!” said Hugo. “A gallant ship!” cried Mumin; “the whirl has surely caught her, she comes on so rapidly.” Soon, very soon, she neared, and drove onwards, visible to all. Brandomann grasped his club: “Some bold adventurers,” said he, “doubtless, who seek to land upon this island in defiance of the will of Odin; if so, they are lost indeed, for the king of Valhalla has resigned them to the power of the infernals.” It was frightful to mark the force with which the ship drove on. “They make for the island which has just risen from the lake,” said the princess. “Death will too surely greet them there,” replied Brandomann; “for that is noland, but the snare of fiends to beguile; it is the dreadful Kraken, that monster of the deep, who, when the vessel touches him, will sink, and draw it with him.”—And the vessel was near the monster, when a piercing shriek from Ildegarda arrested the thoughts of Brandomann. “It is my father!” she cried—“it is my father!—I know his banner—he seeks me on this island—have mercy, Odin!—Oh, Brandomann, if thou lovest me”—“If I love thee!—lo! now I disobey the will of Odin for thee!—judge, then, how dear thou art!” He started from her side, sprung upon Sleipner, darted from the rock, and the next instant Ildegarda beheld his giant form stemming the torrent with a power equal to its own. The wolf beheld him and ran howling away, while a single blow from his mighty club drove the grim serpent beneath the waves, to howl his disappointment in Niftheim. Ildegarda heard none of the consoling speeches addressed to her by her friends; her ear—her eye—her heart, were all with Brandomann: she shrieked aloud. “He will not reach it ere it touches the Kraken,” she cried, “and then all help will be in vain.” “Not so, dear princess,” replied Serimnor; “he acts with the power of Odin, and will save your father; and then what will not his generosity deserve?” “My life—my love!” distractedly replied the wretched Ildegarda, totally incapable of accepting any consolation, and only alive to the danger of her father. “Oh, Odin! save him!” she cried; “and thou, thou the nameless!—the mighty in strength—the blind invincible—preserve the faithful Brandomann!” At this instant the Kraken sunk—the hoof of Sleipner had touched him—and Brandomann sternly approached the vessel: a band of warriors,headed by her father, prepared to oppose him, and Ildegarda beheld their bright weapons gleaming above his head. At this sight, “Harm him not,” she exclaimed; “ye know not whom ye strike!” But the next instant shewed her the folly of her fear and the mighty power of her lover. Heedless of the flashing swords, Sleipner sprung among the warriors, whose arms were now useless in their deadened hands, and Brandomann stood upon the deck, sternly reproving their presumption, and commanding the gallant ship to return home to Denmark. The vessel obeyed—the warriors knew the eight-legged steed of Odin, and were silent; but Haquin accused aloud the murderer of his daughter, for he judged he beheld the lord of the Maelstrom. “Thy daughter lives,” replied the terrible Brandomann; “but she is mine: at her entreaty I have saved thy forfeited life—but approach no more the island forbidden by Odin to mortal foot, else will I resign thee to the fate thy presumption will incur, and which, but for thy daughter’s tears, thou wouldest ere now have tasted. Hence, Haquin, and learn submission!”
Sleipner plunged into the waters, and the vessel, now removed beyond the power of the whirlpool, sailed back to Denmark, while Brandomann returned to Ildegarda, by whom he was received with a welcome far surpassing his hopes or expectations. He said nothing, however, of the important service he had just rendered her; and his delicate conduct, which did not pass unobserved by the princess, created for him an advocate in her bosom stronger than his own entreaties, or those of all his friends united, could have done. She saw how tenderly Brandomann loved her, but she saw also that he was resolvednot to give her pain; and, to say the truth, she could not help being pleased by this circumstance; for gratitude, great as it certainly was, was yet not sufficiently powerful to make so cruel a sacrifice to his happiness. By the time he had landed, the storm had passed from the face of heaven, and all was calm upon the bosom of the waters as if the fiends of Niftheim had not been raging within it a few moments before; the party returned to sup in the palace, and all things went on pleasingly as usual. Days, weeks, passed away, but Ildegarda, no longer wretched in submitting to the sentence she had once thought so cruel, took little heed of time, except to notice the first day of the month, which presented to her anxious eyes the person and occupations of her father. Twice, successively, she had seen him in his tent, surrounded by heroes, amid preparations for war; he was cheerful, and appeared to be encouraging the spirits of a young man, whom Ildegarda knew to be prince Harold, and who, with a gentle, downcast look, was listening to his observations: this was confirmed to her by the accounts of Brandomann, whose cares to lighten her anxieties and anticipate her wishes sensibly affected the generous daughter of Haquin. She took increased delight in his conversation; and he, from whose presence she was at first so anxious to fly, was now frequently summoned to relieve solitude by his cheering conversation. She was herself surprised at the change; and could she have shut from her bosom the thought of her early and beautiful love. Brandomann, even in person, would not have been disgusting. As it was, he daily grew less odious, and daily grew the princess more contentedwith her lot; the happy society of the marble palace met nightly, and mirth, and song, and tale, gave wings to the cheerful hours.
Wilt thou begone?Shakspeare.
Wilt thou begone?
Shakspeare.
Onenight when the conversation particularly turned upon the exploits of the ancestors of Ildegarda, Sleipner, who possessed a natural love of noble actions, inquired of the boar whether king Uffon was constant in his attendance upon the nightly festival of the hall of Odin? “He is so, frequently,” replied Serimnor; “but he takes more delight in the combat of the morning—from that he is never absent:—but what an extraordinary history is his!” continued the boar; “it is necessary that he should be in Asgard, for its inhabitants to believe it.” Ildegarda’s attention was aroused; she had never heard of her ancestor, and she entreated Brandomann to indulge her curiosity. He took up his harp immediately—for he appeared to have no occupation so delightful as to obey her slightest wish—and thus related to her the legend of Uffon the Merciful:—
LEGEND OF UFFON.
I.
There was a halo roundThe golden crown which shone on Vermund’s brow,The light of many noble deeds—Some deathless flowersFrom heaven’s immortal tree,(The abode of changeless destiny,)Were wreathedAround his conquering sword:But years rolled on, and ageSilvered his golden locks—And darkness fellHeavily on him,Veiling the beauty of his latter day—For Lok in hate,Or envy, breathed on him a withering curse—And he grew blind!
II.
He was a childless man,And to the gods he prayedThat his own royal diadem might fallUpon a kindred brow.He asked a son—And Odin granted to his agonyThe son he craved.Again the evil oneBlighted the bud of joy—He laid his dark hand on the infant’s head,And left its evil shadow on his brain,He grew an idiot boy!
III.
The Saxon king,A wild, fierce warrior, heard of Vermund’s grief,And he did rage to snatch, with greedy hand,The sceptre of the blind.Madly he pouredHis thousands o’er the land;The red steel clashed—The curling fire ran—The ravens fedOn beauty, and the eagles gorged on strength,The blind prince trembling heardHis people’s dying groan!
IV.
The Saxon kingRode, like the thunderbolt, his mighty steedTo the sad Danish camp.He mocked the king—And to his peers, with haughty action, said“Doth it becomeThe noble sons of Odin thus to bendThe knee before a blind man, and a fool?”
V.
“Out on thee, wretch!”The sightless prince exclaimed;“It more becomes the warrior to protectThan scorn the weak and aged!—Mighty!—to thee—Thee! whom we fear to name—Thee! strongest pillar of Odin’s great throne—Thee! dark, but terrible!—whose woe I bear—Thee! whose most awful nameThe reckless echo dares not repeat, and weShudder as we pronounce!HODER!—I call on thee!—Be thou the judgeBetween this wretch and me!”
VI.
The Saxon heardAnd shrunk at that dread name—The nobles groaned—The father wept, and clasped,To his chilled heart, his dumb and idiot boy.When, lo! a wonder!—His sacred tears fell on the youthful browLike holy rain upon the scorched up earth,And upward to the sun of glory sprungThe buried seeds of intellect—He spoke!—
VII.
“Ha! scoffer!” said the boy, “didst thou not knowThe blind and weak are sacred?”—His eye shoneWith a miraculous light—“Hark! Saxon churl!I summon thee unto the field of death—I, the dumb idiot—Iwill meet thee there,And on thy craven bosom write a truth,That Vermund hath a son—Denmark a prince,Whowillprotect their glories!”
VIII.
The day came—And Uffon’s fiery chariot bore him forthUnto the battle field—Less bright—less beautifulIs Balder when, from Lidscialf’s diamond steps,He rises to illuminate the worldsWhich wheel caressingly around him—andGallantly rode the Saxon.But the king—The blind—the father—where is he? He sitsOn yonder rock, high o’er the foaming sea,There to await the battle.Shouldhefall—His own—his only one—Ocean will catch his form,And hide his griefs for ever.
IX.
It was a deadly fightBetween the Saxon and the Dane;And onceThere was a scream, as if the inspired boyWas lost, for he had sunk upon his knee—But he beheld his father’s sightless eyeUpturned in agony—And he arose—and thenAnother sound was heard—a mighty shout—The scorner of the blind was slain!
X.
The son—he flew,A bounding reindeer to his father’s arms—He paused—Theywere upraised,In attitude of thankfulnessHis lipsWere pale, and still, and smiling—But—his heartHad broke in that fierce struggle—He was gone—Heimdaller’s wings were shadowing him, as o’erThe wonderous bridge he trod;Valkyries boreHis spirit to the foot of Odin’s throne,To tell of Uffon’s glory.
XI.
Nameless one!This justice was thy deed—We worship thee,Although we love thee not!
“No, truly,” said Serimnor, on the conclusion of the legend; “that would be quite impossible either for heaven or earth; but glory to the good Uffon—few warriors in Valhalla are more esteemedthan he. The skull of the impious Saxon is now his drinking cup; and his father, restored to sight, beholds the pledge of victory with undying felicity: and, in the combats and martial sports of the morning, the battle between his noble son and the Saxon is daily renewed, to gladden him with the sound of conquest and triumph over his shadowy foe.” “Look, Serimnor,” said the horse of Odin, interrupting him impatiently, as a bright flash of lightning darted into the hall and played against his head for a moment; “Look, we are again outstaying our time—the son of Rinda is shooting his brilliant arrows, and one has already touched you: let us obey the summons, and not provoke him to make his fatal shafts unerring.” “Away, then!” cried Heidruna. The ravens flapped their wings—Brandomann rose—and the hall was cleared in a moment.
Ildegarda had hitherto been happy in the reports of the magic mirror, and satisfied with its assurances of her father’s safety. On the first of the tenth month of her residence on the island, she again withdrew the curtain,—but a different spectacle awaited her; Haquin was lying wounded upon his couch, pale and insensible, while his attendants were anxiously endeavouring to stanch the blood which flowed from his injured side. The princess became wild with apprehension; instantly she sought her faithful Brandomann, to pour into his bosom the grief which distracted hers. He listened with tender sympathy. “There has been a battle between your father and Frotho, no doubt,” he replied; “but though I am not informed of all the particulars, I know that Haquin will not die of this wound: take comfort from thisassurance, for when did I ever deceive you?” But Ildegarda refused all consolation, and persisted in thinking and making herself the most miserable of all human beings. Her father was ill—wounded—in need of her assistance—and she herself uncertain of his fate for a whole month at least. Her anxiety hourly increased, and her grief, too powerful to be concealed from Brandomann, affected him no less painfully than herself. It was in vain he exerted his talents to divert her anguish; she was grateful for his kindness, but did not shed one tear the less: his conversation had lost its charms, his tales and songs their interest. Brandomann discovered this, and, after a terrible struggle, his generous nature overmastered every selfish and interested feeling. “I cannot,” said he at length to the weeping princess; “I cannot bear to witness your sorrow, and know that I am the cause. For your sake I will again disobey the command of Odin, which had decreed your captivity to be perpetual; you shall go to your father: promise me that you will return hither, and you shall be swiftly conveyed to his tent—and remain with him seven days; at the close of that period you must return, or my life will pay the forfeit of my fault, and be demanded to appease the anger of Odin. Go, then, beloved princess,—but sometimes think of Brandomann, and what he will suffer for your sake.” The princess could scarcely believe what she heard: in a rapture of joy she accepted the offer, and was most fervent in her promises to return at the expiration of seven days. Brandomann sighed heavily, but made no reply to her frequent protestations of their soon meeting again. “You shall be with your father to-morrow morning,”said he: “merely take this ring—put it upon your finger when you go to rest to-night, and do the same thing when you wish to return to me; but do not wear it at any other time.” The princess joyfully accepted the gift—took an affectionate leave of her admired monster—and retired to rest full of hope and expectation—expectations which were fully realised on her awaking in the morning; for she found her couch in her father’s tent, and he himself gazing upon her with tender anxiety and wonder.
The joy of Haquin, at again folding his beloved child to his bosom, was considerably damped by the narrative of her adventures, and the promise which she had given to Brandomann to return. As he did not deem it possible that she intended to keep her word, he was not a little astonished at her declaration, when she assured him she could remain with him only during the seven days. He argued strongly against her intention; and she at present, unwilling to distress him, ceased to oppose his opinions, and occupied herself entirely with the care of his health, knowing that it would always be in her power to return whenever she felt the inclination. Her tender attention was fully appreciated by Haquin, but she herself was far from being at ease in the midst of a tumultuous camp, where her wishes were not anticipated with the swift and delighted obedience of her island attendants: she had no change of dress either: a circumstance peculiarly vexatious, as she was daily surrounded by admiring warriors, who constantly paid homage to her charms,—and among whom prince Harold was not the least fervent in his expressions of devotion to her beauty. Awakening one morning after many regretsupon this subject to herself overnight, she was surprised to see the chest which ornamented her chamber at Moskoe, and which contained her superb wardrobe, standing by the side of her couch: she opened it hastily: “Kind, generous Brandomann, always alike solicitous for my happiness and pleasure,” she exclaimed; “how much do I not owe thee!” She immediately decorated her lovely person and returned to her father, who, cheered by her presence and renovated by her care, was quickly recovering from the effects of his wound: he now informed her that Haldane was universally said to have been murdered by his uncle; and that, in consequence of their disgust at this act of cruelty, many noble Danes had resorted to the standard of Harold, whom they unanimously called to the throne, though they held not the gentle boy in the same estimation as his more valiant brother. To this he added, that as the young king had declared a passion for Ildegarda, he had determined to unite them despite of the wrath of Frotho, and thus repay her long captivity by placing her upon a throne. His daughter had many objections to this arrangement, but her father’s heart appeared to joy so deeply in its contemplation that Ildegarda had not the courage to undeceive him: the tenderness of Haquin, the novelty of again seeing human faces, and the pleasure of listening to the gallant praises of the noble Danes, at length rendered Ildegarda forgetful of her promise, and not only seven days, but twice that number slipped away, ere she called to mind the probable anxiety of Brandomann. She now determined to repair her fault and hasten back to the island, but when, upon retiring to rest, she sought her ring to place itupon her finger, the talisman was nowhere to be found. In great distress she hastened to her father, expecting him perhaps to sympathise in her misfortune, but, unlike the gentle monster of the Maelstrom, he laughed at her anxiety, and congratulated her upon her loss; he bade her be under no apprehension respecting her ring, since it was safe in his possession—he had stolen it on being informed of its virtue, in order to secure her company,—“which,” he continued, “it appears, without this precaution I should have lost.” He observed that he could not permit such a preposterous union between beauty and a beast, who, instead of being a descendant of Odin, was doubtless a member of the infernal royal family of Lok, and consequently some diabolical sorcerer, who had thus bought her, body and soul, of Frotho: he would give her, he remarked, a husband better suited to her rank and beauty, and commanded her to prepare to espouse the royal cousin Harold, within at least ten days. Ildegarda was much startled by this conversation; and she who in the desolate island had mourned over the idea of perpetual captivity, now wept with more bitterness her recovered liberty, and the prospect of never more returning to her prison; she thought of the tender obedience of Brandomann to her lightest wish, and his generous self-denial upon all occasions respecting her. She lamented the kind-hearted Serimnor, the chivalrous horse, the affectionate goat, and even the ravens and reindeer received the tribute of her tears; but the idea of the probable suffering of Brandomann for his devotion to her, and disobedience in her favour, filled her heart with the most poignant regret; she hated Harold, and she esteemed her Maelstromfriend, and not a day passed without the severest search for the ring that was to convey her back to his territories. At length Rinda, in pity, heard her prayers. In her father’s bosom, during his sleep, she found her glittering ring, which she hastily secured as her dearest treasure, and instantly retired to rest; and when morning again looked upon her, it was in her chamber of the desolate isle.
Ildegarda scarce waited fully to throw off the fetters of sleep ere she descended to the marble hall, and instantly gave the signal which used to summon Brandomann to her presence, and which he had never neglected; now it was unheeded. Alarmed, she repeated it more strongly—Brandomann replied not to the call; half-distracted she hurried through the palace and harrowed her own feelings by recalling to mind his mournful prediction of the fate which awaited him, should she exceed her allotted time. She shuddered to reflect how long that time had elapsed. From the palace she traversed the gardens, running wildly with an aching heart and burning brow to every quarter, and asking every object she met for tidings of her lamented Brandomann: the birds and the echoes alone replied to her mournful queries, and disconsolate and despairing she threw herself upon the sod to give vent to the bitterness of her sorrow, and lament undisturbed her affliction. “Brandomann!” she exclaimed; “Brandomann! where art thou? friend of my soul, art thou yet in existence, or hath my ingratitude destroyed thee? Oh, if thou hearest, if thou beholdest these tears, have pity on thy wretched Ildegarda, and hasten to relieve her agony, and pardon her involuntary crime.” She started up in asudden ecstasy, for a low groan at no great distance from her seemed to be an answer to her question; she rushed forward in that direction, and soon beheld the hapless Brandomann stretched upon the earth, and apparently in the agonies of death; but her beloved voice, the touch of her gentle hand, the glance of her worshipped eye, either of these would have recalled him to life, and now all were lavishly employed to restore him: he looked up for a moment. Mournfully he said, “Beloved, thou art come to see me die!” and then relapsed into stupor and forgetfulness. Ildegarda wept in agony—she was hanging over him in listless sorrow, when her thoughts were aroused by the appearance of Heidruna. “Brandomann is dying,” said the white goat, “and from grief at your neglect; but you have returned, and, in compassion to your sufferings, I am permitted to restore him to you: take the bowl you see yonder, draw forth a portion of my milk, and give it to his lips; the hydromel of heaven will call him back to life.” Ildegarda obeyed—she gave the miraculous draught to Brandomann, who as instantly recovered his reason and his strength; with tears of joy she expressed her gratitude to Heidruna; and the Moskoe chief observing her delight, and too happy once more to behold her, readily forgave her all he had suffered in her absence. There was much happiness that night in the marble palace; Sleipner bowed down his arched neck to receive a pat from her snowy hand; Serimnor grinned till his huge tusks were completely visible; the ravens presented her the tips of their wings, and flew screaming about, as iftheyhad been drinking the hydromel of Valhalla. Ildegarda was happy, and Brandomann dared nottrust his feelings to words. Sunny walks and moonlight musings were now the pursuits of the imprisoned pair; for instead of retiring to rest, as formerly, when the Valhalla people went to their party, they roamed over the island, contemplating the stars, and talking tenderly of course, for when were love and moonshine separated? It is true, in this instance, the tenderness was all on one side; for though Ildegarda permitted it, since she saw the happiness it gave to Brandomann, she yet could not prevail upon herself to return it, or say the words he wished to hear from her lips. One evening, as thus, in the tranquil moonlight, they sat alone in the summery isle, Ildegarda was astonished, by the appearance of a wonder she had never yet remarked in the island; the moon was suddenly eclipsed by a light so glorious, yet so soft, that every object around her was visible in the brightness of beaming gold, yet without giving pain to the sense. Brandomann remarked her admiration. “This beauteous light,” said he, “is a mark of the approbation of the father of the gods, at some virtuous action of a favourite of heaven; it is Odin’s fire, dear Ildegarda, the light of his glorious smile; and shining now as it does upon thee, and our lonely isle, it comes to tell thee he is satisfied with thy past conduct, and approves thy present.” Scarcely was this explanation given, ere the beauteous light died away from the mountains and the palace, and night wore again her solemn robe of darkness. As they prepared to return, the star-studded sky, the jewel-paved floor of the palaces of Asgard, sparkling with its unnumbered lights, and shining in its soft blue glory, struck on their souls with delight; and, while they were gazing in rapture, a large andbrilliant star shot from its place in the heaven and vanished rapidly from their sight. “Some noble warrior or virtuous sage has closed his eyes upon this mortal scene,” said Brandomann, tenderly: “that was the star of his destiny; it fell from its seat in the heaven when he quitted his on the earth: this is the sign that tells to the survivors his fate, if it is fulfilled in the night; by day it is the vision of the rainbow bridge, the sacred arch that connects this earth with heaven, and over which the spirits of the just must pass.” “I have heard that it is only visible to mortal sight, when the peculiarly brave and virtuous ascend its brilliant road,” said Ildegarda. “And you have heard aright, dearest,” replied Brandomann; “it is only then that the guardian spirit of the bridge, Heimdaller of the radiant brow, descends from his abode on its top to meet and welcome the traveller; then it is, that the light from his rushing wings, and the gems which compose his jewelled crown, shine so strongly on the arch, as to render it visible to mortal sight, clad in the reflected glories of its guardian’s diadem.”
On the morrow Brandomann relieved her anxiety, which had been awakened by the sight of the falling star, lest her father’s should no more have a seat in the heavens, nor himself a name on the earth. “A mild and gracious being hath left us,” said he, “for the happier scenes of Asgard; Sevald is dead—the virtuous son of the abandoned Frotho is no more—he fell, as became his race, in the battle-field, contending against your victorious father and his kinsman Harold, against whom the tyrant rages and vows destruction, as now the only rival he has to fear.” The princess was satisfied by this explanation, the more especially asthe first day of the month again presented the person of her father, though surrounded by the bustle of war.
He hath borne all things well.Shakspeare—Macbeth.
He hath borne all things well.
Shakspeare—Macbeth.
“Whenceis it, Brandomann,” said Sleipner one evening to the Scaldre, “that among those of the heroes whose virtues and glories you are nightly celebrating, I never heard the actions of Odin; why, while thus honouring his friends, are you neglectful of the great father of our race? Surely he, from whom all inspiration flows, deserves the best, ay, and the finest fruits of your genius!” “It was only because I feared my feeble strains would not do justice to the lofty subject,” replied Brandomann; “the glory of the father of gods and men requires a mightier hand than mine to celebrate it; Brage alone should strike the golden chord to his honour—alone should sing of deeds beyond the feeble thought of mortality; that which I can, I will; I dare not wake the voice of song, but I will speak of his wondrous deeds, that to-night, in Valhalla, thou mayest tell bright Asgard’s king that I have instructed this lovely maiden what honours and love are due to the first of her race, and the friend of her father. Will it please thee, Ildegarda, to listen to the legend of Sigge?” “Beyond all other things,” replied the princess, pleasedly: and Brandomann, smiling, began—
From his high and everlasting throne in Valhalla, had Odin, the dispenser of good, poured forth, with unsparing hand, innumerable benefits upon his attendant spirits. In the burning benevolence of his heart he forgot, or he disregarded, that to some essences obligation is pain, and gratitude a toil; so high did he raise some of those bright creations that stood nearest to his throne, that they became too great for obedience, and impatient of the most gentle restraint. Lok, the most glorious of these glorious things, seated on the lowest step of the throne of light, saw but one between him and the highest; and once on that, what should restrain from him the throne of the universe? Thus he thought, and thus he did: by his eloquence he seduced the higher spirits from their duty—by his beauty and promises the lower. The worlds of Asgard sent their governing spirits forth to fight under his banner, and Surter brought myriads to his side. For the first time since the creation, the standards of revolt flew in the cities of Asgard, and the proud Lok drove back, with contempt, the interceding ministers of Odin, who came to remonstrate upon his madness. Confident in his power, the giant spirit entered Valasciolf, the city of the king, and dared even advance to Valhalla: the immortal beings who surround the diamond throne shuddered at his presumption, and, veiling their bright heads from the terrible glances of Odin, wept the approaching destiny of companions once so beloved, which they read in the eye of their master: the sovereign of the universe gave no command to his people—he uttered no reproach—he suffered his faithful spirits to fly before the sword of Lok and the devouring fires of Surter—he even permitted thelost ones to approach the steps of his eternal throne—then, when with proud exultation they advanced to seize upon him whose power they believed departed, he calmly arose from his seat and stretched out his right hand, armed with its invincible falchion, towards his enemies: at that tremendous signal Niord let loose the oceans of heaven, and, in terrific grandeur they came rolling down upon the revolted; the winds from all the worlds were summoned up to heaven to aid their master, and rend and scatter his offenders. Balder deserted his throne in the orb of day,—and the mad and governless globe flew up into Asgard, and burst its destructive flames upon the rebels. Thor, the first-born of Odin, threw by his star-formed diadem, girded his brow with the thunder, and, wielding the red bolt of vengeance, rushed upon them. The sightless horror rose in his terrible strength, and the arrows of Vile, unerring as the lance of Hela, flew among the foes: all was confusion, terror, and despair—cries of anguish polluted the happy city—Odin recalled his warriors, and plunged their enemies in the burning lake, bidding the proud Lok and the ambitious Surter obtain their wish and seat themselves on thrones.
But though the power of the infernal spirits was thus curbed, it was not destroyed; and, still invincible in malice, they resolved to wound Odin through his favourite, man. Lok gave birth to the snaky sin, whose folds encircle the earth, and bade him breathe from his poisonous jaws upon her surface the blast of contention and hate: he obeyed; and man, no longer beneficent and kind, rose up against his brother; with bitter words he poured curses on the father who called him intolife, and smote on the bosom that had nourished him in helplessness. The father of evil beheld and smiled—his work was half accomplished—and he called into existence death, to finish the deeds begun: the pale shadow stalked over the earth and drank the crimson blood till she grew wanton in her mirth, and besought her father for a companion: he heard, and sent Fenris up to follow her steps, and exult in her multiplied victims. The fiends in hell heard the sounds of their triumph, and shouted responsive, when the shivering spirits of the slain were hurled weeping into Niftheim. At length their cruel joy was heard in Asgard, at the same moment that sounds of sorrow ascended from the earth, from the few who still remembered his name. It was from Scythia the plaining voice arose, and the monarch, looking down from his throne, beheld the last remnant of his people sinking beneath the power of the Roman. Now then he determined to descend to the earth, not only to lead them to conquest, but teach them wisdom and virtue. Frea, the mother of the gods, resolved to partake the toils of her husband; and Thor, the eldest born of Odin, the ruler of the air, forsook his palace of nine hundred and forty halls, laid by his terrific thunderbolt, and his diadem of twelve stars, and, debasing his giant frame to the standard of humanity, descended with his father to the earth. Cased in the armour of Scythians, they joined the troops of that beloved people, and the father god bidding them contend no longer against the power of the Romans, to whom Odin had given their country, promised to lead them to other fields, and give them other lands for their inheritance. The fierce Scythians yieldedto the persuasive voice of him whom they only knew as the warrior Sigge, and, rather than submit to the slavery they abhorred, they forsook the tombs of their fathers, and sought an empire in the north.
In vain the inhabitants of these regions sought to oppose the establishment of the heaven-conducted Scythians; in every battle they were defeated and driven with loss from their cities: the arrows of Frea carried destruction to the enemy—the mallet of Thor crushed thousands—and Odin, raging through their ranks, now as a warrior, now as a ferocious lion, spread devastation through their armies, and drove them from the field. The Scythians saw these wonders, and secretly acknowledged Valhalla’s lord beneath the form of Sigge. When the rage of battle was past, he lulled the wounded to repose, and arrested the parting spirits of the dying with the celestial strains of his harp; the wounds of his people were cured, and their strength restored by his celestial power, while, from the same cause, his enemies were bereft of courage and of vigour. Sweden and Norway yielded to the matchless warrior, and received with joy the unknown Sigge for their king, but the Danes refused to acknowledge the leader of armies; and Mimer, their prince, an enchanter, and the friend of Lok, opposed himself against the victorious prince of Scythia. Before the assembled Danes he contended with the stranger in eloquence and poetry, and in these his own people were compelled, by the severe laws of truth, to yield the palm to his rival. Mimer was wise, eloquent, and brave; the strains of his harp were only inferior to those of Sigge, and he felt deeply the injury which he had sustained by the decision against him. Determinedto recover, with his sword, the glory he had lost, he called his armies together, and bade defiance to the Scythians: the opposing bands drew near; furious was the contest, for now, like a tiger sprung Mimer on his foes—now as a fiery serpent stung their hearts, or crushed them in his mighty folds. As terrible raged Odin in various forms, carrying dismay around him, and thinning the ranks of the valiant Danes. At length the monarchs met—in human form stood Mimer—in human form, prepared to oppose him, stood Valhalla’s mighty king: but momentary was the contest, the terrible blow of the Scythian brought the head of the Dane to his feet, as its faltering tongue pronounced the name of Odin. The foe fled to the camp, while the father of men again raised to life his beloved Scythians who had fallen in this, the greatest of his fields. At length, wishing to give peace to the weary land, he summoned the Danish chiefs to meet him in conference. Seated on a throne, he received the warriors: in one hand he held the sceptre of his power, the other rested on a golden dish, in which, now richly embalmed, and adorned with a crown of gold, lay the head of the wretched Mimer. The chiefs gazed in silence—a silence unbroken by human sounds, but disturbed by the voice of the dead, for the ghastly head opened its closed lips, fixed its eyes, and bade, in hollow but authoritative tones, its countrymen no longer oppose the will of the gods, but receive for their prince and lawgiver him who was master of the world! Again it sunk into silence, and the astonished Danes, obeying its dictates, fell at the feet of the conqueror of Mimer. And now, seated in peace on the thrones of the north, morebrightly shone the unmatched virtues of Sigge. He taught his subjects husbandry—he taught them to plough the waters—he opened to them the riches of commerce—and he dug from the earth the treasures which ages had concealed in her bosom;—he punished vice with severity—he rewarded virtue with munificence—he taught them letters, instructed them in the mysteries of the Runic—and obliged them to cultivate the milder graces of music and verse;—he allured men to obey by the charms of his eloquence and the splendour of his glory; and he spoke to their reason by his divine Hovamaal, which he gave them as his best gift—his richest legacy. In this he bade them do no wrong to each other—to honour the eternal gods—and to render up life at the command of their country. When he beheld the good effect of his regulations, and saw his people firmly attached to his laws, he called around him his children, born of his mortal wives, of the daughters of Scythia, and, dividing his dominions among them, taught them to govern according to his ordinances and example. Satisfied with his work, he called Frea and Thor to his side, and, blessing once more his mortal children, ascended with them into the regions of light. Then loudly the Danes acknowledged Odin, and paid their homage to his glory; to his race they have ever been faithful, for they still fill the earthly thrones of their father, who, from his abode in Asgard, looks down upon his children, and crowns their lives with prosperity: and thus shall he do till the long night which is to witness the last battle of the gods—the last attack of Lok and his allies, and which for ages they have been preparing—against Odin and the happy spirits ofAsgard. In the dreadful conflict, men and demons, oceans, earths, Niftheim, nay, even Asgard itself, shall be involved in one general wreck—one entire and undistinguished ruin; the infernal spirits shall fall in the convulsions—evil shall be no more—and from the ashes of the universe shall arise a brighter heaven—a gloomier hell, than those which have passed away. To the glorious seats of Gimle, the city of burnished gold—to its diamond-studded palaces and star-paved courts—shall the spirits of the just ascend, with Odin and his triumphant sons, to the enjoyment of one endless festival; while the cowards and wicked of the earth shall sink with their infernal allies—the revolted of heaven—into the caves of Nastronde, an abode more horrible than Niftheim—a den built up of the carcasses of snakes, and illuminated by devouring flames, where ever-enduring sorrow shall be the punishment of the lost, from which they shall have no power to escape, again to disturb the repose of the just.
Honour and praise to Frea—victory to Thor—glory to Odin, the greatest, and the best—hail to the master of gods and men!