And turn to view, from summit steep, And while to earth's enduring race This mind and mem'ry shall belong, Of light and life our youth that met, HORE DANICA. No. I. Halcon Jarl, a Tragedy; by Adam Oehlenschlager. We are about to introduce to the acquaintance of our readers, a great poet of Denmark, whose compositions, in his native language, have rendered him the chief living pride of his own country; while his German versions of these same compositions have entitled him, according to the judgment of his most enlightened contemporaries, to sit with the full privileges of an honoured denizen among the heirs and representatives of the illustrious founders of the modern poetry of Germany. The most severe of German critics are constrained to admit, that Oehlenschlager writes the language of Schiller as correctly, as if its accents had been the earliest that ever fell on his ear-so that we might very safely have considered him in the light of a proper German classic, and proceeded to analyze his works in part of the same series which has already made known to the readers of England the merits of Adolphus Müllner, and Francis Grillparzer. But every man of genius owes to his own country the sacred debt of cultivating, preserving, and cherishing her language; and as Oehlenschlager has, in spite of many temptations, adhered through life to this rule of duty, we should think ourselves very much to blame were we to treat him merely as a German poet. The literature of which he is the chief living ornament, is indeed closely allied to that of Germany; but it has been developed, notwithstanding, in a manner perfectly independent. It is as different from the literature of Germany as the literature of Germany is from that of England-or as the literature of Portugal is from that of Castille. Acting upon the same general principle of art, which has swayed the greatest of the German masters in their most suc cessful efforts, the Danes have, in consequence of this very adherence, become poets of a totally different order from the Germans. Like them, they are intensely national-and that single circumstance points out abundantly both the nature of the resemblance they bear to them, and the wide measure of the difference which obtains between them. Drawing their imagery from the kindred, but far purer sources of Scandinavian mythology and romance-and applying these, and all the other instruments of their art, to the illustrations of the history, the manners, and the old life of a kindred also, but nevertheless a very different people, the poets who sing of the downfall of Odin, and the rearing of the Cross among the rough Earls of the Baltic shores, are in no danger of being confounded, by such as have studied their works, with those that record the proud visions of Wallenstein, and the mild generosity of Eg mont. Of all the modern Danish Poets, Oehlenschlager is the most deeply and essentially imbued with this prevailing spirit of Scandinavian thought. Almost all the tragedies he has written and all his excellent tragedies, with the one splendid exception of the Coneggio-are founded on incidents of the old history of the Norsemen. The wild unbridled spirits of those haughty Sea-kings that carried ravage and terror upon all the coasts of Europe the high, warm, unswerving love of those northern dames that welcomed them on their return to their native ice-girt fastnesses-the dark ferocious superstitions which made these bold men the willing sport and tools of demons-their sacrifices of blood-their uprootings of tenderness -their solemn and rejoicing submission when fate irresistible arrests them in their buoyant and triumphant breath of strife-their hot impetuous lawless living-their cold calm dying and their desperate ignorance of the name of despair-such are the characters and such the passions that Oehlenschlager has delighted to contemplate as an antiquarian, and dared to depict as a Tragedian. The materials are rich surely but it demanded all the audacity of genius to grapple with them-and all the delicacies of perfect skill to adorn the victory and justify the boldness. The history of Earl Hakon, well known to all those who have read the Scandinavian ballads, forms the subject of, we think, the noblest of all this poet's tragedies. Olaf, the son of Harald the golden-haired, the rightful heir of the crown of Norway, was left by his father in possession of his Irish conquests, and there maintained in his youth the state of a pirate king-but all his Scandinavian possessions, except only the royal title, were usurped in his infancy by Earl Hakon. The young king, however, in the course of one of his expeditions, landed on one of the green islands off the Norwegian coast, and his arrival there was no sooner known, than a strong party in Norway, disgusted with the tyrannies and the licentiousness of the usurper, began to proclaim their sense of his rights, and their determination to throw off their allegiance to Hakon. The Christian faith of Olaf, however, (for the young prince had been converted at Dublin) gives Hakon confidence he is persuaded that Odin will protect him, and that the mass of his subjects will not receive as their monarch an apostate from the creed of their forefathers. The first scene we shall extract represents Hakon as talking in a holy grove of pines, with Thorer, one of his chief captains, concerning the arrival of the Christian prince. Hak. We are alone. Within this sacred wood Dares no one come but Odin's priests and Tho. Such confidence, my lord, makes Hak. So, Thorer, thou believ'st all that Was told of Olaf Trygvason at table, Tho. To judge By your surprise, my lord, and if I dare And must obey their owner. What I seem I must dissemble.Now we are alone, Hear me ! Whate'er of Olaf thou hast said, I knew it long before. Tho. His warlike fame Had reach'd to Norway? Hak. Aye. What mean'st thou, noble Jarl? Tho. But thou art serious.- Hak. Give me thine hand, In pledge of thy firm loyalty! Tho. Thereto, Thy kindness and my gratitude must bind He is the last descendant of King Harald; Yet Hakon's race yields not to his. Of old The Jarls of Hlade ever were the first After the King; and no one now remains Of our old royal line, but this vain dreamer, Who has forsworn the manners and the faith Of his own native land-a ransom'd slave, Born in a desart of an exil'd mother, &c. The speech of the earl is here interrupted by the discovery that he is overheard by a beautiful virgin, who had concealed herself behind one of the consecrated trees. This maiden VOL. VII. Gudrun, daughter of the old Smith Bergthor, has come thither to make an offering to the Goddess Freya, of her nuptials is at hand. The earl for she is a bride, and the day is captivated by her beauty, and immediately begins to urge the suit of a tyrant with tyrannic boldness; but the arrival of Carlsofut and Jostein, two more of his friends, constrains him to resume his conversation concerning Olaf, and the maiden makes her escape for the present. Hak. Enough. I call'd you to this meet- That I may speak in friendly confidence: My name has spread o'er Norway with re May fill the seas with terror. I have them Extirpated. This kingdom every storm Has honourably weather'd-and 'twas I That had the helm-I only was the pilot ; I have alone directed-sav'd the vessel,And therefore would I still the steersman be; Still hold my station. Thor. 'Tis no more than justice. Hak. Olaf alone is left of the old line; And think'st thou he is tranquil now in Ireland? What would'st thou say, wise Thorer, if I told thee, In one brief word, that he is here ? Tho. That, indeed, I know, Hakon; at which instant the marble statue of Odin falls to the ground. Hakon endeavours to persuade them that the marble has long been in a state of decay; but after their departure, expresses, in a soliloquy, his sensibility to the event as a disastrous omen. The concluding scene of the first act has been much approved by a contemporary critic, Francis Horn. In it, Hakon is represented as visiting the old Smith already alluded to. After expressing his admiration of Gudrun, (whom her father by this time has locked up in a cellar with iron doors) he tries on his crown, which, being framed on an old measure of the Norwegian kings, is too large, and falls down over his eyes. He threatens the unsuccessful maker, and gives him three days to complete his work ;-on which Bergthor observes: I am an old man; and my hoary head hours! Hakon's rewards are princely,-yet without The kingdom is disordered ;-and his son, Iman, my friend, defends the Christian faith. I hasten to his aid in war and council,With soldiers, priests, and ships. We sail'd right onward; I had no thought of Norway.-Yet behold Out of the sea, from far, the well-known rocks Rose on my sight. There with their massy boughs The dark tall pine trees seem'd to beckon to Their dashing sound was music; and they To me alone a half-forgotten lay The much lov'd shore. The streamer gaily Spreading its red wings like a bird on high, Yet The mast, and futter to the land. Oh then, Thor. Norway on her own everlasting rocks Stands firm indeed; and vainly as before beams, Only to shine within the vales more warmly, Thor. The wretch is hated as he hath de- Olaf. Yet undisturb'd has reigned for eighteen years? Thor. Such reign he owes all to his former His luck in war-and the rash choice of Who had no better ruler. Olaf. But has prudence Deserted him? Thor. Nay he deserted her ;- ful Jarl Hakon! (it was said)-He is indeed The warlike powers of Jomsburg rooted out! What may resist his prowess?-By such fame No more respected-from their sacred homes Brought wives and daughters to return dishonour'd. What need of more? At once in many The flames of insurrection 'gan to blaze- master To hurl the robber from the throne. Can this be possible? Thor. Your cousins here, The rest of this fine scene gradually My heart is melted by the thought—Oh Am I indeed the humble instrument Father! I do resign all will but thine- (Rising up with animation.) Mine arm is strong-my bosom swells with I shall be thine apostle.With this sword My flocks paternally. Where Odin's temple Now shall the clouds of incense float around; sic, On downy wings, exalt the soul to heaven.- Away with hatred, violence and blood! In the next scene, Hakon, cased in armour, meets by accident with Thora, his principal favourite among many mistresses, and the only one by whoin, |