THIS series of SCANDINAVIAN CLASSICS is published by The American-Scandinavian Foundation in the belief that greater familiarity with the chief literary monuments of the North will help Americans to a better understanding of Scandinavians, and thus serve to stimulate their sympathetic cooperation to good ends SCANDINAVIAN CLASSICS VOLUME XIX A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE ESTABLISHED BY NIELS POULSON A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE TRANSLATED IN THE ORIGINAL METERS BY S. FOSTER DAMON AND ROBERT SILLIMAN HILLYER SELECTED AND ANNOTATED BY OLUF FRIIS NEW YORK THE AMERICAN-SCANDINAVIAN FOUNDATION LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 1922 Copyright, 1922, by The American-Scandinavian Foundation C. S. Peterson, The Regan Printing House, Chicago, U. S. A CONTENTS ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER PAGE THERE IS A CHARMING LAND 13 THE GOLDEN HORNS 14 HAKON JARL'S DEATH 21 THE DRIVE 26 MORNING WALK 27 SUMMER HOLIDAY 30 THE LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST SYMBOLIZED IN NATURE 32 CHRIST'S BIRTH CHRIST'S MANHOOD 34 THE HOLY EUCHARIST 35 ALADDIN'S LULLABY 37 SONG: BEHIND BLACK WOODS 39 CARSTEN HAUCH THE WILD HUNT 42 HOME 45 CONSOLATION IN ADVERSITY 46 THE PLEIADES AT MIDNIGHT 47 N. F. S. GRUNDTVIG DENMARK'S CONSOLATION 50 THE HARROWING OF HELL 51 DAY SONG 55 CONTENTS B. S. INGEMANN PAGE MORNING SONG 58 EVENING SONG 59 EVENING SONG 60 EVENING SONG 61 HOLGER DANSKE'S ARMS 61 POUL MOLLER JOY OVER DENMARK 63 THE OLD PEDANT 65 THE MASTER AMONG THE RIOTERS 67 CHRISTIAN WINTHER A SUMMER NIGHT 79 FLY, BIRD, FLY 80 THE NIGHT WAS KINDLY AND VAST 82 OVER THE OCEAN'S BARREN MEADOW 83 LUDVIG BODTCHER HARVEST MEMORY 85 MEETING WITH BACCHUS 86 EMIL AARESTRUP THE SLEEPER 99 MORNING WALK 100 FEAR 101 EARLY PARTING 101 RITOURNELLES 105 CONTENTS HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN PAGE THE DYING CHILD 109 FREDERIK PALUDAN-MULLER TO THE STAR (FROM THE DANCER) no THE PEARL 113 TWO SONNETS 114 THE TRUMPET OF DOOM 116 J. P. JACOBSEN AN ARABESQUE 118 VALDEMAR'S COMPLAINT OVER HIS MURDERED MISTRESS 120 THE WOOD WHISPERS WITH TOVE'S VOICE 121 APPARITION 122 NIGHT PIECE 123 GENRE PICTURE 124 SCARLET ROSES 124 HOLGER DRACHMANN IMPROVISATION ON BOARD 126 I HEAR IN THE MIDNIGHT 127 SAKUNTALA 128 THE ROOM SANK IN SILENCE 130 BARCAROLLE 131 THERE WELLS UP SOUND 133 THE DAY WHEN FIRST I SAW YOUR FACE 134 VALBORG SONG 135 VOLUND THE SMITH 137 CONTENTS VIGGO STUCKENBERG PAGE CONFESSION 139 EARLY OCTOBER 140 SNOW 142 JOHANNES JORGENSEN AUTUMN DREAM H3 THE PLANTS STAND SILENT ROUND ME 144 CONFESSION 145 LUDVIG HOLSTEIN AH, LOOK, MY FRIEND 147 SUNLIGHT IN THE ROOM 148 FATHER, THE SWANS FLY AWAY 149 HELGE RODE MORNING PURPLE DREAM KISS JEPPE AAKJAER PRELUDE iS4 PAE' SIVENSAK iS5 JUTLAND 156 SOPHUS CLAUSSEN ABROAD 161 PAN i6a CONTENTS JOHANNES V. JENSEN PAGE AT MEMPHIS STATION 165 THE RED TREE Z 6 9 THE WANDERING GIRL 172 THE BLIND GIRL I7 2 MOTHER'S SONG 175 COLUMBUS , 7 6 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE Adam Oehlenschlager, 1779-1850 THERE IS A CHARMING LAND THERE is a charming land Where grow the wide-armed beeches By the salt eastern Strand. Old Denmark, so we call These rolling hills and valleys, And this is Freia's Hall. Here sat in days of yore The warriors in armour, Well rested from the war. They scattered all their foes, And now beneath great barrows Their weary bones repose. The land is lovely still, With blue engirdling ocean And verdant vale and hill. Fair women, comely maids, Strong men and lads are dwelling In Denmark's island glades. R. S. H. 13 14 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE THE GOLDEN HORNS THEY pry in pages Of ancient sages, They search in the glooms Of mounded tombs, On swords and shields In ruined fields, On Runic stones Among crumbled bones. A fugitive glance Of the past enchants The inquisitive mind; But the dark flows over And shadows cover The dusty screeds, The heroic deeds, Till the eyes are blind And the thoughts go out In a mist of doubt. "You old, old Ages of gold, Flaming forth Light from the North, When heaven was on earth; Out of the black Where the years mingle, ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 15 Give us a single Glimpse back." Night hurries In cloudy flurries ; Tumuli waken, The rose is shaken, A voice through the skies Profoundly sighs. Over the storms The gods arise, War-crimsoned forms, Star-flashing eyes. "O you who fumble blind Shall find A timeless trace Of the vanished race. A while you shall hold it, Then darkness shall fold it. The graven mark Of the years that are dark Is stamped on its sides, There your secret abides. To honour us, lift Devout hearts for the gift. The fairest of mortals, A maid, Is destined to find it." So they sing, and the shade 1 6 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE Surges over the throng; Night captures their song And closes the portals Behind it. Hrymfaxe the black Snorts, and plunges Into the tide. Delling flings back The bolts of dawn. The gate swings wide. Skinfaxe lunges Up from the dark On the heavenly arc. And the birds are singing In the pearled showers Of dew on the flowers Where the winds are swinging. And the winds breathe her Over the day, The maid who dances To the fields away. Violets wreathe her, Cheeks aglow, Hands like snow, Light as a hind, Gainly and gay, Carefree mind, Smile that humbles ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 17 The smiling land; Sprightly wandering, Love pondering, She stumbles. She starts to behold Flames of gold, And lifts from under The black mould With her white hand The red gold. The zenith shakes With thunder. All the North wakes In wonder. Then come the crowds In busy clouds, Dig and measure To find more treasure. There is no more gold, Their hopes are shaken, They see only the mould Whence it was taken. A century passes. Over the masses Of shadowy peaks The sluice of the storm Tremendously breaks. 1 8 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE The turbulent swarm, The warrior legion, Across the Norwegian Mountain, calls; Over the wold And the Danish plain To the cloud-built halls Where the radiant Old Gather again. "The few who know The gift we bestow, Who never surrender To earthly bond ; Who scale the splendour Of eternity, And through Nature see The light beyond, Who trembling divine God's fires that shine In flowers, in suns, In west, in east, In greatest, in least; Whose thirst burns For the Life of life; Who O Great Spirit Of the vanished days ! Who see thy rays In radiance, rife ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 19 On the holy form Of the ancient relic; Over the storm, Through the gathered night, Surely they hear Again thy clear 'Let there be Light!' The son of Nature, Unsought, obscure, In whom endure The heroic stature, The honest face, Of his father's race; Whose fruitful soil Is rich with his toil, It shall be our pleasure To honour him. He shall find again Our hidden treasure !" The light is grey, The forms grow dim, Over rock and plain They vanish away. Hrymfaxe the black Snorts, and plunges Into the tide. Delling flings back The bolts of dawn. 20 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE The gate swings wide. Skinfaxe lunges Up from the dark On the heavenly arc. Where trees and bushes Spread their shadow, The plough pushes Through the black meadow. Abruptly the plough Stops, and there rush Shudders of wonder Through every bough. The clouds sunder, Bird-notes cease, All voices fall In a holy hush. Profound peace Consecrates all. Then clinks in the mould The timeless gold. Glimpses from the days of yore Sparkle down the aisles of time; Strangely they appear once more, Riddles shining through the grime. Aureoles of mystery hover Over every secret mark; 21 Flames of deity discover Beauty working through the dark. Hallow them, for Fate's undaunted Hand shall sweep away the trove. Christ's blood fill them, like the wonted Blood beneath the sacred grove. Yet, you only see the graven Gold, and not the light above it; Common riches shown for craven Eyes to estimate and covet. The hour strikes ; the gods have given ; Now the gods have taken back; Storms crash; the clouds are riven; The relics vanish in the black. R. S. H. HAKON JARL'S DEATH THE nights are brooding long and black; The Seven Stars glimmer pale. Winds rush from the gates of the zodiac, The pine tree snaps in the cold gale. In the sacred grove the tempest rages Among the moss-grown gods of the ages. "Valhal is past; We sink at last!" 22 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE It throws to the ground stained altar stones And crushes the sacrificial bones. The heap of Gothic masonry lowers Brown in the moon's uncertain glance; In dark blue air rise strutting towers, And round the walls lean shadows dance. A wisp of light spreads ghostly fingers Through painted glass to the Cross, and lingers. "They are sacrificed, Thou white Christ! Thy crown of thorns shall drive them forth From the windswept mountains of the North." Olaf Trygvason lands with his vassals. They sing the mass on Norway's strand; From gloomy southern castles He brings his monks to the mountain land. The Christian faith invades the region, But Hakon leads his peasant legion To fight and bleed For the old creed. They meet the King, but the ancient faith Goes down in the sunset flame of death. The cock crows loud through the midnight glade. Earl Hakon slays his son, Draws from his body the smoking blade, And prays in the grove to the Pallid One. "Christ, let the radiant gods still live! ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 23 My heart raves ! what more can I give? Go back again To thy southern plain!" But the owl flutters on the breast of the Norn; It shrieks, and the mountain echoes mourn. Christian banners seethe in the air; They flash, they flash through the land. The heartening horns of the Christians blare; Luck moves with Olaf hand in hand. The Saviour is carried before him proudly, Psalms and litanies sound loudly; With cross-shaped sword He leads the horde. Victorious rumours clear his path; Hakon flies in lonely wrath. He spurs his whinnying horse; at the river Gaul it stops, spattered with foam. "Let the Norwegian cowards shiver; I never betray my ancient home." Weeping, he kills his horse, and stains His coat with the blood from the gushing veins. "You will think it is I That bleed and die, But, Olaf, I still have men for war, And on my side fight Tyr and Thor." His eyes flash with a fierce despair. He flies to the mountains' pine-roofed halls, 24 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE And hides in a shadowy cavern there With Thormod Karker, one of his thralls. A splinter of pine casts smoky light Where the two sit silent in the night. Distrustful, both, Of the spoken oath. The thrall's eyes stare at the earl, aghast, But midnight comes, and he sleeps at last. Then a rustle runs through the cave's dark length. Hermod appears to the scowling earl. "The gods have put their faith in thy strength, Bane on Olaf, the Christian churl ! Fair Freia weeps, her gold tears fall. Shall a southern crucified criminal Be overlord? Go, swing your sword ! Pour Olaf's blood in every shrine, And a seat in Valhal shall be thine !" The red shade wanes away in space. Just then the thrall wakes with a scream : "Jesus showed me, with smiling face, Your body drenched in a bloody stream." "What! craven slave ! do you fear Thor's thunder? You are grey as the sky when the sun goes under. Dare you betray Your master?" "Nay." The thrall's heart cringes, terror-frosted, (The earl sinks down in sleep, exhausted. ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 25 He dreams, strangely smiling and sighing. Karker gazes as though bewitched. "Why did I see his body lying In blood? and why is his right brow twitched? He is, after all, a robber, a blot On Norway's fame. I could! . . . why not? When Olaf is told He will give me gold." He pauses, trembles, then Hakon's life Spurts from the gullet under the knife. Loudly the horns from the hills come pealing. "Here he is ! At last we have found him !" Like a racing river rushing and reeling Olaf bursts in with his vassals round him. The thrall is felled with their battle-axes. Olaf sees Hakon; his face relaxes In smile to see The dead enemy. "Vengeance ! the master heathen is slain, And the veil of darkness rent in twain." It rumbles across the horizoned heaven; The ocean trembles, the sound goes forth That the radiant gods of old are driven Away, and will never return to the North. Eternally, nothing but cloisters and churches ; Gone are the groves, but he that searches May sometimes behold 26 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE In the lonely wold An upright stone with a hero's mark Still touched with the flames long quenched in dark. R. S. H. THE DRIVE FROM stuffy, dark houses Out over the wold Where the ploughed furrow drowses In a haze of gold See the man in the meadow, Healthy and lithe, As under the shadow He sharpens his glittering scythe. Look there where the flowers Have woven a band Round grey Gothic towers Where white crosses stand, And the spire's brown column Looms grave and aloof See the stork that with solemn Demeanour struts over the roof. The ravine sloping steeply To meet the blue seas Is forested deeply With green-shadowed trees. ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 27 And little brooks flashing Across the green ground, Bravely go dashing Away toward the sky-coloured Sound. Our cart slowly forces Through sand, and we ride So near that the horses Are splashed by the tide. A gull circles over The waves with a scream, Far out we discover Hven Island in mist like a dream. Once more the tall beeches, The tangled ravine, The long forest reaches, The song in the green. And now in the clearing A flashing array Of tents we are nearing The place of our laughter and play. R. S. H. MORNING WALK To the holy beechwood, gently thou Hast beckoned me; O Earth ! where never the heavy plough Had furrowed thee. 28 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE The flowers that cling to the chequered shade, As I passed them by Smiled up from the hollows, unafraid, Toward the open sky. I crossed through a flat expanse of field To reach the wood; By three low hillocks, half-concealed, A barrow stood. Grey with the years' encrusted rime, That oval ring Recalled from the flat expanse of time Its court and King. sparkling field, O virgin glade, O grass-cool dale, On you had Flora softly laid Her bridal veil. Cornflowers, red and blue, entwined A diadem; 1 had to stop, I had to find A word for them. Welcome again this happy year In the sunny morn ! Gaily you twinkle and disappear Among the corn. Blue stars and red, you shine among Gold lightning gleams, ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 29 And in your eyes, so clear, so young, All summer dreams. "Ah, Poet, thou dost not know, I fear, Our sorrowful case; Thou shouldst but see the master here And his scowling face. Each time he looks at us, he swears We are a thorn In the flesh, and Hell's predestined tares In the sacred corn." Ah, flowers, I too must share your fate ! A poet grows Like a random cornflower in the great Field's ordered rows. He stands in the way of the useful grain In idleness, Lifting his colours to sun and rain For the Lord's caress. We belong to one another; we all Are destitute. Fair children, wreathe your carnival Over my lute. Tremble as in the wind, with clear Music along Each vibrant string, and God shall hear Our morning song. R. S. H. 30 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE SUMMER HOLIDAY THE day is tranquil, quietly exalted, High rises her abode, green flower-vaulted, Light winged butterflies bend the new grasses, Brook water, a blue rippled singing, passes. Down from Olympus dances the newcomer, Flora, veiled in the hazes of young summer; Her blond hair flashes with the wind's veering, Each heavy head of grain is her golden earring. Before my eyes there breathes the grass-green bodice Circling the lily breasts of the slim goddess; Then, as day wanes, the moonlight twines a slender Belt on the water, gleaming in silver splendour. Silence! swift Artemis runs over the meadow, Glimmering through nets of half-transparent shadow; And now she shakes her torch, the pale flame blanches Through rifted clouds and overarching branches. Hecate comes across the twilight, tending Her plants, and here she lifts the backward bending Night violets for their sweetness, there she closes The purple cups of all her virgin roses. ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 31 Then slowly pacing toward me from the river, The Mother of the Muses, memory-giver, Grave Nimosene comes across the ages And reads aloud from long-forgotten pages. Where the black-mantled night sits brooding under The nightingale's old mystery and wonder, Her watch above two children she is keeping; One is pretending sleep, the other sleeping. The first will rise when scarlet dawn is shaken Over the hills ; the other will not waken, For she is death. The first one waves her holy Poppy wand, and sleep enfolds me slowly. . . . Who rises yonder in the orient, laden With swathes of colour? Ah, the rosiest maiden Aurora ! but she flies already, frightened; A youth stands in her stead; the hills are brightened. He plucks the strings of his enchanted lyre. Day flings the answer back in chords of fire, And then from a thousand hidden tangles, ringing, Flows the great morning hymn the birds are singing. Also in me, in me, Phoebus Apollo, You waken songs of praise; mine too shall follow The wind-path through the trees till they mount and render My homage in the zenith of your splendour. 32 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE Homage and thanks for the song we send to meet you; For the spark of fire we yield again to greet you; Urged by your golden arrows we rise and enter With you, the universe's radiant centre. R. S. H. THE LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST SYMBOLIZED IN NATURE Christ's Birth EACH year when vapours melt and wane, Child Jesus Christ is born again; The Angel in air, in grove, in sea, It is the Saviour, it is He. Wherefore all Nature, with serene Rejoicing, buds in hopeful green. Now the young stainless shepherd lads, Watching the stars' high myriads, See God's angels in fields of night Assemble, trembling in cool moonlight. "To-day a Saviour is born," they sing, "From gentle Mary's womb, from spring. "His only drink is the earliest dew, His eyes gaze heavenward into the blue, His hands reach heavenward; they are bound ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 33 With garlands of roses to the ground. His cry is the breeze, in the straw he lies, Blue heaven mirrored in his eyes. "Ah shepherds, go to Bethlehem; Seek the cold-hearted, counsel them To go into the fields, and find The laughing Child, green grass-entwined, And hear his voice, and see his smile, That heaven may lift the earth awhile." The hovering angels reascend. To Bethlehem the shepherds wend, And tell their happy news, but they Are scorned, and mocked, and turned away Back to the meadows, where the sod Blooms with the new-born Child of God. The stars stretch forth their silver hands And beckon the kings of the eastern lands ; The rays come singing with holy sound And humbly sink to the living ground, Praising the Lord made manifest, Who smiles from the Mother's lovely breast. They rise again from the darkened mould In petals of purple, crimson, and gold, Innocent children, devout and fair, Half-lifted, half-bent to the earth in prayer, Holding their yellow urns astir With the sweetness of frankincense and myrrh. 34 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE Christ's Manhood I know not where thou art. Where hast thou gone, dear child, Thou who from earth's young heart Hast looked to Heaven and smiled? Ah, in the scorched field I search for thee in vain, But in the woods concealed I find thee once again. So tall, so exquisite, Thou wanderest alone, In the glades dimly lit, Far from the fiery zone Where the pompous Pharisee Dazzles the sun-cracked mould With purple pageantry And flashing sheen of gold. Thou wanderest, O Young And Beautiful, away From splendour, deep among The cool retreats of day. I heard as in a dream Through the green-shadowed hall Voices of bird and stream, And thy voice through them all. ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 35 The Holy Eucharist Where hast thou gone, dear child, Who looked to heaven and smiled, From the gleaming Earth, dreaming? In woods and caverns thou art seen no more. The air is harsh, the ground is dead and frore. All her child-like flowers slain, Nature will not smile again. She is sick to death, and sear, Pregnant with the fruitful year. Yet, above the labouring root Redden the ripe cheeks of fruit. I will take thee, little one, Nourished by the earth and sun, Feed on thee in peace, and know Nothing of thy mother's woe. Wrinkled tree, like thee I stand In the mighty orchard-land, Wait as thou dost, to be fed With the earth's unstinted bread. Share thy strength with me, renew My vanished sap and vigour too; Humbly I would share thy meal, Kneeling as the flowers kneel ; In thy leaves one mote of dust Twinkling down the autumn gust. 36 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE Great thy power, O generous tree ! Courage, immortality, Fill thee from thy groping root, Fill me from thy basking fruit; Circulation through one whole Undivided perfect soul. Mighty body, on thy flesh I have fed, and live afresh; Hallowed was that heavenly bread Why is all thy beauty dead? Silence ! Ah, the sweetness, The colours that run through the vineyard with radiant fleetness! The gladness that flashes through Nature's shadowed dwelling! What is it that gleams and laughs where the grapes are swelling? Exquisite grape, wine-ruddied, Dark nature revives in thy flame, and is flooded With light from thy locks as the sunbeams caress thee. The shadow weaves A face in the leaves, And devoutly into the chalice I press thee. And the angel who awoke the spring, Whom sultry summer drove away To the forest twilight-glimmering, Is sparkling here in the purple spray. ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 37 The gentle flame, the river sound, Light ether, spring's celestial friend, The veil of flowers over the ground All fill this chalice at the end. Lift the cup with reverent hands, Stiff though they be with harvest frost, Deep in the heart that understands All blooms eternal, nothing lost. Your withered creeds take root once more ; Your bread and wine are sacrificed; Drink, heavenward gazing, and adore This is the blood of Jesus Christ. R. S. H. ALADDIN'S LULLABY TO HIS DEAD MOTHER LULLABY, little Love, Slumber sweetly, slumber deep, Though your cradle will not move, I shall lull you, Child, to sleep. Do you hear the muffled storm Sorrowing in brotherhood? Do you hear the hungry worm Ticking in the coffin wood? 38 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE Slumber, Child, as I sing. Nought is lacking; take your ease. Hark! your rattle's merry ring From the spire between the trees ! Now the nightingale for us Hovers nearer, great with song; You have lulled me often thus, Now I lull you, slumber long. If your heart be not of flint, Mother, see what I can do ! From this little elder splint I shall make a flute for you. I will play for your delight With a soft, complaining tone, Like a wandering voice at night Through wet winter branches blown. Ah, but I must leave you here, For your arms are cold as snow, And I have no cottage near, Warm and bright, where I can go. Lullaby, then, little Love, Slumber sweetly, slumber deep, Though your cradle will not move, I shall lull you, Child, to sleep. R. S. H. ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 39 SONG BEHIND black woods the pale Moonlight is sifting. To God the nightingale Her song is lifting. The low tones float and linger, Blend and expire, And I hear the brook's white finger Plucking her lyre. In the wood there is one flower Death has chosen; (Soon, soon, perhaps, my hour!) Its heart is frozen. Let the last flower die. From clods that smother Its seeds, toward a fairer sky Rises another. O Darkness ! perhaps soon Here in the deathless Path of thy summer moon, I shall lie breathless. Though the shadow of death is blue, Smile, thou immortal! And bear my last sigh through Dawn's scarlet portal. R. S. H. 40 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE There is a Charming Land (Der er et yndigt Land} was prob- ably written in the summer of 1819. As a patriotic song it is even more popular than the warlike national anthem King Christian, which is well known to American and English readers through Longfellow's translation. The Golden Horns (GuLdhornene), written in the summer of 1802, was published in Digte by Adam Oehlenschlager, 1803. In the village of Gallehus, near Mogeltonder, South Jutland, were found two ancient golden horns, one in 1639 by a poor lace-girl, and the other in 1734 by a farmer. They were put on exhibition in the Kunstkammer (Chamber of Curiosities) at Copenhagen. The night between May 4th and 5th, 1802, the horns disappeared. Not until a year later was it discovered that a goldsmith had stolen them and melted them down for the sake of the metal. The .wide discussion of this national and his- torical loss inspired Oehlenschlager's poem. The characters in the passage describing the sunrise are taken from the Northern mythology: "Allfather took Night, and Day her son, and gave to them two horses and chariots, and sent them up into the heav- ens, to ride around the earth every two half-days. Night rides before with his horse named Frosty-Mane (Hrymfaxe), and every morning he bedews the earth with the foam from his bit. The horse that Day has, is called Sheen-Mane (Skin- faxe) and he illumines all the air and the earth with his mane." (The Prose Edda by Snorri Sturluson, tr. SCANDINAVIAN CLAS- SICS, vol. V, 1916). Delling (Dayspring) is the third husband of Night and father of Day. Hakon Jarl's Death (Hakon Jarls Dod) was published in the volume of 1803. Hakon the Mighty, Earl of Hladir, ruled Norway from 975 to 995. Olaf Trygvason, the descendant of Harald Fairhair, first king of Norway, spent his youth in exile. He was baptized in England. In Dublin, some time later, he heard rumors of the growing discontent in Norway. In 995 he set sail for Norway, constituted himself the champion against Hakon's tyranny, laid claim to the throne by his ancient right, and cherished the firm intention of supplanting the old Northern ADAM OEHLENSCHLAGER 41 paganism with Christianity. Oehlenschlager's poem treats of the last battle between the old order and the new, and the end of Hakon Jarl. Valhal literally means "the Hall of the Slain." It was the abode of Odin's champions, but the word is often used, as here, in a wider sense as the dwelling of the gods. The Norn was one of the Northern Fates. Hermod, Odin's son, frequently acted as a divine messenger. The Drive (De Kjorende), from a little play Midsummernighfs Play (Sanct Hansaften-Spil), describes a drive from Copenha- gen to the amusement grove in the Dyrehave. Morning Walk (Morgenvandring) is one of a cycle of poems called The Trip to Langeland (Langelands-Rejsen) in which the poet describes his voyage during the summer of 1804 to the island of Langeland between Sjaelland and Funen. Stanzas 3, 4, and 8-10 are omitted. Summer Holiday (Freidigt Sommerliv) is also from The Trip to Langeland cycle. Stanzas 4-9 and 15-18 are omitted. The Life of Jesus Christ Symbolized in Nature (Jesu Christi gientagne Liv i den aarlige Natur), a cycle of poems on the theme that nature is a revelation of God, each season repeating events in the life of Christ, was published in the Poetical Writ- ings, vol. I, of 1805. In the preface Oehlenschlager says that he has tried to show nature as an annually repeated myth of the divine Redeemer; this myth would have no possible meaning, did he not himself believe in the historical fact of the holy cul- mination. In the poem, therefore, it is necessary to have before one's eyes simultaneously Christ in time, in nature, and in the heart, as these aspects mingle with one another all through the work. Aladdin's Lullaby (Aladdins Vuggesang} from Aladdin. The mad Aladdin sings a lullaby to his mother over her grave. Song (Sang) from Aladdin. 42 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE Cars ten Hauch, 1790-1872 THE WILD HUNT WHEN they thought that Denmark's king Soundly in the graveyard slumbered, Words incredible, unnumbered, Through the land crept whispering. Rumor said: "The king hunts nightly Stag and doe on Sjaelland's isle With a company unsightly Through the country mile on mile." They saw the Childe at the head of his hosts; In the moonlight they heard the racket Of his train of terrible shadows and ghosts With the hawk and the sable brachet. Fables deep in Time's abyss From oblivion resurrected, Champions in their rest ejected From the dim necropolis, Women from their hidden prison, Heathen kings from the sepulchre, All (the peasants said) had risen Forth to ride with Valdemar. Like wings the sound over woods was borne, In terror the dwarf dug deeper, While overhead a mad hunting-horn Aroused the horrified sleeper. CARSTEN HAUCH 43 Volmer's eyes with anguish blazed, Never found he rest and quiet; Ever in this awful riot Must he hurry on half-crazed. Nearest him, of all the shadows Coursing over lake and glade Through the night-mist of the meadows, Was a pale and slender maid. Her long hair flickered in the midnight blast, She sighed with sighs inhuman; On snow-white horse she galloped fast, The fairest of all women. Over castle and lofty house, Falcon, raven, birds of evil, Unknown fowl from Night primeval, Fat, enormous flittermouse, Over forests, fields, and ditches, Clustering pallid flare on flare, Wolves with hundred feet, and witches Sailed the river of the air. The hunters' shouts, the thunders' crash, Roared high in the lust of slaughter, Through horses' whinnies, the snap of the lash, Above the livid water. Just before them, roe and hart Flew as if on hidden pinions From the ghost-king and his minions, Cleaving the slow mists apart. 44 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE At their head there flitted, leading, Tall and white, a wounded hind Stuck with many arrows, bleeding, Shaking, in the midnight wind. The peasants who saw the chase sweep by Swore, to all who would hear it, That out of the hunted hind's wild eye There peered Queen Helvig's spirit. As in an enchanted space, Trees stood in the vapor rootless, While the stag flew onward, footless Yet unwearied by the chase. Then the black snake coursed the meadow, The red dragon rose unwombed, While the storm wailed like a shadow To eternal anguish doomed. The full moon, like a bleeding troll, Unheeding the earth's ire, Cruelly charmed each tortured soul From out the Abyss's fire. Often when the autumn brought Wheeling gusts of phosphorescence In this dismal chase, the peasants Whispered, pallid and distraught: "Save us, Christ and Maid of Heaven, From this evil by thy grace ! Save us from the infernal levin; Save us: 'tis King Volmer's chase!" CARSTEN HAUCH 45 They thought that his doom was sealed for aye, By no prayers to be diminished: To hunt until the last Judgment Day, Till World and Time were finished. S. F. D. HOME I REMEMBER a far place, where I would gladly be; There, hours glided slowly, silently, As clear as silver pearls, strung on a golden wire, And gentle as the words of first desire. The birds played there all day among the maple boughs ; I lived as they in one long mad carouse. In my romping I would scour the meadows everywhere, And what the neighbors said, I did not care. And from the window gazing at the high trees above, In later days I dreamed of him I love; And when I heard his foot-steps hastening to me, My heart rose in a silent ecstasy. Beside the hedge of roses, we sat beneath the moon, And listened to the rivulet's rippled tune. 46 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE Our words, half in earnest, half in fun, flew to and fro ; Which you may have forgotten long ago. S. F. D. CONSOLATION IN ADVERSITY WHEN happiness turns from you, And all seems unrepaid, And you are scorned by enemies, Even by friends betrayed; Then think but little of it, And be not self-deceived; We are sent here for labor, Though joy rests unachieved. But there, where spirits gather On the Milky Way's vast wave, Where the white swans of the living Soar out of Time and Grave, You shall see revelation On that irradiant coast: He holds the greatest happiness Who has endured the most, CARSTEN HAUCH For grief is but the wrong side Of the flaming robe of bliss; The eternal light is shadowed In the dim springs of the Abyss. S. F. D. THE PLEIADES AT MIDNIGHT \VE ARE the nightly weavers who gather the invisible threads from the Milky Way's outmost ring where the end of the loom stands. Hovering apparitions, unwearied, wingless, whose flight no bird can ever equal. For us, Time hardly has begun, although the ephemerae of worlds, newly spawned, streaming atoms in the immense ether, dream of aeons and eternities; and think that the end is come, though not yet have they completed a single orbit round the firmly linked Daughters of Atlas, the bright-eyed 48 A BOOK OF DANISH VERSE whose glance gleams through the veil, and who carry the weight of innumerable worlds unaware; and who are like to swelling grapes from which streams the wine of life. What you call a thousand years is hardly a cloven second too short for the glance of our eyes thereby to reach the nearest among our daughters circling in the ring of the Milky Way. For us your longest sorrow is barely one beat of an ephemera's wing before quick death. Yet we are also the children of Time, and even the longest courses in which shining worlds revolve count as nothing against the invisible circle of Eternity which the hours never draw near; and although we measure them as millions of years, they are only a stream dried by a hot summer's day compared to the unfathomable Ocean of Infinity in the realm of the uplifted spirits released from the weight of Time. c T? n CARSTEN HAUCH 49 The Wild Hunt (Den vilde Jagt) is from Hauch's ballad-cycle Valdemar Atterdag, et romantisk Digt (1861). The story of the loves of King Valdemar (or Volmer) and Tove, ending only when the queen burned Tove to death in a bath, is a very old one, first appearing in the medieval ballads. There the story is ascribed to Valdemar the Great (1157-1182) and his queen Sofie; but in die sixteenth century the historian Arild Hvitfeldt (The Chronicle of Denmark) ascribed it to Valdemar the Fourth (1340-1375) and his queen Helvig. The legend of the Wild Hunt had a separate origin. This is found in Norway, Sweden, Germany, England, and northern France, with different versions for each province. In eastern Sjaelland it was connected with King Volmer and linked to the Tove- Valdemar legend: King Volmer being Valdemar the Fourth, whose famous dwelling place Gurre was there. It is Hauch's own development of the story to have Valdemar and Tove enjoy a postmortem revenge by hunting Queen Helvig, metamorphosed into a white hind. This romance has become a common theme of the Danish poets. Home (Hjem), one of Laura's songs, from Robert Fulton, 1853. The Pleiades at Midnight (Pleiaderne