Chapter XXVI

——“Litera scripta manet,”
The poet saith. Pray let me show my vanit-
Y, and have “a foreign slipslop now and then,
If but to prove I’ve traveled; and what’s travel,
Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?”

THE modern literature of the Icelanders is of quite a different character from that in heathen times, and in the early history of the country, from the tenth to the sixteenth century. They seem as much devoted to poetry as their ancestors, and their style of versification is similar; but they court the muse in a different strain. The poetry of the modern Icelanders does not abound in mythology, hyperbole, and fable; and it may reasonably be supposed that works of imagination have lost something of the hue of romance that is thrown around the productions of a heroic age. A study of the works of foreign authors—translations from eminent christian poets, in Norway, Germany, England, and the United States, are favorite pursuits of the modern Icelanders; and works of this description are among the most popular published in the country.

Among the original writers and translators of the present century, none rank as high as Jon Thorlakson. Receiving a scanty salary of less than fifty dollars a year, as parish priest of Bægisa, and laboring hard as a farmer, he yet found time to translate from English and German writers, and to compose original poetry, to the extent of several octavo volumes, About the year 1818, his case attracted the attention of a learned society in London, and a sum of money was forwarded to him to smooth his declining years; but he survived only till 1821, being over seventy years of age at the time of his death. His translation of Milton was published in Icelandic, in octavo—double columns—a volume of over 400 pages, in 1828. The “Essay on Man,” and a volume of original poetry of great merit were published in 1842. Among his original poems are two versions of the story of Inkle and Yarico.

The style of versification in vogue among the early Icelandic writers was very peculiar. Its harmony was dependent, not so much on rhyme and the number of syllables in a line, as upon peculiar alliterations. Their language abounding in consonants, this seemed easier than rhymes, which were seldom used. Some of their kinds of verse had regular alliterations at the commencement of the lines; other varieties, just so many alliterations in a line, or alliterations in a similar position in certain words of corresponding lines. The following is a very good example. It is from an “Address to the New Year,” or, more literally, “The sight of the New Year.”

NYARS VISUR.

Verði bliðda veðurs!
Viðir blómgi hliðar!
Veiðist vel á miðum!
Vaxi gengdin laxa!
Glitri grund og flötur!
Groi tun og floi!
Neytist afl til nota!
Nytist allt til hlitar!

How ingenious and regular are the alliterations! This is from a poem, written in 1847. During the present century, rhymes have been gaining in favor greatly. A longer meter and more perfect rhythm is also cultivated. The old verse, and much of the more modern, is a very short meter, which, to us, does not seem as poetical as a more stately and majestic tread. Formerly, and sometimes at the present day, verse was printed without capitals, except at the commencement of a stanza. Let us see how old John Milton looks in an Icelandic dress; and how Mr. Thorlakson sings:—

Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world and all our woe.

UM fyrsta manns
felda hlýðni
ok átlystíng
af epli forboðnu,
hvaðan óvægr
upp kom dauði,
Edens missir,
ok allt böl manna;
Þartil annarr einn,
æðri maðr,
aptr fær
oss viðreista,
ok afrekar nýan
oss til handa
fullsælustað
fögrum sigri;
Sýng þú, Menta-
móðir himneska!
þú sem Hórebs fyrr
á huldum toppi,
eða Sínaí,
sauðaverði
innblést fræðanda
útvalit sæði,
hve alheimr skópst
af alls samblandi;
Eða lysti þik
lángtum heldr
at Zíons hæð
ok Sílóa brunni,
sem framstreymdi
hjá Frétt guðligri!

We can barely recognize the “heavenly Muse”—“Mentamothir hymneska”—Mother of hymns!—

——“that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, did’st inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed,
In the beginning, how Heaven and Earth
Rose out of chaos.”

Thorlakson’s version of Pope’s great Essay is a later translation, and, probably, a better one. It is longer meter, is all in rhyme, and more in accordance with the structure of English verse.[37] Here is a selection from the fourth epistle of the Essay, with the translation:—

But, by your fathers’ worth, if yours you rate,
Count me those only who were good and great.
Go! if your ancient but ignoble blood
Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood,
Go! and pretend your family is young;
Nor own your fathers have been fools so long.
What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?—
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.

Mr. Thorlakson gives it in this style.

En sé yðvart hið aldna bólð
i ótérligum runnið straum
þartil nu siðan Nóa flóð,
narra-registar gegnum aum,
segið þá heldur yðar ætt
unga; látið ei heyra neinn
að sér hafi svo lengi lædt
i legg þeim dáraskapur einn!
Hvað skarn-þræl, narra, skelmskum hal,
skapa kann aðals-mæti góð?
ei heilar ættar tallaust tal
til vinnst, ei gjörvalt Hovarðs blóð.

One of the finest specimens of Icelandic poetry, is a translation of Bruce’s Address to his Army, on the following page. It shows the flexibility of the Icelandic language in a striking light; the piece preserving the exact number of stanzas, the same number of lines to a stanza, and rhymes precisely like the song of Burns, so that in the Icelandic version it can be sung to the same air.

BANNOCKBURN.

AVARP ROBERT BRUCE TIL HERLITHS SINS.
EPTIR BURNS.

Skotar, er Wallace vörðust með,
Víg með Bruce opt hafið sjeð;
Velkomnir að blóðgum beð,
Bjartri eða sigurfrægð!

Stund og dagur dýr nú er;
Dauðinn ógnar hvar sem sjer;
Játvarðs að oss æðir her—
Ok og hlekkja nægð!

Hverr vill bera níðings nafn?
Ná hver bleyðu seðja hrafn?
Falla þræl ófrjálsum jafn?
Flýti hann burtu sjer!

Hverr vill hlinur Hildar báls
Hjör nú draga hins góða máls,
Standa bæði og falla frjáls?
Fari hann eptir mjer!

Ánauðar við eymd og grönd!
Yðar sona þrældóms bönd!
Vjer viljum láta líf og önd,
En leysa úr hlekkjum þá!

Fellið grimma fjendur því!
Frelsi er hverju höggi í!
Sjái oss hrósa sigri ný
Sol, eða orðna að ná!

We give the original, so they may be readily compared.

BANNOCKBURN.

ROBERT BRUCE’S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.

Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled!
Scots wham Bruce has aften led!
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory.

Now’s the day and now’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour;
See approach proud Edward’s power—
Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland’s king and law,
Freedom’s sword will strangly draw?
Freeman stand, or freeman fa’,
Let him follow me!

By oppression’s woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free.

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty’s in every blow!
Let us do or die!

These examples, though but _disjecta membra poetæ_, are sufficient to show something of the structure and appearance of Icelandic poetry; and, probably to the general reader, as interesting as a dissertation that would fill a volume.

One more specimen, however, of their verse, shall be given; a couple of stanzas of a very popular Icelandic hymn. It is entitled, “The weeping of Jacob over Rachel,” or,

GRÁTUR JACOBS YFIR RAKEL.

Hvert er farin hin fagra og blíða?
Fórstu Rakel í svipanna heim?
Fyrir sunnu sje jeg nú líða
Svarta flóka og dimmir í geim.
Rakel! Rakel! daprast nú dagar,
Dvín mjer gleði, brátt enda mun líf;
Leiðir eru mjer ljósgrænir hagar—
Liggur í moldu hið ástkæra víf.

Drottinn Abrahams! deyr nú minn rómur,
Dauðans skuggi í hjarta mjer er;
Drottinn Abrahams! auður og tómur
Er nú heimur og dagsbirta þver;
Drottinn Abrahams! barn Þitt sjá bifa!
Blóðug falla tár þess á mund;
Drottinn Abrahams! lát mig ei lifa!—
Liggur í moldu hið harmdauða sprund.

We will now have a specimen of Icelandic prose. See how queer our good old plain philosopher Franklin looks in a Northern dress. Here is his “Story of a Whistle.”

HLJÓTHPÍPAN.

EPTIR DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
Sönn saga—skrifuð frænda hans ungum.

Það bar til einhvern helgidag þegar eg var eitthvað sjö vetra
gamall, að kunningjar mínir fylltu vasa mína koparskildingum.
Jeg gekk þá strax beina leið til búdar þar sem barnagull voru
seld; en á leiðinni mætti jeg dreng, sem hjelt á _hljóðpípu_, og
þótti mjer svo fallegt hljóðið í henni, að jeg bauð honum af
fyrra bragði allt fje mitt fyrir hana. Siðan fór eg heim og gekk
um öll hús blásandi á _hljóðpípuna_ mína, og var hinn kátasti þó
eg gjörði öllum heimamönnum ónæði. Bræður mínir, systur, og
frændur komust brátt að um kaupskap minn, og sögðu mjer þa að eg
hefði gefið fjórum sinnum meira fyrir pípuna enn hún væri verð.
Þá fór eg að hugsa um hvað marga góða gripi eg hefði getað
eignast fyrir það, sem eptir hefði mátt vertða af skildingum
minum; og þau hlóu svo lengi að heimsku minni, að jeg grjet af
gremju, og umhugsanin um þetta hriggði mig meira enn
_hljóðpípan_ gladdi mig.

Þetta atvik kom mjer þó síðan til nota, því áhrifin urðu eptir í
sál minni; og opt, þegar freistni kom að mjer að kaupe einhvern
óþarfann, sagði eg við sjálfan mig, _gefðu ei of mikið fyrir
hlóðpípuna_; og með því móti hjelt eg fje mínu.

Þegar eg óx upp, komst út í heiminn, og fór að taka eptir
breitni manna, þá fannst mjer svo sem eg hitti marga, mjög
marga, sem _gáfu of mikið fyrir hljóðpípuna_.

Þegar eg sá mann, af eintómri eptirsókn eptir hylli konunga,
eyða aldri sínum í því að bíða eptir hentugleikum þeirra, fórna
næði sínu, frelsi, dygð og jafnvel vinum sínum, til að ná henni,
þá sagði jeg við sjálfan mig, _þessi maður gefur of mikið fyrir
hljóðpípu sína_.

Þegar eg sá annan mann láta mikið af alþýðu hylli, og verja
stundum sínum til að kvetja menn til óspekta, en sjálfum sjer
til óbætanlegs skaða vanrækja efni sín; _hann gefur sannarlega_,
sagði eg þá, _of mikið fyrir hljóðpípu sína_.

Ef eg sje einhvern armingja, sem einasta til þess að geta hrúgað
saman auðæfum, afneitar sjer um alla þægilegleika lífsins, alla
þá ánægju, sem í því er að gjöra vel við aðra, alla virðingu
segi eg þa, _þjer gefið vissulega of mikið fyrir hljóðpípu
yðar_.

Þegar eg mæti gleðimandi, sem fórnar hverju tækifært til að
auðga sál sína eða bæta hag sinn á lofsverðan hátt, og það vegna
eintómrar holdlegrar nautnar: _óláns-maður_, segi eg þá, _þjer
bakið yður böl en ei gleði_: _þjer gefið of mikið fyrir
hljóðpípu yðar_.

Sjái jeg mann af tómri hjegómadýrð sækjast eptir dýrindis fötum,
hússgögnum og öðrum útbunaði, allt meira enn efni hans leyfa,
safna fyrir þá sök skuldum og lenda loks í díflissu; _æ_, segi
eg þá, _hann hefur dýrkeypt, mjög dýrkeypt, hljóðpípu sína_.

Þegar eg sje fagra, blíðlynda meyju, gefna illum og hroðalegum
svola; _mikil hörmung er það_, segi eg þá, _að hún skuli hafa
gefið svona mikið fyrir eina hljóðpípu_.

Í stuttu máli, eg komst að raun um að mikill hluti af eydum
manna kemur af því að þeir meta ranglega gildi hluta, og gefa of
mikið fyrir _hljóðpípur_ sínar.

The word _Hljothpipan_, literally translated, is a pipe, or musical instrument, made out of a reed. These extracts from Icelandic literature are undoubtedly very interesting! If not so readily perused as our English, they at least show the literary taste of the Icelanders, and something of the variety and style of their composition. Here is an extract from a newspaper published in Reykjavik a few days after I left; a copy of which I received by mail after arriving in New York.

From the Þjoðolfur[38] of Aug. 20th, 1852.

Eptirfylgjandi GREIN bað ferðamaðurinn herra PLINY MILES rektor
herra BJARNA JÓNSSON að láta prenta í Þjóðólfi, og senda honum
svo til Vesturheims.

Herra _Pliny Miles_, Vesturheimsmaður og meðlimur
Sagnafjelagsins í Nýju Jórvík, hefur um bríð dvalið á Íslandi og
farið víða um hjeröð landsins. Hann hefur skoðað _Geisir_, litla
_Geisir_, brennisteinnámurnar í _Krisuvik_, og hann kom upp á
tindinn á _Heklu_. Herra _Miles_ hefur skoðað og aðgætt nokkrar
bækur landsins, og hefur hann haft heim með sjer til Vesturheims
nokkrar íslenzkar bækur. Stiptsbókasafnið hefur sent böggul af
bókum þjóðbókasafni Vesturheims, er _Smithson_ er höfundur að,
til endurgjalds fyrir dýrar bækur, er stiptsbókasafnið hafði
nýlega fengið frá bókasafni _Smithsons_. Herra _Miles_ siglir á
póstskipinu til meginlands Norðurálfunnar, og tjáir hann sig
mikillega ánægðan með allt, sem hann hefur sjeð út á Íslandi.

A translation of this is scarcely required, as its purport can be readily seen. It is a short article written by Mr. Bjarni Johnson, for the THIOTHOLFUR, and giving an account of the author’s visit to Iceland.

In the Icelandic, whole sentences from other languages are thrown into one word. The word _Vesturheimsmathur_, fully translated, is _a man who has his home on the western continent_. It goes on to speak of this native of the West, as a member of the New York Historical Society—“Sagnafjelagsins”—and that, during a somewhat rainy period, he visited Iceland, traveled through the interior of the country, went to the Geyser, the little Geyser, the Sulphur Mountains—“brennisteinnámurnar”—of Krisuvik, and climbed to the top of Hekla. It speaks of the visit as a pleasant one, and that on the return of the traveler to America—“Vesturheims”—he took some books from the Iceland public library—“stiptsbókasafnith”—as a present to the American Smithsonian library, in return for a similar present formerly received from Smithson’s. Then he journeyed on the mail packet—“póstskipinu”—to the continent of Europe, after a long tour and an agreeable stay in Iceland.

This shall close our extracts. Lest some may think that the writer of this volume is an enthusiast, and overrates the value of Icelandic literature, the following statement is quoted from the preface to the English translation of Rask’s Icelandic Grammar, by Hon. George P. Marsh, and shows the high estimate placed on the language and literature of the Northmen, by this eminent linguist.

The translator cannot here enter upon so copious a subject as
the character and value of the literature of Iceland; and it
must suffice to remark, that in the opinion of those most
competent to judge, it has never been surpassed, if equaled, in
all that gives value to that portion of history which consists
of spirited delineations of character, and faithful and lively
pictures of events among nations in a rude state of society.

That the study of the Old-Northern tongue may have an important
bearing on English grammar and etymology, will be obvious when
it is known that the Icelandic is most closely allied to the
Anglo-Saxon, of which so few monuments are extant; and a slight
examination of its structure, and remarkable syntactical
character, will satisfy the reader, that it may well deserve the
attention of the philologist.

FOOTNOTES:

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Footnote 37:

A sample is given at the head of Chapter IV., page 61, of this volume.

Footnote 38:

“The Statesman.”