Chapter VI: The Goblin’s Whistle (2)

Now, the clergyman, who was anxious to find his daughter, bethought himself of a plan, and that was, to pronounce the blessing before she could have time to get out of church. So he went round among his parishioners, and told them not to be shocked if they should hear him the next Sunday pronounce the blessing at an earlier stage of the service than usual. When next Sunday came, his daughter occupied her customary seat, though not visible to any one in the church. In the middle of the service the clergyman stopped and pronounced the blessing. His daughter, thus caught unawares, was obliged to discover herself. He did what he could to induce her to stay, but all in vain.

“If you try to force me,” said she, “the consequences will be very serious; and besides, it would not be right in me to leave a husband who has always treated me so kindly.”

Of the shepherd, it is told, that he was from that day unfortunate in all that he had to do with. But one cannot be sorry for him, as he brought his troubles on his own head through his want of truthfulness.

THE CLERGYMAN’S DAUGHTER IN PRESTSBAKKI.

In Prestsbakki, in the Skaptáfells district, there once lived a clergyman, named Einar. He was well to do in the world, and had a numerous family. No one cared less about fairy tales than he did. In fact, he used to speak of fairies as if there were no such beings. In his idle moments he would tauntingly dare them to shew themselves to him; and then, as they did not choose to obey his orders, he would boast that there were no fairies to come.

Well, on one night while asleep, he dreamed that a man came to his bedside and said to him,

“You have provoked the fairies long, but now they will have their revenge. From this time forward you shall not dare to deny their existence. I will take away your eldest daughter, and you shall never see her more.”

And sure enough, in the morning, when the clergyman awoke, he found that his eldest daughter, who was twelve years of age, had disappeared. Search was made for her in all directions, but nowhere could she be found. As time passed on, she often made her appearance among her brothers and sisters, while they were playing in the meadows. Again and again, they tried to prevail on her to go home with them; but, just as she seemed willing to do so, she always became invisible. When asked as to her welfare, she always said that she was in good health, and kindly treated by her new friends. Her father frequently saw her in his dreams, and to him she told the same story, only adding that she was to be married, bye and bye, to the fairy clergyman’s son. Some time after she appeared to her father again in a dream, and invited him to come to her marriage, which was to take place on the following day. This was the last time he ever dreamed about her, and never after did she show herself among her brothers and sisters.

THE CHANGELING.

It was a common belief, in olden times, that the fairies often took away infant children who happened to be left alone, and changed them for decrepit old men or women who were made to appear as children. These changelings, however, neither grew nor spoke after the manner of children, and were very apt to become idiots. It once happened that all the people of a certain farm were working in the meadows, except the mistress of the house who was at home looking after the house and her little son, a boy three or four years old. Up to that time the boy had thriven amazingly. He could talk well, and was a clever promising child. As there was no one to assist the mother with the household work, one day, she was obliged to leave the boy by himself for a short time, while she went to wash the milk pails in a brook close by. On returning soon after, she was surprised to find the boy, at the door, weeping and howling in a strange uncouth way, very different from his wonted manner. Usually he was very quiet, gentle and obedient, but now she could not get a word out of him. Time passed on, but the child remained silent, restless, and thoroughly untractable. His body ceased to grow, and his behaviour was like that of an idiot. His mother could not account for the strange change that had come over him. In the midst of her grief, she at last bethought herself of going to take the advice of a neighbour woman who was famous for her prudence and skill. The neighbour listened attentively to all she had to say about the boy, and then said to her,

“Don’t you think, good wife, that the boy is a changeling? for, it seems to me, that the fairies must have taken away your own boy the day you left him alone, and have put another in his place.”

“How could I find out, if what you say is true?” said the surprised mother.

“Oh, very easily, just go home, and take the first opportunity of leaving the boy alone beside something that is likely to call forth his surprise. When his eye catches what you have put purposely in his way, if nobody is within sight, he is sure to make some remark about it to himself. You must listen to what he says, and if you find anything strange or suspicious about it, go in at once and flog him without mercy, till something comes out of it.”

The boy’s mother thanked her neighbour humbly for her advice, and went away home to put it into practice. The first thing she did on returning was to place the little porridge pot in the middle of the kitchen floor. She then bound a great many sticks together, so as to make a long rod, and fastened the spurtle to one of the ends. The rod was so big, that when the spurtle rested in the pot, the upper end was away up the chimney. Leaving it in this position, she went away and fetched the boy to the kitchen, and then left him all alone. On going out, she drew the door behind her; but not so closely as to prevent her from peeping in to see what was going on.

As soon as the boy thought he was alone, he began to trip round the pot, wondering greatly what could be the meaning of the long spurtle. At last he said, “Well, old as I am, and I am no chicken now, as my grey beard and my eighteen children in Fairyland can testify, I never, in all my born days, did see such a long spurtle for such a little porridge pot.”

This was enough for the mother, who was not long of making her appearance in the kitchen with a good sized stick in her hand. Seizing hold of the changeling, she flogged him unmercifully for a long while, spite of his heart-rending cries.

Bye and bye a strange old woman walked in, holding on her arms a little boy whom she fondled kindly. Addressing the farmer’s wife, she said, “Why should you treat my husband so cruelly. Your conduct is a sorry recompense for the care I have bestowed on this little boy of yours.” So saying, she laid the little boy at his mother’s feet, and took her husband away with her.

The fairy man and woman were never more seen again. The now recovered boy remained with his parents, and grew up a fine manly youth, the joy of his mother’s heart.[47]

-----

Footnote 42:

Sæmund Frodi, like other learned men of those days, was supposed to be
in possession of magic powers. He was the Friar Bacon of Iceland; and
these stories in which his name figures, handed down by tradition, are
still often told in Iceland by the fireside on the long winter
evenings. Curious to observe, that, in most mediæval stories of this
kind, Satan is always outwitted and gets the worst of it. A.J.S.

Footnote 43:

This story may explain the origin of the Scotch proverb, “Deil tak’
the hindmost.”—There is another version of Sæmund’s mode of escape;
viz.: That when he was about to be seized, pointing to his shadow on
the wall, he said, “I am not the hindmost, don’t you see him that is
coming behind me!” Old Nick then caught at the shadow, and thought it
was a man; but Sæmund got out, and the door was slammed on his heels.
But after that time, it is added, Sæmund was always without a shadow,
for Old Nick would not let his shadow free again. Here, in this
old-world story, we have the germ of Chamisso’s “Shadowless Man.”
A.J.S.

Footnote 44:

The reader will here be reminded of Aladdin’s Lamp, Genii, and of the
East, from whence these Stories also originally came in the days of
Odin.

Footnote 45:

To the right understanding of the story of “Biarni Sveinsson,” it must
be remembered that a superstition prevailed amongst the Icelanders
regarding the central deserts. These, they believed, were inhabited by
a strange mysterious race of men who held no intercourse with the
other inhabitants, and were said to be in the habit of kidnapping
women from the country. This belief may have had its origin in the
fact, that, in former days, some few outlaws and their families took
refuge in the deserts, and lived there for a time in order to escape
the hands of justice. A.J.S.

Footnote 46:

In Iceland vegetation is late.

Footnote 47:

These popular northern fireside stories and tales are partly gathered
from direct oral narration, and partly taken from a small volume,
“Islenzk Æfintyri,” the collection of Messrs. M. Grimson and J.
Arnason, published in Icelandic, at Reykjavik, in 1852.

II.

SPECIMENS OF ICELANDIC POEMS.

--------------

FROM THE “VÖLUSPÁ”

In the “Völuspá,”[48] from the older Edda, we have a sublime description of chaos; of creation; an account of a period of strife, crime, and suffering; dire conflicts between the powers of good and evil; of the destruction of the world of Odin and the dissolution and conflagration of the universe; of the Regnarök or twilight of the Gods; of the renovated world, the descent of Baldur the Good, the punishment of the wicked, and the happiness of the good in Gimlé or Heaven. From this poem—the most remarkable in the whole range of Scandinavian mytho-cosmogony—the following verses are extracted:

“It was time’s morning
When Ymer lived.
There was no sand, no sea;
No cooling billows;
Earth there was none,
No lofty heaven;
Only the Gulph of Ginunga,
But no grass.

· · · ·

The sun knew not
Where was his dwelling;
The stars knew not
That they had a firmament;
The moon knew not
What powers she possessed.

· · · ·

The tree Yggdrasil
Bears a sorer burden
Than men know of.
Above the stags bite it;
On its sides age rots it;
Nighögg gnaws below.

· · · ·

There saw she wade
In the heavy streams
Men—foul perjurers,
And murderers.

· · · ·

Brothers slay brothers:
Sisters’ children
Shed each other’s blood.
Hard is the world;
Sensual sin grows huge.
There are sword-ages, axe-ages,
Earth-cleaving cold;
Storm-ages, murder-ages,
Till the world falls dead,
And men no longer spare
Or pity one another.

· · · ·

Mimer’s sons play,
But the world is kindled
By the ancient
Gjallarhorn.
Loud blows Heimdall,
His sound is in the air:
Odin talks
With the head of Mimer.

Quivers then Yggdrasil,
The strong-rooted ash:
Rustles the old tree
When Jötun gives way.
All things tremble
In the realms of Hel,
Till Surtur’s son
Swallows up Odin.

Garmer he shouts
By the Gnipa-hall
The band must burst
And the wolf fly.

Hrymer drives eastward,
Bears his shield before him;
Jormungand welters
In giant fierceness.
The waves thunder;
The eagles scream;
Death rends the corpses
And Nagelfar gives way.

Köl hies eastward;
Come must Muspel’s
Folk to the sea.
Loke rows afar;
All the children of madness
Follow the wolf,
Bileist’s brother
Journeyeth with them.

Surtur fares southward.
With flickering flames
From his sword
God’s sun flashes.
Break the stone mountains;
The weird women flee,
Men throng Hel’s dread roads,
And Heaven is rent.”

Then Surtur flings fire over the world.

“The sun grows dark.
Earth sinks in the sea.
From heaven vanish
The lustrous stars.
High from the flames
Rolls the reek;
High play the fires
’Gainst heaven itself.

· · · ·

Up, sees she come
Yet once more,
The earth from the sea,
Gloriously green.

· · · ·

Then comes the Mighty One
To the great Judgment—
The great above all—
He who guides all things.
Judgments he utters;
Strifes he appeaseth;
Laws He ordaineth
To flourish for ever.

· · · ·

In Gimlé the lofty
There shall the hosts
Of the virtuous dwell,
And through all ages
Taste of deep gladness.”

FROM THE “SÓLAR LJÓD”

The “Sólar Ljód”—“Sol” or “Sun-song”—was composed by Sæmund himself, the collector of the Edda, and a Christian priest, ages before the time of Dante.

“By the Nornors’ seat
Nine days I sate,
Then to horse was lifted.
The sun of the giant race
Gleamed sadly
Out of heaven’s weeping clouds.

Without and within
Seemed I to journey
Through the seven worlds
Above and below.
Better path I sought
Than there was to find.

And now to be told is
What first I beheld
In the home of torture.
Scorched birds were flying—
Wretched souls in myriads,
Thick as mosquito legions.

Flying saw I
Hope’s dragons
And fall in drear waste places.
They shook their wings
Till to me seemed that
Heaven and earth were rent.

The stag of the sun
Southward saw I journey.
His feet stood
On earth, but his huge antlers
Traversed the heavens above him.

Northward saw I ride
The sons of the races;
Seven they were together.
From the full horn they drank
The purest mead
From wells of heavenly strength.

The winds stood still,
The waters ceased to flow.
Then heard I a dread cry.
There for their husbands
False vengeful women
Ground earth for food.

Bloody stones
Those women dark
Dragged sorrowfully,
Their gory hearts
Hung from their breasts
Weighed with heavy weights.

Many men
Along the burning ways
Sore wounded saw I go.
Their visages
Seemed deeply dyed
With blood in murder shed.

Many men
Saw I amongst the dead
Without one hope of grace.
Pagan stars there stood
Over their heads
All scored with cruel runes.

Men saw I too
Who enviously had scowled
Upon the good of others.
Bloody runes
Were on their breasts
Ploughed out by hands of men.

Men saw I there
All full of woe,
All mazed in wondering.
This do they win
Who to eternal loss
Love this world only.

Men saw I too
Who sought always to snatch
From others their possessions.
In throngs they were,
And to the miser’s hell
Bore groaning loads of lead.

Men saw I next
Who many had bereaved
Of life and goods,
And through the hearts of these
For ever fiercely ran
Strong venom snakes.

Men too I saw
Who never would observe
Sabbaths and holy days.
Their unblessed hands
Fast rivetted together
With ever burning stones.

Men too I saw
Who with huge brag and boast
On earth did vaunt themselves.
Here their clothes
Were vilely squalid
And with fire enwrapt.

Men saw I too
Who with their slanderous breath
Had blasted others.
Hel’s ravens
Remorselessly their eyes
Tore from their heads.

But all the horrors
Thou canst not know
Which Hel’s condemned endure.
Sweet sins
There bitterly are punished,
False pleasures reap true pain.

· · · ·

Men did I see
Who the Lord’s laws
Had followed stanchly.
Purest light
For ever growing clearer
Passed brightly o’er their heads.

Men did I see
Who with unwearied zeal
Did seek the good of others.
Angels read
The holy books
Upon their radiant heads.

Men did I see
Who with sharp fasts
Their bodies had subdued;
God’s holy hosts
Before them all bow’d down
And paid them highest homage.

Men did I see
Who had their mothers
Piously cherished,
And their place of rest
Amid heaven’s beams
Shone gloriously.

Holy maids there were
Who their pure souls
Had kept unsoiled by sin,
And souls of those
Who their rebellious flesh
Did ever sternly quail.

Lofty chariots saw I
Travel through heaven
Having access to God;
And they were filled with those
Who causelessly
Had on the earth been slain.

Father Almighty!
Illustrious Son!
And Holy Spirit of Heaven.
Thee do I implore,
Who didst make all things,
To keep us from all sin!”

Sæmund concludes this remarkable poem with these strophes:

“This song
Which I have taught thee
Thou shalt sing unto the living.
The Sun’s song,
Which in its solemn theme
Hath little that is feigned.

Here do we part,
But part again to meet
On the Great Day of men.
Oh, my Lord!
Give the dead rest,
Comfort to those who live!

Wonderful wisdom,
To thee in dream is sung,
’Tis truth which thou hast seen!
And no man is so wise
Of all who are created
As, ere this, to have heard
One word of this Sun’s Song!”

FROM THE POEMS RELATING TO SIGURD & BRYNHILD.

From the heroic poems relating to Sigurd and Brynhild—the originals from which the German “Niebelungen-lied” is taken—the following passage is extracted. In it Gudrun, in conversation with Thjodreck, describes her youth before the murder of Sigurd: “A maid was I amongst maidens; my mother reared me lovely in bower. Well loved I my brothers, till me Gjuké apportioned with gold, with gold apportioned and gave me to Sigurd. So raised himself, Sigurd, over the sons of Gjuké, as the green lily above the grass grows; or the high-antlered stag, above other beasts; or the fire-red gold above the silver grey. My brothers were incensed that I should have a husband more illustrious than any. Sleep they could not, nor decide on anything, before they Sigurd had caused to perish. Grangé (Sigurd’s steed) galloped to the _Ting_ (assembly of the people), wild was his neighing, but Sigurd himself was not there. All the horses were covered with sweat, and with blood of the contenders.

“Weeping I went to speak to Grané, the blood sprinkled; of his master I asked him; then hung down Grané mournfully his head, for the creature knew that his lord was not living. Long did I wander, long was I confused in mind before of the Prince I could ask after my King.”

The “Hávamál”—“Odin’s High Song”—displays a shrewd insight into human nature, and contains many maxims, both of a moral and social kind, which one would scarcely expect to find embodied in the heathen ethics of an ancient Scandinavian Scald. The whole poem is here presented to the reader.

HÁVAMÁL.

I.

“In every corner
Carefully look thou
Ere forth thou goest;
For insecure
Is the house when an enemy
Sitteth therein.

II.

Hail him who giveth!
Enters a guest.
Where shall he be seated?
Yet, ill shall fare he
Who seeks his welfare
In other men’s houses.

III.

Fire will be needful
For him who enters
With his knees frozen.
Of meat and clothing
Stands he in need
Who journeys o’er mountains.

IV.

Water is needful,
A towel and kindness
For this guest’s welcome;
Kind inclinations
Let him experience;
Answer his questions.

V.

Good sense is needful
To the far traveller;
Each place seems home to him.
He is a laughing-stock
Who, knowing nothing,
Sits mid the wise.

VI.

With the deep thinker
Speak thou but little;
But guard well thy temper;
When the noble and silent
Come to thy dwelling,
Least errs the cautious.

VII.

Good sense is needful
To the far traveller;
Least errs the cautious;
For a friend trustier
Than good understanding
Findeth man never.

VIII.

A cautious guest
When he comes to his hostel
Speaketh but little;
With his ears he listeneth;
With his eyes he looketh;
Thus the wise learneth.

IX.

Happy is he
Who for himself winneth
Honour and friends.
All is uncertain,
Which a man holdeth
In the heart of another.

X.

Happy is he
Who prudent guidance
From himself winneth;
For evil counsel
Man oft receiveth
From the breast of another.

XI.

No better burden
Bears a man on his journey
Than mickle wisdom.
Better is she than gold
Where he is a stranger;
In need she is a helper.

XII.

No better burden
Bears a man on his journey
Than mickle wisdom.
No worse provision
Takes a man on his journey
Than frequent drunkenness.

XIII.

Ale is not so good
As people have boasted
For the children of men.
For less and still less,
As more he drinketh,
Knows man himself.

XIV.

The hern of forgetfulness
Sits on the drunkard,
And steals the man’s senses.
By the bird’s pinions,
Fettered I lay,
In Gunlada’s dwelling.

XV.

Drunken I lay,
Lay thoroughly drunken,
With Fjalar the wise.
This is the best of drink,
That every one afterwards
Comes to his senses.

XVI.

Be silent and diligent,
Son of a Prince,
And daring in combat;
Cheerful and generous,
Let every man be,
Till death approaches.

XVII.

A foolish man fancies
He shall live for ever
If he shuns combat.
But old age will give
To him no quarter,
Although the spear may.

XVIII.

The fool stares about
When he goes on a visit,
Talks nonsense or slumbers.
All goes well
When he can drink,
For then the man speaks his mind.

XIX.

He, he only
Who has far travelled,
Has far and wide travelled,
Knoweth every
Temper of man,
If he himself is wise.

XX.

If cups thou lackest
Yet drink thou by measure:
Speak what is seemly or be still.
No one will charge thee
With evil, if early
Thou goest to slumber.

XXI.

The gluttonous man,
Though he may not know it,
Eats his life’s sorrow:
Lust of drink, often
Makes the fool, foolish
When he comes mid the prudent.

XXII.

The flocks they have knowledge
When to turn homeward
And leave the green pastures;
But he who is foolish
Knoweth no measure,
No bounds to his craving.

XXIII.

An evil man
And a carping temper
Jeer at all things.
He knows not;
He ought to know,
That himself is not faultless.

XXIV.

A foolish man
Lies awake the night through
And resolves on many things.
Thus is he weary
When the day cometh;
The old care remaineth.

XXV.

A foolish man
Thinks all are friendly
Who meet him with smiles;
But few he findeth
Who will aid his cause,
When to the Ting he cometh.

XXVI.

A foolish man
Thinks all are friendly
Who meet him with smiles.
Nor knows he the difference
Though they laugh him to scorn
When he sits ’mong the knowing ones.

XXVII.

A foolish man
Thinks he knows everything
While he needs not the knowledge.
But he knows not
How to make answer
When he is questioned.

XXVIII.

A foolish man,
When he comes into company
Had better keep silence.
No one remarketh
How little he knows
Till he begins talking.

XXIX.

He appears wise
Who can ask questions
And give replies.
Ever conceal then
The failings of others,
The children of men.

XXX.

Who cannot keep silence
Uttereth many
A word without purport.
The tongue of the garrulous,
Which keepeth back nothing,
Talks its own mischief.

XXXI.

Hold in derision
No one, although he
Come as a stranger.
Many a one, when he has had
Rest and dry clothing,
Thou mayest find to be wise.

XXXII.

He seemeth wise
Who in speech triumphs
O’er mocking guests.
The talkative man
Knows not at the table
If he talks with his enemies.

XXXIII.

Many are friendly
One to another;
Yet storm ariseth.
Strife will arise
For ever, if one guest
Affronteth another.

XXXIV.

Thou mayst dine early
Unless thou art going
Unto the banquet.
Sits he and flatters;
Hungry he seemeth,
Yet few things he learneth.

XXXV.

Long is the journey
To a deceitful friend
Though he dwell near thee.
But, direct lies the path
To a friend faithful,
Though he dwelleth afar off.

XXXVI.

Do not too frequently
Unto the same place
Go as a guest.
Sweet becomes sour
When a man often sits
At other men’s tables.

XXXVII.

One good house is there
Though it be humble:
Each man is master at home.
Though a man own but
Two goats and a straw-rick,
’Tis better than begging.

XXXVIII.

One good house is there
Though it be humble:
Each man is master at home.
The man’s heart bleedeth
At every mealtime
Who his food beggeth.

XXXIX.

Without his weapon
Goes no man
A-foot in the field.
For it is unsafe
Out on the by-paths
When weapons are needful.

XL.

Never found I so generous,
So hospitable a man
As to be above taking gifts.
Nor one of his money
So little regardful
But that it vexed him to lend.

XLI.

He who has laid up
Treasures of wealth
Finds want hard to bear.
Adversity often uses
What was meant for prosperity,
For many things are contrary to expectation.

XLII.

With weapons and garments,
As best may be fitting
Give thou thy friends pleasure.
By gifts interchanged
Is friendship made surest;
If the heart proffers them.

XLIII.

Let a man towards his friend,
Ever be friendly,
And with gifts make return for gifts.
With thy cheerful friend
Be thou cheerful;
With thy guileful friend on thy guard.

XLIV.

Let a man towards his friend
Ever be friendly;
Towards him and his friend.
But with an enemy’s friend
Can no man
Be friendly.

XLV.

If thou hast a friend
Whom thou canst confide in
And wouldst have joy of his friendship,
Then, mingle thy thoughts with his,
Give gifts freely,
And often be with him.

XLVI.

If thou hast another,
Whom thou hast no faith in
Yet wouldst have joy of his friendship,
Thou must speak smoothly;
Thou must think warily,
And with cunning pay back his guile.

XLVII.

Yet one word
About him thou mistrusteth
And in whom thou hast no reliance.
Thou must speak mildly,
More so than thou meanest;
Paying back like with like.

XLVIII.

Young was I formerly;
Then alone went I,
Taking wrong ways.
Rich seemed I to myself
When I found a companion;
For man is man’s pleasure.

XLIX.

The noble, the gentle
Live happiest,
And seldom meet sorrow.
But the foolish man,
He is suspicious,
And a niggard grieves to give.

L.

I hung my garments
On the two wooden men
Who stand on the wall.
Heroes they seemed to be
When they were clothed!
The unclad are despised.

LI.

The tree withereth
Which stands in the court-yard
Without shelter of bark or of leaf.
So is a man
Destitute of friends.
Why should he still live on?

LII.

Even as fire,
Burns peace between enemies,
For the space of five days.
But on the seventh
It is extinguished,
And the less is their friendship.

LIII.

Only a little
Will a man give;
He often gets praise for a little.
With half a loaf
And a full bottle
I won a companion.

LIV.

Small are the sand-grains,
Small are the water-drops:
Small human thoughts:
Yet are not these
Each of them equal.
Every century bears but one man.

LV.

Good understanding
Ought all to possess,—
But not too much wisdom.
Those human beings
Whose lives are the brightest,
Know much and know it well.

LVI.

Good understanding
Ought all to possess,
But not too much knowledge.
For the heart of a wise man
Seldom is gladdened
By knowledge of all things.

LVII.

Good understanding
Ought all to possess,
But not too much knowledge.
Let no one beforehand
Inquire his own fortune.
The gladdest heart knoweth it not.

LVIII.

Brand with brand burneth
Till it is burned out:
Fire is kindled by fire.
A man among men
Is known by his speech;
A fool by his arrogance.

LIX.

Betimes must he rise
Who another man’s life
And goods will obtain.
The sleeping wolf
Seldom gets bones.
No sluggard wins battle.

LX.

Betimes must he rise
And look after his people
Who has but few workmen.
Much he neglecteth
Who sleeps in the morning.
On the master’s presence depends half the profit.

LXI.

Like to dried faggots,
And hoarded up birch bark,
Are the thoughts of a man,
The substance of firewood
May last, it is true,
A year and a day.

LXII.

Cleanly and decent,
Ride men to the Ting
Although unadorned.
For his shoes and apparel
Nobody blushes,
Nor yet for his horse, though none of the best.

LXIII.

Question and answer
Is a clever thing,
And so it is reckoned.
To one person trust thyself,
Not to a second.
The world knows what is known unto three.

LXIV.

Bewilderedly gazes
On the wild sea, the eagle,
When he reaches the strand.
So is it with the man
Who in a crowd standeth
When he has but few friends there.

LXV.

Every wise man
And prudent, his power will use
With moderation.
For he will find
When he comes ’mong the brave
That none can do all things.

LXVI.

Let every man
Be prudent and circumspect
And cautious in friendship.
Often that word
Which we trust to another
Very dear costs us.

LXVII.

Greatly too early
Came I to some places;
Too late to others.
Here the feast was over;
There unprepared.
Seldom opportunely comes an unwelcome guest.

LXVIII.

Here and everywhere
Have I been bidden
If I fell short of a dinner.
But the fragments are easily
Left for his faithful friend
When a man has eaten.

LXIX.

Fire is pleasant
To the children of men.
And the light of the sun,
If they enjoy
Health uninterrupted,
And live without crime.

LXX.

Perfectly wretched
Is no man, though he may be unhappy:
One is blessed in his sons;
One in his friends;
By competence one;
By good works another.

LXXI.

Better are they
Who live than they who are dead.
The living man may gain a cow.
I saw the fire blazing
In the hall of the rich man,
But death stood at the threshold.

LXXII.

The lame may ride;
The deaf fight bravely;
The one-handed tend the flocks,
Better be blind
Than entombed:
The dead win nothing.

LXXIII.

It is good to have a son
Although he be born
After his father’s death.
Seldom are the cairn-stones
Raised by the way-side
Save by the son to his father.

LXXIV.

There are two adversaries;
The heaviness of the brain,
And death by the bedside.
He who has gold for his journey
Rejoices at night
When he grows weary.

LXXV.

Short are the boat-oars;
· · · ·
Unstable autumnal nights.
The weather changes
Much in five days;
Still more in a month.

LXXVI.

Little enough knows he
Who nothing knows:
Many a man is fooled by another.
One man is rich,
Another man is poor;
But that proves not which has most wisdom.

LXXVII.

Thy flocks may die;
Thy friends may die;
So also mayest thou, thyself;
But never will die
The fame of him
Who wins for himself good renown.

LXXVIII.

Thy flocks may die;
Thy friends may die;
So also mayst thou thyself.
But one thing I know
Which never dies,
The doom which is passed on the dead.

LXXIX.

I saw the well-filled barns
Of the child of wealth;
Now leans he on the staff of the beggar.
Thus are riches,
As the glance of an eye,
They are an inconstant friend.

LXXX.

A foolish man,
If he gain wealth
Or the favour of woman,
Grows in self-esteem,
Though he understands nothing:
Forth goes he in arrogance.

LXXXI.

Know thou, that when
Thou enquirest of the runes,
Known to the world,
What the holy Gods did,
What the great Scalds have written,
It is best for thee to be still.

LXXXII.

Praise the day at eventide;
The wife when she is dead;
The sword when thou hast proved it;
The maid when she is married;
Ice when thou hast crossed it;
Ale when thou hast drunken it.

LXXXIII.

In wind cut thou firewood;
In wind sail the ocean;
In darkness woo a maiden,
For many eyes has daylight.
In a ship man voyages;
The shield it defends him;
The sword is for slaughter,
But the maid to be courted.

LXXXIV.

Drink ale by firelight;
On the ice drive the sledge;
Sell thou the lean horse
And the sword that is rusty;
Feed the horse at home;
Bed the dog in the court-yard.

LXXXV.

The word of a maiden
No one can trust;
Nor what a woman speaketh;
For on a turning wheel
Was the heart of woman formed,
And guile was laid in her breast.

LXXXVI.

A breaking bow;
A burning flame;
A hungry wolf;
A chattering crow;
The grunting swine;
The rootless tree;
The heaving billows;
The boiling kettle;

LXXXVII.

The flying spear;
Sinking waters;
One night’s ice;
The coiled-up snake;
The bride’s fond talk;
Or the broken sword;
A bear’s play;
Or a king’s son;

LXXXVIII.

A sick calf;
A freed bondsman;
A false fortune-teller;
The newly-slain on the field;
A bright sky;
A smiling master;
The cry of a dog;
A harlot’s sorrow;

LXXXIX.

An early sown field
Let no one trust,
Neither his son too soon;
The field depends on the weather;
The youth on his sense,
And both are uncertain.

XC.

A brother’s death,
Though it be half-way here;
A half-burned house;
A steed very lively,
(For a horse has no value,
If one foot stumble),
Are not so sure
That a man may trust to them.

XCI.

Thus is peace among women;
Like a fleeting thought;
Like a journey over slippery ice,
On a two-years-old horse
With unroughed shoes,
And ill broken in;
Or in wild tempests
Tossed in a helmless ship;
Or trying to capture
Deer mid the thawing snow of the hills.

XCII.

Now speak I truly,
For I know what I speak of,
Deceitful to woman is the promise of love:
When we speak fairest,
Then mean we foulest;
The purest heart may be beguiled.

XCIII.

He speaketh smoothly
Who would win the maiden;
He offers property,
And praises the beauty
Of the fair maiden;
He wins who is in earnest.

XCIV.

The love of another
Let no man
Find fault with.
Beautiful colours
Oft charm the wise,
While they snare not the fool.

XCV.

For that failing
Which is common to many
No man is blamed.
From the wise man to the fool,
’Mong all children of men,
Goes he, Love, the mighty one.

XCVI.

Thought alone knoweth
What the heart cherisheth,
It alone knows the mind.
No disease is worse
For the wise man
Than joy in nothing.

XCVII.

This I experienced
When I sate mid the rushes
Awaiting my love.
The good maiden
Was to me life and heart;
Mine is she no longer.

XCVIII.

The maid of Billing
White as snow found I,
In her bed sleeping.
Princely glory
Was to me nothing
If I lived not with her!

XCIX.

“To the court, Odin,
Come towards the eventide
If thou wilt woo me
All will be ruined
If we do not in private
Know how to manage.”

C.

Thither I sped again;
Happy I thought myself,
More so than I knew of,
For I believed
I had half won her favour
And the whole of her thoughts.

CI.

So again came I,
When the quarrelsome people
All were awake.
With candles burning
And piled-up firewood
Received she my visit.

CII.

A few morrows after,
When again I went thither,
All the house-folk were sleeping.
There found I a dog,
Of the fair maiden’s
Bound on the bed.

CIII.

Few are so noble
But that their fancy
May undergo change.
Many a good girl
When she is well known
Is deceitful towards men.

CIV.

That I experienced
When the quick-witted maiden
I decoyed into danger.
She heaped reproach on me,
The merry maiden,
And I won her never.

CV.

Gay at home
And liberal, must
Be the man of wisdom.
Full of talk and pleasant memories
Will he be ofttimes,
With much cheerful converse.

CVI.

He is called Fimbulfambi
Who but few things can utter;
’Tis the way of the simple.
I was with the old giants,
Now am I returned;
There was I not silent,
With affluence of speech
I strove to do my best
In the hall of Suttung.

CVII.

Gunlöd gave me,
On a golden chair seated,
A draught of mead delicious;
But the return was evil
Which she from me experienced,
With all her faithfulness,
With all her deep love.

CVIII.

I let words of anger
By me be spoken,
And knawed the rock.
Above and below me
Went the paths of the giants;
Thus ventured I life.

CIX.

Dear-bought song
Have I much rejoiced in;
All succeeds to the will;
Because the Odrejrer
Now have ascended
To the old, holy earth.

CX.

Uncertain seems it
If I had escaped
From the courts of the giants
Had I not been blessed by
The dear love of Gunlöd,
She, whom I embraced.

CXI.

On the day following
Went the Rimthursar
To ask the gods council,
In the halls lofty;
Ask whether Bölverk were
Come mid the mighty gods,
Or if Suttung had slain him.

CXII.

A holy ring-oath
I mind me, gave Odin.
Now who can trust him.
Suttung is cheated;
His mead has been stolen
And Gunlöd is weeping.”[49]

-----

Footnote 48:

Völu-spá or spae, the Prophesy—wisdom, oracle, or mystic song—of Völu
(Völu is the genitive of Vala). Scoticê, Vala’s spae, as in the word
_spae_-wife. One of these Valor, or Northern sybills, whom Odin
consulted in Neifelhem, when found in the tomb where she had lain for
ages, is represented as saying—

“I was snowed over with snows,
And beaten with rains,
And drenched with the dews;
Dead have I long been.”

Footnote 49:

These specimens of old Icelandic poetry are selected from “The
Literature and Romance of Northern Europe,” by William and Mary
Howitt: 2 vols. 8vo., Colburn & Co., 1852.

III.

POEMS ON NORTHERN SUBJECTS.

--------------

LAY OF THE VIKINGS.

BY MRS. ANDREW JAMES SYMINGTON.[50]

In an unceasing, ebbless flow, around
The peaceful homes of Thulé, her best safety
Roll Arctic billows, rearing giant crests
In proud defiance—bulwarks impassable
Against the intruder’s steps. Fiercely and bold,
Even as a lioness doth guard her ’fenceless young,
Do they, the unconquerable surges, foam and champ,
And keep unslumbering vigils round the graves—
The restless, storm-rocked graves—of the Vikings
Their sons—those tameless spirits of the past—
Whose dirge their sighing parent hourly waileth
As erst they rode exultant on his bosom.
Boldest and noblest of earth’s kind were ye—
Conquerors of nations—fathers of a race
Of giant princes—ah! how fallen now!
Meet were it that your honoured dust should slumber
In this your polar cradle; rocked by northern gales,
Lulled by the sighing surges whose strong hands
Have hung a cloudy curtain o’er your rest.
Meet were it that the springtide rain should weep
O’er the degeneracy of your race—
The scattered glory of your Fatherland!
Fitting were it that the dark thunder-cloud
Should be the swift-winged chariot upon which
Your spirits love to ride—your path meanwhile
Lit by the fitful rays of yonder cold
Mysterious, flickering night-lamp, _Borealis_.
Nought less sublime, less wildly grand than these
Would be in harmony with your proud spirits.
Would ye not laugh to scorn the spicy breezes
Of India’s drowsy clime, or soft Italia’s
Radiant skies?—and ah! methinks ye whisper,
Were but the ocean charmed, that he should cease
His mournful lullaby around your pillow;
Or did old Winter’s gales less rudely blow,
_Ye_ then would rise in vapoury clouds, and leave
A land unworthy even to be your tomb.

--------------

VÍKÍNGA BRAGUR.[51]

Óðfluga hraðar
Öldur streyma
Íshafs hins nyrðra,
Og öflugust vígi
Byggja um kyrrar
Byggðir Thúlu.
Hamramar æ
Þær hreykja kollum,
Og öruggar varnir
Mót árásarmönnum
Búa, þær aldrei
Bila kunna.
Sem vakir ljónsinna
Varnarlausum
Ungum yfir
Með afarmóði,
Freyða svo öldur
Ósigrandi
Halda þær vörð
Um Víkinga leiði;
Því blunda í klettum
Brimi skelfdum
Harðúðgir niðjar
Frá horfnum dögum;
Fékk þeim ei hugur
Í brjósti bilað;
Harmar því móðer
Og hryggðar saungva
Aldrei fær slitið,
Er hún minnist
Þeirra, er áður
Ungir léku
Meginglaðir
Á móðurbrjósti.
Leit ei nokkur
Af niðjum jarðar
Aðra tignari
Eður knárri
Yður, sem þjóðir
Unnuð sverðum,
Feður jötna,
Er fólki styrðu.
Horrfinn er heiður,
En heiðraðar moldir
Náðu hvíld hæfri
Und norðurheimsskauti;
Í vöggu þeim velta
Vindar stríðir;
Vögguljóð kveða
Veinandi unnir,
Þær er með mundum
Meginstyrkvum
Lögðu skýblæur
Á leiði niðja.
Var það að verðúng,
Er varandi unnir
Yðar æ gráta
Ættar hnignun,
Og frama horfinn
Fósturjarðar.
Það og vel hæfði,
Er þrumuskýin,
Vagnar þau urðu
Vængjum búnir,
Yðar sem aka
Andar glaðir;
En lýsa á vegi
Ljósgeislar kaldir
Leiptrandi Norður—
Ljósa skærra.
Sízt fær lægra neitt
Eður svipminna
Yðar samboðið
Anda háum.
Munduð þér kýma
Megnum hlátri
Að ilmandi vindum,
Um er þjóta
Ofurdrúnga lopt
Indíafoldar,
Eður geislandi
Uppheims boga,
Yfir er breiðist
Ítalska grund.
Er mér sem heyri
Yður hvísla:
Ægir ef fengi,
Umvafinn fjötrum,
Sorgleg ei lengur
Súngið kvæði
Þau um hægindi
Heyrast yðar,
Og aldinn vetur
Ei ólma léti
Geysa svo vinda,
Sem gjörir hann nú;
Munduð þér þá
Í mekkjum sudda
Hefja látast
Frá hauðri burtn,
Yðra óhæfu
Gröf að geyma.

--------------

THE VIKING’S RAVEN.[52]

BY MRS. ANDREW JAMES SYMINGTON.

Beside a weird-like Norway bay,
Where wild and angry billows play,
And seldom meet the night and day,
A Raven sat.

He was the last of all his race
That lingered in that lonely place;
Age, grief, were stamped upon his face,
Sad, desolate.

Yet to that darkling norland sky
He raised an undimmed, fearless eye,
As though he proudly would defy
And battle fate.

His mate long dead, his nestlings flown,
The moss had o’er his eyry grown;
And all the scenes his youth had known
Were changed and old.

For he had heard the vikings all
Responding to the mystic call,
That summoned to great Odin’s hall
Those heroes bold.

He oft had skimmed the Polar seas;
And Harold’s sail aye wooed the breeze,
To follow where the Raven flees
On tireless wing.

But victory ceased on them to smile.—
On Hialtland’s rugged, rock-bound isle
He saw them raise the funeral pile
Of the Sea-King.

· · · ·

Once his unerring pinions led
To where the shafts of battle sped;
But, when the conquered Northmen fled,
He scorned to flee;

But watched where brave young Ingolf lies,
With drooping heart and fading eyes,
Pining for his native skies,
A captive he.

A maiden of the sunny South
There loved and would have freed the youth,
But he was wed to Gulda Brûth.
His norland bride.

And she, across the stormy main,
Had turned her weary eyes in vain;—
Her hero ne’er returned again:
And so she died.

No Saga tells where rests the brave,
No mourner weeps by Ingolf’s grave;
The Raven’s sable pinions wave
There all alone.

And then he spread his pinions wide
Upon the free north wind to ride,
With mien erect, and eye of pride;
His task well done.

And nought around, howe’er so bright,
Could win his stay, or stop his flight
From where he saw the pole-star’s light
Shine o’er the north.

When, hark! a wild exulting cry
Falls on his ear; his piercing eye
A burning vessel can descry
That flashes forth,

Like to the fitful spirit-gleam
Of the Aurora’s restless beam;
But ah! he knows it is no dream,
And droops his wing.

Beside the blazing spectral pyre—
A spark from Baldur’s sacred fire
Lighteth to death a Norseman sire,—
Brave old Thorsteing.

His arms are folded o’er his breast,
And on his noble brow doth rest
The shadow from his warrior crest
That waves on high.

His glances on the ocean fell;
Fondly he marked its rising swell—
That ocean he had loved so well—
Then raised his eye.

And when he saw the faithful bird,
The soul of song within him stirred.

Hast thou once more returned,
Thou trusty friend, to me?
What news hast thou of Ingolf,
My son, the brave and free?
Hath he in battle fallen,
His good sword by his side?
Or, captive, is he sighing
To see once more his bride?

Ah! no, his soul would scorn
In captive chain to lie;
I know he hath been borne
To Valhalla’s halls on high,
And I’ll meet him in the sky
E’re the morn.

Alas! with us will perish
The Vikings’ race and name,
That long made foemen tremble
When Scalds rehearsed our fame.
And thou, dark bird of omen,
Back to our country hie,
And tell her recreant children
How Norsemen ought to die.
But to guard my mountain home
My spirit yet will soar,
And on old ocean roam
As in the days of yore.
Oft to visit yon loved shore
I will come.

The song hath ceased, and Thorsteing brave
Is sleeping now in Odin’s cave.

Athwart the sky the lightnings flash,
While down the Fiords the thunders crash,
And sullen waves in fury lash
The fretted shore.

Where is that Raven, grim and lone?—
Uprooted is the old grey stone.
Where late he sat, and he is gone
To come no more.

--------------

DEATH OF THE OLD NORSE KING.

BY A.J.S.

Haste, clothe me, jarls, in my royal robe;
My keen biting sword gird ye.
Haste! for I go to the Fatherland,
Both king of earth and sea.
My blade so true, with a spirit-gleam—
Death lurks in its skinkling fire—
I grasp thee now as of olden time
In conflict hot and dire.

I’ve trampled foes; from their blanchéd sculls
Now drain off the dark-red wine;
Fall bravely all in the battle field,
Be crowned with wreaths divine!
My eyes wax dim, and my once jet locks
Now wave with a silvery white;
Feeble, my arm cannot wield the blade
I dote on with delight.

Grim Hela breathes a chilling shade,
I hear the Valkyrii sing;
Now to the halls of the brave I’ll rise,
As fits an old Norse King.
Heimdallar’s ship, with the incense wood,
Prepare as a pyre for me;
Blazing, I’ll rise to the Odin halls,
At once in the air and sea!

They’ve lit slow fire in the incense ship;
The sun has just sunk in the wave;
Set are the sails, he is launched away,
This hero-king so brave!
The death chaunt floats in the deep blue skies,
All wild, in the darkling night;
Fearful there glares from the blazing ship
A wild red lurid light.

It shimmering gleams o’er the lone blue sea,
The flickers shoot wild and high—
Odin hath welcomed the brave old king
To his palace in the sky!
The bale-flames die, and a silence deep
Now floats on the darkness cold,
Where so fearless and free, on the deep blue sea,
Had died this Norse king bold!

=1845.=

--------------

DAUÐI GAMALS NORÐMANNA-KONUNGS.[53]

1.

Skundið þér, jarlar!
Skjótt mig búið
Skrúðklœðum, beztu
Skarti jöfurs,
Og meginbitrum
Mœki girðið;
Því heim vil eg halda
Til húsa föður,
Á láði bæði og lög
Lávarður kjörinn.
Tryggvan, gljáandi
Tek eg mœki—
Af honum leiptrar
Ólmur dauði—
Hann vil eg nú
Í höndum bera,
Sem áður í grimmum
Oddaleikum.

2.

Hefi eg fjendur
Fótum troðna;
Myrkrauðar drekka
Megið nú veigar
Skýgðum af hausa—
Skeljum þeirra.
Hnígið sem hetjur
Í hildarleiki,
Örlög þá kalla,
Æðstum heiðri
Krýndir af goðum
Þeim á Gimli búa.
Daprast mér sjón
Og dökkvir áður
Leika silfurlit
Lokkar á höfði;
Armur aflvana
Ei fær valdið
Mœki, þeim unað
Mestum veldur

3.

Hefur upp myrkva
Frá Helju kaldan;
Að berst eyrum
Ómur Valkyrju;
Hefur mig hugur
Til hetjusala;
Svo ber Norðmanna
Nýtum jöfri
Aldurhnignum
Æfi Gúka.
Heimdalls þer snekkju
Hraðir búið,
Og ylmandi látið
Eldskíð loga;
Vil eg þar nar
Á vita brenna;
En hugur mig ber
Til hallar Óðins
Til upphimins jafnt
Og Unnar sala.

4.

Brennur skíðeldur
Á skipi kveiktur;
Mær hverfur sól
Í marar skauti;
Undin eru segl,
Ytt frá landi
Siglir þar hetjan,
Hilmir frægur.
Nötra ná hljód
Í niðmyrkvu lopti;
Bregður á býsnum
Í blindmyrkri nætur;
Leiptra geigvænir
Logar frá snekkju,
Og dökkrauðri miðla
Dauðaskýmu.

5.

Brunnar einskipa
Um bláan Ægi
Umvafin skeið
Í ógna blossum;
En Óðinn fagnandi
Aldinn sjóla
Til himinsala
Hefir leiddan,
Dvína burt logar
Og djúpri lystur
Megin þögn yfir
Myrkva kaldan;
Þar í myrkbláu
Mararskauti;
Hilmir Norðmanna,
Hetjan frægust,
Hugprúður, frjáls,
Réd Sielju gista.

-----

Footnote 50:

Written in reply to the following lines, by Delta, sent her by way of
a challenge.

“To where the Arctic billow foams
Round Shetland’s sad and silent homes,
There sighs the wind and wails the surge
As ’twere of living things the dirge.”

In these old heathen days, be it remembered, where all were sea-rovers
there were good and bad among them. For a fine description of the best
type of the Viking and his code of honour, see Tegner’s beautiful
northern poem, “The Frithjof Saga.”

Footnote 51:

The “Lay of the Vikings,” translated into Icelandic verse by the Rev.
Olaf Pálsson. It is in the free metre of the old sagas—the same as
that which Thorláksson adopted in his translation of “Paradise Lost.”
The following is the translation of Delta’s lines:

Þar sem um Hjaltlands
Heimkynni þögul
Norðurhafs öldur
Ólmar freyða,
Stynja þar stormar,
Stúra brimboðar,
Lifandi veru
Líkar sorgröddum.

Footnote 52:

The raven was regarded as sacred, and greatly venerated by the old
Norse Vikings, who had always one or two of these birds in their
ships. When setting out on marauding expeditions the raven was let
loose and his flight followed by the bold voyagers, in the belief that
he led them to war and victory. These birds it was supposed lived to a
fabulous age. Odin’s shield had a raven on it, and so had the
_Landeyda_ or battle-flag of Sigurd, which ever led to victory,
although its bearer was doomed to die. Hialtland is the ancient name
of Shetland. The Norse rovers thought it a disgrace to die in their
beds in peace; and when they found their end approaching, clad in
armour, had themselves carried on board their ships which were then
set fire to and sent adrift, that the old heroes might die, as they
had lived, on the ocean, and thence worthily rise to Valhalla.

Footnote 53:

The “Death of the Old Norse King,” translated into Icelandic verse by
the Rev. Olaf Pálsson.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

IV.

INFORMATION FOR INTENDING TOURISTS:

A LETTER RECEIVED FROM THE REV. OLAF PÁLSSON IN ANSWER TO
QUERIES ABOUT TRAVELLING IN ICELAND.

--------------

Reykjavik, 20th Nov. 1861.

My Dear Friend,

According to your wish in your kind note of 15th August this year, I will now try to give some answers to the queries you have there put to me, about several matters which it may be useful for strangers who travel in Iceland to know.

I have since conferred with Zöga, who is assuredly the very best guide in this place, and well versed in these matters. The hints that I am able to give are as follows, and correspond to the order of the queries put.

1st. I have not such an extensive acquaintance with the coasts of Iceland as to be able to describe all places of shelter that might be found around the island; for doubtless they are many. But I am sure, that it will not be advisable for any foreign vessel to approach the south coast; for, from Cape Reykjanes to Berufiord, there is no shelter at all along the whole south side of Iceland, except in the Westmanna Islands, which lie some ten miles from the shore.

As a general rule, every merchant place, marked on the map, will be found tolerably safe.

2d. For the Englishman who arrives at Reykjavik, or for any traveller who has some knowledge of English, it is not absolutely necessary to know other languages; for guides who know that language can be had there, and these make tolerably good interpreters in the country.

This, however, will scarcely be the case in any other merchant place in Iceland.

3d. As to expenses of travelling; I can only remark that a guide is paid about 2 rix dollars[54] a day (4/6).

Every gentleman will be obliged to have two ponies each at 64 skillings per day (1/5). A jack horse is to be got at 48 skillings per day, and will not comfortably carry more than 100 to 120 lbs. weight. If this horse is provided with pack saddle and chests for preserving goods in, it will cost 64 skillings. If the travellers should wish to be away for a longer time from human habitations, it will be necessary for them to bring with them a tent, a sufficient quantity of victuals, &c. Thus it will be found that two gentlemen travelling cannot easily do with less than five pack horses, and then they will require to have two guides, one to take care of the horses and baggage, and the other to attend upon themselves when they wish to travel faster, or to visit places where the train of baggage horses cannot easily go with them.