Romantic Ballads Part 6 Online

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At Hornelummer happen'd then, What happen'd ne'er before; The elfins wish'd to leave the hill, And could not find a door:

They ran their heads against the wall, And tried to break it through; They could not break the solid rock, But broke their necks in lieu.

Now, thanks to G.o.d, and Jesus Christ, And good St. Oluf's arm, To Hornelummer we can sail Without mishap or harm.

THE HEROES OF DOVREFELD.

FROM THE OLD DANISH.

On Dovrefeld, {f:6} in Norway, Were once together seen The twelve heroic brothers Of Ingeborg, the queen:

And they were all magicians, Possest of mighty art, Who freely read the Runic, And knew the rhyme by heart. {f:7}

The first could turn the lightning, And quench its ruddy gleam: The second, with a whisper, Could still the running stream:

The third beneath the water Could dive like any fish: The fourth could get provision By striking on his dish:

The fifth upon the gold harp So pleasantly could play, That all the men who heard him Began to dance away:

The sixth, he had a bugle, And when he blew a blast, The stoutest of his foemen Would fly before him fast:

The seventh, unimpeded, Through solid hills could roam: The eighth could walk the ocean, When billows were in foam:

The ninth could draw, by magic, The fishes from the deep: The tenth was never weary, Nor overcome by sleep:

The eleventh bound the dragon Which crept among the gra.s.s; And all he wish'd to happen Was sure to come to pa.s.s:

The twelfth, who was reputed The wisest of the band, Knew what was going forward In every foreign land.

And now, forsooth, I tell ye, Who listen to my strain, That such a set of brothers Will ne'er be seen again.

SVEND VONVED.

FROM THE OLD DANISH.

Grimm, in the preface to his German translation of the Kiaempe Viser, characterizes this Ballad in the following magnificent words:--

"Seltsam ist das Lied von dem Held Vonved. Unter dem Empfang des Zauberseegens und mit rathselhaften Worten, da.s.s er nie wiederkehre oder dann den Tod seines Vaters rachen musse, reitet er aus. Lange sieht er keine Stadt und keinen Menschen, dann, wer sich ihm entgegen stelit, den wirft er nieder, den Hirten legt er seine Rathsel vor uber das edelste und abscheuungswurdigste, ubar den Gang der Sonne und die Ruhe des Todten: wer sie nicht Iost, den erschlagt er; trotzig sitzt er unter den Helden, ihre Anerbietungen gefallen ihm nicht, er reitet heim, erschlagt zwolf Zauberweiber, die ihm entgegen kommen, dann seine Mutter, endlich zernichtet er auch sein Saitenspiel, damit kein Wohllaut mehr den wilden Sinn besanftige. Es scheint dieses Lied vor allen in einer eigenen Bedeutung gedichtet, und den Mis.m.u.th eines zerstorten herumirrenden Gemuths anzuzeigen, das seine Rathsel will gelost haben: es ist die Angst eines Menschen darin ausgedruckt, der die Flugel, die er fuhlt, nicht frei bewegen kann, und der, wenn ihn diese Angst peinigt, gegen alles, auch gegen sein Liebstes, wuthen muss. Dieser Charakter scheint dem Norden gantz eigenthumlich; in dem seltsamen Leben Konigs Sigurd des Jerusalemfahrers, auch in Shakspeare's Hamlet ist etwas ahnliches."

"Singular is the song of the hero Vonved. After having received the magic blessing, he rides out, darkly hinting that he must never return, or have avenged the death of his father. For a long time he sees no city and no man; he then overthrows whomsoever opposes him; he lays his enigmas before the herdsmen, concerning that which is most grand, and that which is most horrible; concerning the course of the sun and the repose of the dead; he who cannot explain them is slaughtered. Haughtily he sits among the heroes--their invitations do not please him--he rides home--slays twelve sorceresses who come against him--then his mother, and at last he demolishes his harp, so that no sweet sound shall in future soften his wild humour. This song, more than any of the rest, seems to be composed with a meaning of its own; and shows the melancholy of a ruined, wandering mind, which will have its enigmas cleared up! The anguish of a man is expressed therein, who cannot move freely the wings which he feels; and, who, when this anguish torments him, is forced to deal out destruction against all--even against his best-beloved. Such a character seems to be quite the property of the North. In the strange life of King Sigurd, the wanderer to Jerusalem, and likewise in Shakspeare's Hamlet, there is something similar."

Svend Vonved sits in his lonely bower; He strikes his harp with a hand of power; His harp return'd a responsive din; Then came his mother hurrying in: Look out, look out, Svend Vonved.

In came his mother Adeline, And who was she, but a queen, so fine: "Now hark, Svend Vonved! out must thou ride, And wage stout battle with knights of pride.