especially in German heroics, they were not a little surprised to find a striking similarity to their own Northern legends, with shapes that, here and there, they recognised as familiar to their memory. These objects of popular interest were then remodelled in varied form and manner; and, taken in connexion with Gothic and Germanic epics of the same period, they constitute, as it were, a separate Northern school in the poetry of the West... Iceland and Scandinavia had a peculiar chivalric minstrelsy in the middle ages, which, like that of other countries, at first merged into prosaic annals, and was subsequently dispersed in fragmentary popular lays."

The first of Mr. Baring-Gould's Saga translations, "The Red Rovers,' is referred to the year 1012. A ship is wrecked on the coast of Norway, and a wealthy bonder, named Thorfin, puts off his boat to the rescue of the crew and passengers. Among the latter is the son of an Icelandic chief, named Grettir. This Grettir, after varying and extraordinary fortunes, is on the verge of the grave, and his "dying lay" is a poem for the most part composed by Mr. Baring-Gould, only five verses of the Icelandic ballad remaining. The stanzas of our author, however, are in the spirit of the original, and a few of them will show the sentiment of the entire ballad. Grettir, when a hoary and neglected hero, and ready to expire, sings

"I fought with sword in bright old days,
When earth to me was fair,
And, fresh as heart, the lightsome breeze
Did toss my yellow hair.

"I fought with sword in bright old days, I loved the merry clang!

When brand met brand, and shield met shield,

And axe on helmet rang.

"As now I chant of youthful days,
In fitful, broken rhyme,

I seem to hear from my blue blade
A wild war-music chime!

"And now coiled up, with fevered blood,

A grim old wolf I die;
Whilst dripping skies above me spread,
And winds sob sadly by.

"O'er tired heart and drowsy head
Does welcome slumber creep;
As little babe on mother's knee
Will softly drop asleep.

There are grotesque and humorous ballads, however, to balance these grave retrospects and solemn acquiescences in the necessity of death. The best of these, probably, is the story of "The bringing home of the hammer of Thor," of which the most spirited extant translation will be found in the pages of the DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE itself (May, 1853). Robbed of his hammer, Thor sped in rage to the bright abode of Freya, and exclaimed

"Oh, lend thy plumy robe to me,
With its wings, and so shall we,
Voyaging the wide world round,
Seek where the hammer may be
found."

Enrobed, accordingly, Thor sails through the air to the mound whereon Thrym, King of the Thurs, is seated, and after making his moan, is told"The thunderer's mallet is with me, Furlongs eight deep under ground, Where it never will be found But by him who brings to me Freya, my fair bride to be."

Thor sallies back to the maiden, but she stands out against his appeals. In fact she "detested"- -we believe

that is the word usually employed by goddesses on such occasions--the ugly giant

"With her bosom's furious throes

The great red necklace fell and rose, And all but burst, so wroth was she." A council of the Asi, however, was held, and an expedient determined upon. Thor was induced, but with difficulty, to put the house-keys on his hip, ladywise, to veil his huge locks with woven flax-threads, to don a woman's gown, to place gemmed circlets on his breast, and a queenly tire on his brow. Thus equipped, and a red necklace, after the pattern of Freya's, added, he condescended, finally, to obey his councillors, and returned to Thrym, who had prepared a banquet for the expected beauty. Thor acted his part famously, but not without creating some misgivings in the giant's breast. Freya performed prodigiously with knife and fork-if knives and forks they had,

"Did ever woman,' said Thrym, feed?

Saw you ever ladies such,

SO

Drink so deep and eat so much? '* The attendant excuses Freya and her maids they had made a long journey; they had eaten nothing, indeed, for eight days' time. Thrym is satisfied, but stooping down to kiss his bride, is taken aback by the fierce glare of the eyes that meet his own. Rather doubtful, as one may suppose, whether after all the goddess was a prize, or whether he had caught a Tartar, he suffers

himself to be deceived with the assurance that the damsel had neither slept nor eaten "for eight days' time," which accounted for the largeness and fierceness of those "orbs of heavenly blue." Then Thrym ordered the Hammer to be produced,

"Our faith to plight
With the ancient rite,
Place on her knees the anvil now,

To strike the bargain and clench the

vow."

Thor no sooner had clutched his mawl than off went his bonnet and down fell the flaxen ringlets. The great eyes flashed forth fire, and the bridal hand lifted the huge hammer, which, in a moment, descended on the skull of Thrym, and after him, in a succession of heavy swings, visited

other giants not a few, and an old maid besides, sister to the slain King of the Thursi, spreading them all about in a common death :

"Thus Odin's son, in the days of old,

Came to have his hammer again,The story of Thor and Thrym is told." In one of the historical Sagas there is a curious account of the debate which took place somewhere about the year 1,000, in the plain of the Althing, upon the grave question whether Iceland should receive the Christian religion at the suggestion of emissaries from Olaf Tryggveson, the first Christian king of Norway. The discussion grew fierce, and the Odin-ists were likely to prevail against the innovating party, more particularly as, just at the crisis, when a division came to be taken, and the "tellers" were on the qui vive, a peal of subterranean thunder startled the assembly. What was the meaning of this demonstration in realms infernal? "Odin," shouted a wily Pagan, “is angry with us for speaking of a new religion. His fires will consume us." From the fears thus awakened, the when one of their number pertinently Christian party seemed sure of defeat, put the question, "With whom, then,

were the gods angry when these rocks were melted," pointing to the devasfollowers of Odin being nonplussed, tated plain on which they stood. The all apprehensions on account of his anger vanished, and he was deposed is duly chronicled for the informaby a considerable majority-all which tion of succeeding ages, and has

come down to us in the Icelandic Hansard.

Under the auspices of an Irish Lay of Frithiof, was first presented publisher, the "Frithiof-Saga," or to the public in 1857. The Rev. W. L. Blackley's translation of Esais Tegner, the Bishop of Wexio's, verse legend is exceedingly spirited and effective. The tale a classic in the Swedish tongue-had previously found its way into other languages. It is one of the heroic Norse Sagas, and its incidents date about the end of the thirteenth century. The Bishop only records the story as told by the old Saga-men over the evening fire, and he does it ingeniously and faithfully. His plan was to produce each of the twenty-four divisions of his

work in different metre, and this method the translator follows, sometimes to the injury of the original. King Bele dwelt near the holy grove of Balder, and had two sons and a daughter. When dying, Bele warned Helge and Halfdan, his sons, to live in amity with the powerful Frithiof, son of a neighbouring prince. The young men, however, scornfully rejected the wooing of their sister's hand, Ingeborg the Fair, by Frithiof; and the latter vowed revenge for the insult. After some time, a king in the vicinity made war upon the haughty sons of Bele, and in their extremity they implored help from Frithiof; but that chieftain being occupied in a game of chess when the appeal came, continued his amusement, and left them to their fate. Hring, their enemy, conquered, and extorted from them a promise of the hand of Ingeborg for himself. Meanwhile Frithiof had compromised himself with the gods, by holding a stolen interview with the fair one in Balder's Temple. There he exchanged rings with her. This proceeding outraging the religious feelings of the surrounding kings, they imposed on Frithiof the task of going to the Faroes, and requiring tribute. The journey was long, and the sea rough and unknown, but what will not woman's love tempt man to brave? Frithiof straightway stepped on board his good ship, Ellida, and set forth. The storm rose, but amid its wildest raging the adventurous seaman thought and spoke of his Ingeborg only. At length, the ship about to sink, he broke the ring of Ingeborg in pieces, that his men, when they descended to the realms of Rana, the goddess of the sea, might not lack the wherewithal to meet current expenses. Finally, overcoming a pair of malignant stormsprites, the Ellida neared the longlooked for isles. Here the tribute was paid, and Frithiof returned safe, to find the kings assembled at the midsummer feast in the grove of Balder. There the sight that greeted him stirred his indignation. Helge's queen sat in state, with the ring he had given to Ingeborg on her arm. Instantly, he flung the purse contain ing the tribute in Helge's face, knocking that regal worthy's front teeth out. In his hallowed violence he next assailed the queen, dragged the

ring from her, flung the image of Balder into the fire, and set the temple ablaze. Helge attempted to overtake Frithiof, escaping over the sea, but the effort failed. Frithiof then became an outcast, and for many a day preyed on the Vikings. Ultimately, after mishaps proper to the course of a love story, Hring shuffles off the mortal coil, and Frithiof is united to Ingeborg. During the telling of this story occasion is given for many fine bursts of rude ballad poetry; and as the sentiment of these passages illustrates the tenor of the poetic Sagas, a few lines may be reproduced. There are, in the first place," proverbial" stanzas, eclipsing the glory of the immortal Tupper. Has he, as Solomon or Esop, ever written anything so sage or terse as this?—

"Gladness, O Halfdan, doth the wise adorn, But folly, most of all in kings, brings scorn!

Mix hops with honey when thou mead wilt brew;

Make thy sports sterner, and thy weapon

too.

"None is too learned, however wise he be; That many knowledge lack too well know

we;

Despised the witless sitteth at the feast, The learned hath the ear of every guest.

"To trusty comrade, or to friend, in war, Be thy way near, although his home be

far;

Yet let thy foeman's house, where'er it lie, Be ever distant, though thou pass it by. "Thy confidence to many shun to give, Full barns we lock, the empty open leave

Choose one in whom to trust, more seek not thou:

The world, O Halfdan, knows what three men know."

Such is the experience of these unsophisticated Northerns. As sung the graybeards in the Norse halls, as responded the skalds in Bele's palace, so is life the wide world over. Love, jealousy, envy, the unruliness of the tongue all the passions and feelings of mankind-exert the same power amid the poverty and gloom of the Icelander's hut as in the marble palaces of Eastern princes. The story progresses with many equally_chivalrous counsels, and Ingeborg, when the hour of parting from Frithiof arrives, beautifully pleads against the displeasure of Balder

Half like Freya, half like Rota, lovelier than the heavenly pair;

From her slender hat of purple azure plumes float high in air."

"The gentle god Could ne'er be angry at a maiden's love. Is it not pure as Urda's silver wave, And innocent as Gefion's morning dream? The lofty Sun hath never turned away Its eye of brightness from a loving pair; And starry Night, the widow of the Day, Amidst her mourning hears their vows with joy.

Can what is holy 'neath the vaulted sky Become a crime beneath a temple's dome?" The whole passage describing the

interview between Frithiof and his

idol sparkles with exquisite imagery and vigorous poetical expression. Frithiof sails on the errand already explained. The narrative of what befel him on the wave is simple. There is no succession of Eneidan tempests no castings ashore on coasts unpeopled -no profuse sacrifices to the gods no pious and lofty renewals of noble resolve. All goes well, and Frithiof returns to find Ingeborg in the possession of Hring. Then he breaks forth in the reproaches which his sex have been too quick at all times to

utter

Thine heart but echoing with deceit,
And treachery set in thy lips so sweet.'"

Frithiof's temptation is a charming ballad ode, excelled by few pieces in any language. Thus it opens:— "Spring-time cometh, wild birds twitter, woods grow leafy, sunshine beams, Dancing, singing, down to ocean speed the liberated streams; Out from its bud the glowing rose peeps

forth like blush on Freya's cheek; And joy of life, and mirth, and hope,

within the breast of man awake. "The aged monarch wills the chase, and with him hies the gentle queen, And swarming round in proud array is all

the court assembled seen : Bows are twanging, quivers rattle, eager horse-hoofs paw the clay; And, with hooded eyes, the falcons scream impatient for their prey. "Lo! the chase's Empress cometh! Hapless

Frithiof, glance away! Like a star on spring-cloud sitteth she upon her courser gray,

Frithiof's admiration of Ingeborg the Fair is as characteristic in its expression as the Norse ode of Anningait, which he sang in the ear of Ajut, his beloved, according to the veracious testimony of the editor of the Rambler:-"She was beautiful as the vernal willow, and fragrant as thyme upon the mountains; her fingers were white as the teeth of the morse, and her smile grateful as the dissolution of the ice." He would the snows of the midland cliffs;" he pursue her, "though she should pass would "tear her from the embraces of the genius of the rocks, and rescue her from the ravine of Hafgufa."

of those far-separated farm-steadings There are joys even for the tenants in Icelandic wilds, where Mr. Baring. Gould's unpoetical companion yielded to the tender passion. They have been known to compassionate the dwellers in climes "where the whole year is divided into short days and nights." "We live not, my fair," said the Icelandic lover, "in those fabled countries which lying strangers so wantonly describe

where the same habitation serves for summer and winter, where they raise houses in rows above the ground, dwell together from year to year with flocks of tame animals grazing in the fields about them, can travel at any time from one place to another through ways inclosed with trees, or over walls raised upon the inland waters, and direct their course through wide countries by the sight of green hills or scattered buildings." The night of winter is a season which has its fitness for ease and festivity, for revels and delicious seal" and "soft oil," and gaiety; and the "flaming lamp," had the smile of Ajut been added, would have been endurable enough. But the maiden was inexorable, and Anningait was left to pass the winter in solitary misery!

Mr. Baring-Gould is strong in the more romantic and sentimental class of Sagas, and wishes his translations of several hitherto unpublished poems and tales of this description to be considered the principal feature of attraction in his elegant