XII.] THE OLD-WORLD HEROES. 219 



x. 



Right before the wild wind driving, 

 Madly plunging — stung by fire — 

 No help nigh her — 

 Lo ! the ship has ceased her striving ! 

 Mount the red flames higher — higher ! 

 Till — on ocean's verge arriving, 

 Sudden sinks the Viking's pyre — 

 Hacon's gone ! 



Let me call one more heroic phantom from Norway's 

 romantic past. 



A kingly presence, stately and tall ; his shield held high 

 above his head — a broken sword in his right hand. Olaf 

 Tryggvesson ! Founder of Nidaros ; — that cold Northern 

 Sea has rolled for many centuries above your noble head, 

 and yet not chilled the battle heat upon your brow, nor 

 staunched the blood that trickles down your iron glove, 

 from hidden, untold wounds, which the tender hand of 

 Thyri shall never heal ! 



To such ardent souls it is indeed given "to live for ever" 

 (the for ever of this world) ; for is it not " Life " to keep 

 a hold on our affections, when their own passions are at 

 rest, — to influence our actions (however indirectly) — when 

 action is at an end for them ? Who shall say how much of 

 modern heroism may owe its laurels to that first throb of 

 fiery sympathy which young hearts feel at the relation of 

 deeds such as Olaf Tryggvesson' s ? 



The forms of those old Greeks and Romans whom we 

 are taught to reverence, may project taller shadows on the 

 world's stage ; but though the scene be narrow here, and 

 light be wanting, the interest is not less intense, nor are the 

 passions less awful that inspired these ruder dramas. 



There is an individuality in the Icelandic historian's 

 description of King Olaf that wins one's interest — at first 

 as in an acquaintance — and rivets it at last as in a personal 

 friend. The old Chronicle lingers with such loving minute- 

 ness over his attaching qualities, his social, generous 

 nature, his gaiety and " frolicsomeness ; " even his finical 



