Will not the noble game that all day long Hak. Heaven knows, I have contended like a wolf That would protect her young. With this good sword Souls have I sent enough this day to Lok Or Odin. Now am I sore spent. My troops Are broken-Fortune has prov'd treacher ous, And Olaf with his Christian charms has blunted The swords of Northern heroes. Many fled- Long have I been tormented. In that cup Tho. Wait, and I will bring you- indeed this draught refresh'd me! At Gaula fell my horse; I kill'd him there; Threw off my war-cloak-drench'd it in his blood, And left it to deceive mine enemies. Tho. Oh Hakon! From Olaf and his horsemen? For thy love I cannot supplicate. Then shall I go The highest cliff-look for the last time round Even on that realm that honoured and obeyed me ; Then, with the tranquil heart of stern resolve Rush on this tried and faithful sword. The storm Will on its wild wings quickly bear my soul Unto the Father of all victories; And when the sun reveals my lifeless frame, It shall be said, "As he hath lived exalted, So did he nobly die!" Tho. No more of this! Oh Hakon, speak not so. My hatred now Hak. Know'st thou That I with this hand sacrificed the boy, A deed that proves the miserable strife, Hak. But know'st thou too, That I, with this hand which thou kindly graspest, And-no-I cannot say the rest! That thou hast kill'd my brothers in the battle. Hak. Indeed; and still-? Tho. Thora is still the same. Yet in the battle it goes ever thus, Ah! tell me, Hakon, Hak. The shadow which thou seest Was once indeed the monarch of all Nor way, And heroes did him homage and obeisance; He fell in one day's battle 'twas at Hlade. Ha! that is long past now-almost forgot. His pallid spectre wanders up and down, To scare beholders in the gloom of night. His name was Hakon! Tho. I indeed am now Reveng'd, and fearfully! Away with hatred, Henceforth, and enmity-Come love again; Lean on thy Thora; let me dry thy temples, Tho. The maidens here have called me Methinks, indeed, I was a little flower, weep, When suddenly, from freezing cold to warmth Transported? It is but of death the token. Then wonder not, pale, trembling flower! Tho. Oh Jarl! My own! my Hakon! Help me, Heaven! Hak. The snow Fades on the mountains; now its reign is o'er ; The powerful winter melts away, and yields Before the charmful breath of flowery spring. Jarl Hakon is no more his ghost alone Still wanders on the earth. Yet boldly go, And thro' his body drive a wooden spear Deep in the earth beneath. Then shall, at last, His miserable spectre find repose. Tho. My Hakon, be composed; speak not so wildly.. The loftiest spirit, howsoe'er endow'd, Has long with hate and enmity contended; Clear and rejoicing, as the night was gloomy. Wilt thou not, till the horses are refreshed, Repose beneath these trees?" Olaf. I cannot rest Till we have Hakon prisoner :-His army (Einar the bowman enters with Hakon's war dress.) Einar. Olaf! Thy toils are o'er. Beside a mountain stream Jarl Hakon's steed Lay bathed in gore,-and there I found his mantle, All bloody too. Thy soldiers must have met, And kill'd him there. Olaf. Indeed? Can this be so? Is this his dress? Who recognises it? Greif. The dress in truth is there, but where's the Jarl? Lay he there too? Einar. His horse and cloak alone Have I beheld. Greif. Bring also the Jarl, and then We may repose; but not before. Methought Thou knew'st him better. He, if I mistake not, Be of good courage. Trust in me, thy master. Kark. Lord Jarl, thou art thyself oppress'd and sad. Hak." Oppressed and sad!" How dar'st thou, Slave, presume? 1 say, be merry. If thou can'st not eat, Hek. Sing what thou wilt. However, Hak. Aye, that the grown-up child I know a famous war-song-an old legend. Hak. Has it a mournful ending? Seems it first, As if all things went prosperously on, Then winds up suddenly with death and murder? Kark. No, Sire, The song is sad from the beginning. Hak. Well that I most approve.-For to commence A song with calmness and serenity, We know the worst! Begin the song. (And blythe is the greenwood strain,) But when they came to Oglehof, The doughty Jarl was slain !" Hak. How, slave !— Hast lost thy reason? Wilt thou sing to me My father's death-song? Can'st thou not rest, as I have often done? (Karker stretches himself on the ground, and falls asleep.) Hak. (Looking at him.) Poor nature!— slumber'st thou already? The spark which restlessly betokened life Already sunk in ashes! But 'tis well"Tis well for thee :-Within this heart what flames Violently rage!-Ha! stupid slave! hast thou, Commanded by the Normans, unto me He was, as I have been, unto the Gods come Odin and all his powers? And must he fall Who has of Christians been the enemy? (He pauses.) "Tis cold within this damp and dusky caveMy blood is freezing in my veins. (He looks at Karker.) He dreams. How hatefully his features are contorted! Hegrins like some fantastic nightly spectre! Shaking him.) Ho! Karker! Slave, awake! What mean those faces? Karker. Ah! 'twas a dream. Hakon. And what then has thou dream'd? Hakon. Be silent. Hear'st thou not? Karker. Horsemen-my LordA numerous troop. I hear their armour clashing. They are, as I suspect, King Olaf's people, Who search for us. Hakon. This cave is all unknown. Its iron gates are strong. I have the key. Here are we safe. Karker. But hear'st thou what the Herald Is now proclaiming? Hakon. No. What were the words? with honour Reward the man who brings to him the head Of Hakon, Jarl of Hlade. Hak. (Looking at him scrutinizingly.) Feel'st thou not Desire to win this wealth--why art thou trembling? Why are thy lips turn'd pale? Kark. The vision scar'd me. Like a chain'd dog, fawning he will come straight Perchance, my lord, you could explain it To him who offers the most tempting mor for me. Hak. What hast thou dream'd? Kark. That we were both at sea, In one small vessel, 'mid the stormy waves; I had the helm. Hak. That must betoken, Karker, That my life finally depends on thee. Therefore be faithful. In the hour of need, Stand by thy master firmly; and one day, He shall reward thee better than King Olaf. Kark. My lord-I dream'd yet more. Hak. Boy-tell me all ! Kark. There came a tall black man down to the shore, Who from the rocks proclaimed with fearful voice That every harbour was barr'd up against us. Hak. Karker, thou dream'st not well; for this betokens Short life even for us both. Be faithful still Yet still it burns-and where there's life is hope! Go take thy place and sleep. sels Karker-give me thy dagger. Slaves, thou knowest, Should wear no weapons. Kark. From yourself my lord Hak. (Aside.) A fever Burns in my brain and blood. I am out worn, Exhausted with the combat of the day, With watching; and our long nocturnal flight. Yet sleep I dare not while that sordid slave (He pauses.) Well-I may rest awhile-yet carefully Beware of sleep.— (He sits down, and is overpowered by slumber.) Kark. (Softly.) Ha! now-he sleeps!— He trusts me not-he fears That I may now betray him to King OlafOlaf gives wealth and honours for his lifeWhat can I more expect from Hakon Jarl? He moves! Protect me, Heaven! He rises up, And yet is not awake. Hak. (Rising up in his sleep, and coming forward towards Karker-as if he fled from some fearful apparition.) GOLD-HARALD! SCHAAFELL! What would'st thou with me? Go! leave me in peace! Wherefore dost thou intrude thy death-pale roses, (He walks unquietly up and down, and then Till now snow white, are purple drops de asks) Now, Karker, sleep'st thou ?- Hak. Ha stupid slave !-(rising up.) Jarl Hakon! Is this wretch then the last that now remains Of all thy mighty force?-I cannot trust him For what can such a dull and clouded brain Monceive of honour and fidelity? (Threatening.) Thou wretch, strike instant- Must fall-we cannot both survive. (He takes the spear and stabs Hakon.) Hak. (Falling.) Now in my heart the avenging spear Of Heaven is deeply fixed. Thy threatening words, Olaf, are now confirmed. Kark. Now it is past; And cannot be recalled. Therefore shall I claim The wealth and honour that to me are promised. "Tis done! but he himself desired his death, I blindly but perform'd what he commanded! (Erit, bearing out the body of Hakon Jarl.) Having already transcribed so largely, we now omit one scene, which contains the congress at Drontheim,—the coronation of King Olaf, (on whose head the crown, made unsuccessfully for Hakon, exactly fits,) and the mandate for the execution of the treacherous Karker. We shall insert, however, the concluding soliloquy of Thora, to whose care the remains of Hakon have been consigned by command of Olaf, now king of Norway. The Cavern. The lamp still burns. Servants bring in a coffin, set it silently in the cave, and retire. Thora comes slowly with a drawn word, and a large pine tree garland in her hands. She remains long deeply meditative, and contemplates the coffin. Tho. Now art thou in thy coffin laid, Jarl Hakon! From Thora's hand receive this coronet Around thy battle sword, and so betoken A noble forest tree, though by the storm In distant ages, when the colours quite Is now rejoicing in the halls of Odin. slaves Of Thora shall her lifeless frame deposite Such is the noble termination of the tale of Hakon Jarl. The merits of the tragedy-more particularly of this last act, cannot require any comment from us. The highest and most acceptable compliment that could have been paid to Oehlenschlager, has been already offered in the diligence of a translator worthy of himself. There are some readers who may perhaps be surprised, that one who writes like Mr Gillies-(for it must be seen that we are again indebted to this gentleman's MSS.,) should deal so largely in translation. But assuredly, he is the best judge, by what exercises he is most likely to train his own fine genius for the original flights, that, with In Thora's coffin. Who could have fore-out doubt, await its maturity. If he seen this? May thy bones rest in peace! If thou hast err'd, By sufferings thou has amply made atone ment; designs to be hereafter a writer of English tragedies, we are at a loss to guess by what species of preparation he might be more effectually strengthening his powers, and smoothing his adventurous path. Besides, it should not be forgotten, that the great Goethé himself, has through the whole of his life delighted in the work of translation, and that even now, in the fulness of years and honours, the genefinish a German version of Lord Byrous old master has not disdained to ron's Manfred. The day may perhaps come, when German and Danish poets may be proud to repay in kind, the services which Mr Gillies is now rendering to the genius of the North. |