ODIN.
He hath borne all things well.
SHAKSPEARE—_Macbeth_.
“WHENCE is it, Brandomann,” said Sleipner one evening to the Scaldre,
“that among those of the heroes whose virtues and glories you are nightly
celebrating, I never hear the actions of Odin; why, while thus honouring
his friends, are you neglectful of the great father of our race? Surely
he, from whom all inspiration flows, deserves the best, ay, and first
fruits of your genius!” “It was only because I feared my feeble strains
would not do justice to the lofty subject,” replied Brandomann; “the
glory of the father of gods and men requires a mightier hand than mine to
celebrate it; Brage alone should strike the golden chord to his
honour—alone should sing of deeds beyond the feeble thought of mortality;
that which I can, I will; I dare not wake the voice of song, but I will
speak of his wondrous deeds, that to-night, in Valhalla, thou mayest tell
bright Asgard’s king that I have instructed this lovely maiden what
honours and love are due to the first of her race, and the friend of her
father. Will it please thee, Ildegarda, to listen to the legend of
Sigge?” “Beyond all other things,” replied the princess, pleasedly: and
Brandomann, smiling, began—
The Legend of Sigge.
From his high and everlasting throne in Valhalla, had Odin, the dispenser
of good, poured forth, with unsparing hand, innumerable benefits upon his
attendant spirits. In the burning benevolence of his heart he forgot, or
he disregarded, that to some essences obligation is pain, and gratitude a
toil; so high did he raise some of those bright creations that stood
nearest to his throne, that they became too great for obedience, and
impatient of the most gentle restraint. Lok, the most glorious of these
glorious things, seated on the lowest step of the throne of light, saw
but one between him and the highest; and once on that, what should
restrain him from the throne of the universe? Thus he thought, and thus
he did: by his eloquence he seduced the higher spirits from their duty—by
his beauty and promises the lower. The worlds of Asgard sent their
governing spirits forth to fight under his banner, and Surter brought
myriads to his side. For the first time since the creation, the
standards of revolt flew in the cities of Asgard, and the proud Lok drove
back, with contempt, the interceding ministers of Odin, who came to
remonstrate upon his madness. Confident in his power, the giant spirit
entered Valasciolf, the city of the king, and dared even advance to
Valhalla: the immortal beings who surround the diamond throne shuddered
at his presumption, and, veiling their bright heads from the terrible
glances of Odin, wept the approaching destiny of companions once so
beloved, which they read in the eye of their master: the sovereign of the
universe gave no command to his people—he uttered no reproach—he suffered
his faithful spirits to fly before the sword of Lok and the devouring
fires of Surter—he even permitted the lost ones to approach the steps of
his eternal throne—then, when with proud exultation they advanced to
seize upon him whose power they believed departed, he calmly arose from
his seat and stretched out his right hand, armed with its invincible
falchion, towards his enemies; at that tremendous signal Niord let loose
the oceans of heaven, and, in terrific grandeur, they came rolling down
upon the revolted; the winds from all the worlds were summoned up to
heaven to aid their master, and rend and scatter his offenders. Balder
deserted his throne in the orb of day,—and the mad and governless globe
flew up into Asgard, and burst its destructive flames upon the rebels.
Thor, the first-born of Odin, threw bye his star-formed diadem, girded
his brow with the thunder, and, wielding the red bolt of vengeance,
rushed upon them. The sightless horror rose in his terrible strength,
and the arrows of Vile, unerring as the lance of Hela, flew among the
foes; all was confusion, terror, and despair—cries of anguish polluted
the happy city—till Odin recalled his warriors, and plunged their enemies
in the burning lake, bidding the proud Lok and the ambitious Surter
obtain their wish and seat themselves on thrones.
But though the power of the infernal spirits was thus curbed, it was not
destroyed; and, still invincible in malice, they resolved to wound Odin
through his favourite, man. Lok gave birth to the snaky sin, whose folds
encircle the earth, and bade him breathe from his poisonous jaws upon her
surface the blast of contention and hate: he obeyed; and man, no longer
beneficent and kind, rose up against his brother; with bitter words, he
poured curses on the father who called him into life, and smote on the
bosom that had nourished him in helplessness. The father of evil beheld
and smiled—his work was half accomplished—and he called into existence
death, to finish the deeds begun: the pale shadow stalked over the earth
and drank the crimson blood till she grew wanton in her mirth, and
besought her father for a companion: he heard, and sent Fenris up to
follow her steps, and exult in her multiplied victims. The fiends in
hell heard the sounds of their triumph, and shouted responsive, when the
shivering spirits of the slain were hurled weeping into Niftheim. At
length their cruel joy was heard in Asgard, at the same moment that
sounds of sorrow ascended from the earth, from the few who still
remembered his name. It was from Scythia the plaining voice arose, and
the monarch, looking down from his throne, beheld the last remnant of his
people sinking beneath the power of the Roman. Now then he determined to
descend to the earth, not only to lead them to conquest, but to teach
them wisdom and virtue. Frea, the mother of the gods, resolved to
partake the toils of her husband; and Thor, the eldest born of Odin, the
ruler of the air, forsook his palace of nine hundred and forty halls,
laid by his terrific thunderbolt, and his diadem of twelve stars, and,
debasing his giant frame to the standard of humanity, descended with his
father to the earth. Cased in the armour of Scythians, they joined the
troops of that beloved people, and the father god bidding them contend no
longer against the power of the Roman, to whom Odin had given their
country, promised to lead them to other fields, and give them other lands
for their inheritance. The fierce Scythians yielded to the persuasive
voice of him whom they only knew as the warrior Sigge, and, rather than
submit to the slavery they abhorred, they forsook the tombs of their
fathers, and sought an empire in the north.
In vain the inhabitants of these regions sought to oppose the
establishment of the heaven-conducted Scythians; in every battle they
were defeated and driven with loss from their cities: the arrows of Frea
carried destruction to the enemy—the mallet of Thor crushed thousands—and
Odin, raging through their ranks, now as a warrior, now as a ferocious
lion, spread devastation through their armies, and drove them from the
field. The Scythians saw these wonders; and secretly acknowledged
Valhalla’s lord beneath the form of Sigge. When the rage of battle was
past, he lulled the wounded to repose, and arrested the parting spirits
of the dying with the celestial strains of his harp; the wounds of his
people were cured, and their strength restored by his celestial power,
while, from the same cause, his enemies were bereft of courage and of
vigour. Sweden and Norway yielded to the matchless warrior, and received
with joy the unknown Sigge for their king, but the Danes refused to
acknowledge the leader of armies; and Mimer, their prince, an enchanter,
and the friend of Lok, opposed himself against the victorious prince of
Scythia. Before the assembled Danes he contended with the stranger in
eloquence and poetry, and in these his own people were compelled, by the
severe laws of truth, to yield the palm to his rival. Mimer was wise,
eloquent, and brave; the strains of his harp were only inferior to those
of Sigge, and he felt deeply the injury which he had sustained by the
decision against him. Determined to recover, with his sword, the glory
he had lost, he called his armies together, and bade defiance to the
Scythians: the opposing bands drew near; furious was the contest, for
now, like a tiger sprung Mimer on his foes—now as a fiery serpent stung
their hearts, or crushed them in his mighty folds. As terrible raged
Odin in various forms, carrying dismay around him, and thinning the ranks
of the valiant Danes. At length the monarchs met—in human form stood
Mimer—in human form, prepared to oppose him, stood Valhalla’s mighty
king: but momentary was the contest, the terrible blow of the Scythian
brought the head of the Dane to his feet, as its faltering tongue
pronounced the name of Odin. The foe fled to the camp, while the father
of men again raised to life his beloved Scythians who had fallen in this,
the greatest of his fields. At length, wishing to give peace to the
weary land, he summoned the Danish chiefs to meet him in conference.
Seated on a throne, he received the warriors: in one hand he held the
sceptre of his power, the other rested on a golden dish, in which, now
richly embalmed, and adorned with a crown of gold, lay the head of the
wretched Mimer. The chiefs gazed in silence—a silence unbroken by human
sounds, but disturbed by the voice of the dead, for the ghastly head
opened its closed lips, fixed its eyes, and bade, in hollow but
authoritative tones, its countrymen no longer oppose the will of the
gods, but receive for their prince and lawgiver him who was master of the
world! Again it sunk into silence, and the astonished Danes, obeying its
dictates, fell at the feet of the conqueror of Mimer. And now, seated in
peace on the thrones of the north, more brightly shone the unmatched
virtues of Sigge. He taught his subjects husbandry—he taught them to
plough the waters—he opened to them the riches of commerce—and he dug
from the earth the treasures which ages had concealed in her bosom;—he
punished vice with severity—he rewarded virtue with munificence—he taught
them letters—instructed them in the mysteries of the Runic—and obliged
them to cultivate the milder graces of music and verse;—he allured men to
obey by the charms of his eloquence and the splendour of his glory; and
he spoke to their reason by his divine Hovamaal, which he gave them as
his best gift—his richest legacy. In this he bade them do no wrong to
each other—to honour the eternal gods—and to render up life at the
command of their country. When he beheld the good effect of his
regulations, and saw his people firmly attached to his laws, he called
around him his children, born of his mortal wives, of the daughters of
Scythia, and, dividing his dominions among them, taught them to govern
according to his ordinances and example. Satisfied with his work, he
called Frea and Thor to his side, and, blessing once more his mortal
children, ascended with them into the regions of light. Then loudly the
Danes acknowledged Odin, and paid their homage to his glory; to his race
they have ever been faithful, for they still fill the earthly thrones of
their father, who, from his abode in Asgard, looks down upon his
children, and crowns their lives with prosperity: and thus shall he do
till the long night which is to witness the last battle of the gods—the
last attack of Lok and his allies, and which for ages they have been
preparing—against Odin and the happy spirits of Asgard. In the dreadful
conflict, men and demons, oceans, earths, Niftheim, nay, even Asgard
itself, shall be involved in one general wreck—one entire and
undistinguished ruin; the infernal spirits shall fall in the
convulsions—evil shall be no more—and from the ashes of the universe
shall arise a brighter heaven—a gloomier hell, than those which have
passed away. To the glorious seats of Gimle, the city of burnished
gold—to its diamond-studded palaces and star-paved courts—shall the
spirits of the just ascend, with Odin and his triumphant sons, to the
enjoyment of one endless festival; while the cowards and wicked of the
earth shall sink with their infernal allies—the revolted of heaven—into
the caves of Nastronde, an abode more horrible than Niftheim—a den built
up of the carcasses of snakes, and illuminated by devouring flames, where
ever-enduring sorrow shall be the punishment of the lost, from which they
shall have no power to escape, again to disturb the repose of the just.
Honour and praise to Frea—victory to Thor—glory to Odin, the greatest,
and the best—hail to the master of gods and men!
* * * * *
Happily for his hearers, it was here, at length, that the merciless
Brandomann terminated his long-winded history. Sleipner had for some
time been his only auditor—Ildegarda had been nodding repeatedly—Heidruna
fidgetily trotting backwards and forwards to the portal, watching the
clouds—Serimnor had given two or three most portentous yawns—while the
two ravens who did every thing in concert, had tucked their heads under
their wings, and gone fairly to sleep:—but they all started up when the
hum of his voice had ceased, and thanked the good Brandomann as sincerely
as if they had been excessively delighted, for they were grateful that he
had finished at last, and were besides too well bred not to be charmed
with what had been done entirely for their amusement.
On the following day, during their usual rambles about the island, the
princess looked so unusually depressed, and said so little in reply to
the observations of her companion, that his attention, ever on the watch,
was aroused by her sadness; tenderly he inquired the cause. “I will tell
you,” replied Ildegarda: “when absent from you, and believing your life
in danger, my only anxiety was to return; now, when that difficulty has
passed away, I confess I am wretched respecting my father’s feelings and
conduct, when he shall discover that I have quitted him for ever; neither
is my own heart without a pang when I reflect that I shall see him no
more. Oh that I knew what is to come!—that I could look into the future,
and behold my destiny and his!” “I know not that it is in my power
altogether to fulfil your wishes,” answered Brandomann; “but I can give
you a glance into the future, so as to discover its general complexion,
but not to enable you to read exactly the very page of destiny. That
which I can, to gratify your curiosity, I will do,—I will arrest for a
few minutes the flight of the triune deity Time, and, by her appearance,
we shall be able to judge of what is to come.—Urda, Werandi, Skulda!”
continued Brandomann, raising his powerful voice to its utmost pitch,
“obey the command of the lord of the Maelstrom, the mighty delegate of
Odin—pause in your flight for a moment, and stand visibly before him!”
Scarcely was the peremptory order uttered, ere a light cloud was seen
advancing towards them from the sea, and when it became stationary
Ildegarda beheld a female form slowly and gracefully emerging from its
centre; her features were indistinctly visible, and upon the floating
misty robe that enveloped her figure, many changing objects were, some
faintly, some powerfully, represented. “It is Urda the Past,” said
Brandomann to Ildegarda; “the events written upon her breast and brow are
partially concealed by her garment of oblivion and doubt; and when this
is penetrated by mortal sight, they are still seen through the mists of
passion and prejudice, by which she is ever surrounded: look now upon her
breast and brow—what objects do they represent to you?” “I see a
criminal,” said the princess, “about to suffer the sentence of
justice—the executioner is preparing to strike.” “To my view the
representation is different,” replied Brandomann; “I see a crowned king
falling beneath the murderous swords of his rebellious subjects.” “I
observe a dying parent,” continued Ildegarda, “who consigns his child to
a noble warrior who weeps by his couch, but presses the babe to his
heart.” “I also see the dying father,” said Brandomann, “but he resigns
his infant to a demon in form, and worse than a demon in heart, for he
instantly plunges a dagger in its throat: what else do you remark?”
“Many other objects,” continued the princess, “but nothing clearly; the
goddess herself is retiring slowly from my gaze, and to whom does she
give place?” “To Werandi the Present,” answered Brandomann, “in her
snow-white robe, with her unveiled face and open brow and eye—how clear
she looks upon us!—and her garments will shew us our actions of this
moment:—but she retires, and Skulda the Future supplies her place; clad
in a robe of darkness, she exhibits nothing to our eyes, and the veil
which covers her person conceals also her face from our observation: she
shall withdraw it, and her smile or frown will shadow forth your
destiny.” The goddess gently withdrew her veil, and the soft enchanting
smile which she beamed upon the princess banished anxiety from her bosom,
and graced the departure of the triune spirit with the sweet attribute of
benevolence.
A few days after the prophetic smile of the deity of Time had given such
hope to the heart of Ildegarda, they were, while wandering about the
gardens of the palace, astonished by the roaring of thunders which
announced a distant storm: they were surprised by the sudden change from
daylight to darkness, and were puzzling each other respecting its cause,
when the storm died rapidly away, the clouds fell down in a gentle
shower, and the rainbow-bridge stood out in faint splendour from the
heavens. “Look, dearest,” said Brandomann; “the spirit of the bow has
lowered his beautiful bridge—some of the lesser warriors are ascending to
Valhalla—I will address the guardian of it, and bid him render the road
and its passengers visible to your sight.—All hail Heimdaller of the
coloured crown!” continued Brandomann, “the friend of Odin speaks to
thee; beautiful spirit of the rushing wings and eyes of tender glory, let
us look upon thy face, and the road which leads to thy dwelling!” The
silvery voice of the spirit answered him, giving an immediate assent to
his desire, and in a moment the road and its travellers became visible to
Ildegarda. Slowly, and with feeble steps, the wounded warriors dragged
themselves on till they reached the summit of the bridge, when the gates
of light flew open, and the spirit, in giving them his hand, bestowed
upon them strength and beauty, and thus prepared them for the presence of
Odin and the glories of the halls of Valhalla.
While Ildegarda with intense interest was watching the solemn procession
of the dead, her eyes were suddenly dazzled by a brilliant light thrown
upon the bridge, which now shone out in tenfold splendour, colouring the
mountains of the island with tints of its beautiful hues. She looked up,
and beheld the spirit of the bow descending, glorious in his youthful
beauty; his diadem of many-coloured gems was on his lofty brow, and, in
the ineffable loveliness of his sunny smile, there was a sweetness that
made Ildegarda weep. “He goes to welcome one of the greatest of mortal
heroes,” said Brandomann—“one of the favourites of Odin; his presence
throws this glory round him, and at this moment the beings of earth, who
gaze upon the bridge, behold its colours at the brightest: but see—at the
foot of the arch there is one ascending to meet the spirit!—his wounds
are terrible—his bosom is fearfully gored—and his steps are feeble and
slow—but he has the brow and the port of a hero; as yet I know him not.”
“But _I_ do!” shrieked the hapless Ildegarda—“O Brandomann, I know him
well!” The lord of the Maelstrom looked up again, and painfully
recognised the shadow—it was indeed her father;—the pale inhabitant of
another world, whom she saw ascending slowly to meet the welcome smile of
the angel of light, was once the noble Haquin, the last friend of Harold
and his sons. Brandomann gazed in grief and terror, and the sorrow he
felt for the death of the warrior was scarcely mitigated by the change
wrought in his wearied frame by the touch of the radiant Heimdaller.
“Ildegarda!” he cried in a voice of tenderness and pity; “Ildegarda,
think not that thou art alone in the world, or that all that loved thee
have left it; look up, my dear one!—look on the happiness of thy noble
father, and cease to regret his fate; what could thy love offer him in
exchange for this?” Ildegarda mournfully assented as she saw his glory,
and her grief became more resigned and gentle. She returned to the
palace with Brandomann, who, far from attempting to console, wept with
her the loss she had sustained. In the evening her friends did not as
usual visit the island, but they explained the cause of their absence on
the next. It was in honour of Haquin they had been detained at Valhalla,
as Odin had commanded the feast earlier, in order to compliment this
noble warrior,—“who now,” continued Sleipner, “sits highest in the hall,
and nearest to Odin’s self.”
Time reconciled the princess to her father’s death, and to her hopeless
imprisonment in Moskoe. The generous Brandomann, now that she had lost
in the world all that was dear to her, and was most entirely in his
power, never spoke to her of the love which it was but too plain he bore
her. She saw and rewarded his virtue. “Brandomann!” she said to him one
day as they wandered through the gardens of the desolate isle;
“Brandomann, friend of my heart, in the world, where my father walks no
longer, I have no interest, and can never wish to return; yet I feel that
I could love and render some deserving being more happy than a lonely
destiny could make him; thou alone art worthy of this heart, and of the
duty which I will pay thee; I cannot love thee as I once loved Haldane—as
I fear I should love him still—that feeling it is not in thy power to
inspire; but I honour thy virtue, and am grateful for its exercise. Wilt
thou accept this hand—this heart? If so, take me, Brandomann, for I am
thine!”
She threw herself, as she spoke, into the arms which opened transportedly
to receive her, and bowed her head upon his breast. She could not
distinguish his reply, for a sudden peal of thunder rolled above their
heads, and the earth was shaken to its foundation—a frightful darkness
covered the island, and shrieks and howlings rung in their ears, mingled
with shouts of triumph and the cheering blasts of the trumpet. Ildegarda
clung closer to her lover for protection, when a gentle, well-known voice
reassured her spirits and relieved her terrors. “Look on me, my
beloved,” it said; “look on me, and receive the reward of thy virtue, and
the approbation of Heaven on thy choice.” The princess raised her eyes
to the face of her lover, and beheld—not Brandomann, but Haldane—the one,
the only beloved, the first choice of her innocent heart; it was on his
bosom she leaned—it was his arm that supported her slender form: she
trembled with painful emotion. “But Brandomann?” she demanded—“Is at thy
feet, my beloved,” replied the graceful warrior: “beneath that hideous
form, Lok, in revenge for an ancient scorn, had condemned me to wear out
my life, unless I could inspire a royal virgin with sufficient love to
become my wife. Odin, in compassion to my sufferings, confined me to
this island, and endowed me with sufficient power to fulfil the
condition, and deceive and baffle the evil spirits themselves, by the
means of their wretched agent, the detestable Frotho. Around thee stand
the gallant chiefs and the Norwegian captives, who were sent against the
monster of the Maelstrom, and who seemed to be destroyed by my vengeance;
they are now my friends, and wait to conduct us to Denmark, where Haldane
will lay his crown at thy feet.” The chiefs paid their homage to the
princess, and immediately after, there arrived, to offer their sincere
congratulations, her tender friends of many moons, the eight-legged,
four-legged, and two-legged animals of Valhalla. Ildegarda, even on the
bosom of Haldane, wept at the parting; for she knew she should behold
them no more. They attended her to the shore, and beheld her embark in
the gallant ship which Niord, at the command of Odin, had preserved for
them in one of the ocean caves. Soon they were wafted to Denmark, and
Haldane burst upon the usurper so suddenly, that he had no time even to
arm his household guards for his defence. He was presiding at a festival
when Haldane entered his presence; some of his nobles humbly acknowledged
their prince, and the others, not caring to attack him, made the best of
their way out of the palace, leaving the miserable Frotho in the power of
his nephew, who, without giving him time to make his will, threw him
headlong into the cistern of mead before which he was sitting.
Whether Haldane, in his natural shape, was as amiable and complaisant as
he had been under his assumed one, is a question which the historian of
his life cannot answer—nor whether Ildegarda, on her throne in Denmark,
found as true friends and faithful servants as she had in the gulf of the
Maelstrom: certain it is, she lived to a great age with her glorious
husband, (who was the greatest prince of the race of Dan that ever swayed
the sceptre of the north,) and that once or twice during their lives they
had together visited the desolate isle; and the princess, to the great
scandal of the ladies and gentlemen of the court, and surprise of her
husband, wept bitterly on finding that the marble palace and its
beautiful gardens had disappeared, the Moskoe isle had resumed its
ancient appearance, and nothing remained to mark it out as the scene of
such wonders as had passed in it. It has much the same character at this
hour; and it would be very difficult to persuade its inhabitants, or the
stranger who may visit its shores, that it once was a paradise only
second to the bowers of Valasciolf’s own. You, gentle reader, know
better; and, complimenting you on the patience by which you have acquired
this knowledge, I bid you, for the present, farewell.
NOTES
TO THE
LORD OF THE MAELSTROM.
PART I.
_Olave the Second_—one of the early kings of Denmark, of the race of Dan.
These princes believed themselves descended from Odin. Olave was a
worthless, profligate prince, who left two sons, who succeeded him; the
elder, Frotho the Fifth, murdered his brother Harold, and afterwards the
assassin who, by his own order, had stabbed him. He endeavoured to
secure the persons of the princes his nephews; but a nobleman, friend to
their father, conveyed them out of his reach, and concealed them in a
cave till they were of an age to revenge these injuries.
_Asgard_—the country of the gods; the Olympus of the north.
_Valasciolf_—its chief city, in which the principal divinities and more
illustrious dead resided in magnificent palaces.
_Valhalla_—the chief palace of Valasciolf, the regal residence of Odin.
_Niftheim_—Hell. A territory of devouring flames, typifying eternal
remorse; the abode of the evil principle and his attendant spirits.
_Feggo_—the brother of Harwendil, king of Jutland, and uncle to Hamlet.
The latter prince feigned madness after the murder of his father, but
killed Feggo at a festival. He succeeded to the crown, which he wore
with honour, till killed in battle by Viglet, king of Denmark.
_Lok_—the evil principle. He gave birth to Midgard (sin), the snake
whose folds encircle the earth—Hela (death)—and the wolf Fenris, the
guardian of the gate of hell; these were the evil progeny of Lok,
begotten for the destruction of the human race.
_Surter_—the evil divinity of fire—the next in rank to Lok. The
Scythians represented him as a beautiful youth; the Saxons as an old man,
to whose honour they dedicated the seventh day of the week.
_Balder_—son of Odin, god of eloquence and poetry, and ruler of the
sun—the Scandinavian Apollo. He was represented as a youth with a
burning wheel upon his breast; his face resembled the sun.
_Nastronde_—According to the Scandinavian mythology, at the end of the
world, during a night which was to last a year, a tremendous battle was
to be fought between the good and evil spirits, in which the former were
to conquer and reign in Gimle, a more glorious heaven than Asgard; while
the wicked were to be banished to Nastronde, a new hell, made purposely
for them.
PART II.
_Maelstrom_, _Malestrom_, or _Moskoestrom_—a tremendous whirlpool on the
Norwegian coast, very dangerous, and often fatal to navigators venturing
too near it. Moskoe is an island situated in the gulf: there are also
several others.
_Sleipner_—the warrior horse of Odin. He had four black legs and four
white ones: he generally travelled through the air.
_Rinda_—daughter of Balder, and mother of Vile, by Odin. The favourite
goddess of the Scandinavian women.
_Hydrasil_—the tree of heaven, standing in the garden of Odin. It was
the abode of the disposer of man’s destiny.
PART III.
_Heidruna_—the immortal goat, whose milk was the hydromel served up
nightly at the festivals of Valhalla.
_Serimnor_—the wild boar, whose flesh served them for food.
_Hugo_ and _Mumin_—the raven messengers of Odin.
_Thor_—the warrior god—the eldest son of Odin, who, in his journey over
the world, defeated Midgard, and loosened his folds from the earth; he is
typical of divine justice and vengeance. In the beautiful fables of the
Scalds, he is represented as a stern warrior, armed with an enormous
mallet, and wearing a crown of twelve stars. He lived in a palace of
Valasciolf, of five hundred and forty halls, and was the ruler and
wielder of the thunderbolt.
_Forsete_—divinity of controversy. I believe this deity is peculiar to
the Scandinavians. He lived in a palace called Glitner.
_Blind horror_—Hoder—whose name was never pronounced by the Scythians
without fear and immediate expiation—son of Odin, and born blind—the
deity of strength. He was abhorred in heaven, because, from envy, he
attacked Balder, threw him from his throne, and put out the sun. Odin
interfered, and punished Hoder by the arrows of Vile (lightning), and
afterwards restored the sun. It was thus, in their beautiful and
fanciful mythology, like the Greeks, and I think no less elegantly, that
the Scalds described natural, but not understood events. This story
describes an eclipse of the sun, the strong and blind Hoder signifying
darkness.
_Lofna_—goddess of reconciliation. I believe this deity is also peculiar
to the Scythians; they have deified her with great propriety. Her post
could not have been a sinecure in a paradise where happiness consisted in
drinking and fighting.
_Hiarn_—his story is strictly historical. It was Eric the Third who was
so maddened by music as to commit murder for no other cause.
_Geysers_—boiling spouting springs in Iceland: they are near to Skalholt
and Hecla; they spout water to a tremendous and incredible height.
_Dofrefeld_—a mighty range of Norwegian mountains, intersected by rivers
and cataracts.
_Dolsteen_—a wonderful cavern beneath the Dofrefeld mountains.
_Niord_—the Scandinavian Neptune.
PART IV.
_Uffon_—this story is also historical. Shakspeare, who read Danish
history, borrowed the circumstance of Vermund’s death for that of Gloster
in King Lear.
_Lidscialf_—the throne of Odin.
_Heimdaller_—guardian of the bridge Bifrost, or the rainbow, by which the
happy dead ascended into Asgard. He received the souls who were selected
by the Valkyries, and conducted them to Odin.
_Vile_—god of archery; son of Odin and Rinda.
PART V.
_Brage_—god of music and song.
_Hovamaal_—bible of Odin.
_Odin_—a wise and virtuous warrior, whose beneficence procured him, among
the early Scythians, deification. As a divinity, the father of gods and
men, he is the husband of Frea (the earth), and from the union of divine
love and the earth, spring light, heat, the elements, the seasons,
strength, and genius, typified by Balder, Thor, Frey, Hoder, and Balder
again, as orator and poet. Odin, mounted upon his horse Sleipner,
represents active benevolence.
* * * * *
THE END.
* * * * *
LONDON:
PRINTED BY J. MOYES, BOUVERIE STREET.
FOOTNOTES.
{77} An open field, in which, to satisfy the doubts of the nobles, the
Emperor Frederic II., her son, was born.
{242} Pages 242 and 243 were missing in the Bodleian scans and have
instead been provided from the 1867 Milner and Sowerby edition which is
textually nearly identical to this 1825 edition.—DP.