Nor rather strive by worth to share And sung by bards in distant climes!" " P. 90. This spirited declaration will remind the reader of the speech of Achilles to his horse, in the nineteenth Iliad. Ξάνθε, τί μοι θάνατον μαντεύεαι; οὐδέ τί σε χρή Οὐ λήξω, πρὶν Τρώας ἄδην ελάσαι πολέμοιο. ll. xix. 1. 420. Hialmar wrests the blade from the hand of the statue: the lights are extinguished, nor can he retrace his steps from the cavern, till he is led by the strain of soft music to a species of garden, where stretched on a couch lay a nymph, who wakes at his approach. He is enchanted with her beauty, and when on the point of yielding to her charms, he finds a gentle pressure endeavouring to wrest the sword from his hands. This recals him to his senses, he brandishes the sword around, and the illusion vanishes; and he finds himself at the mouth of the cavern, with none near him but the malignant dwarf. Hialmar aims a blow at him, and the Dwarf vanishes. In the fifth Canto we are introduced to Asbiorn who with Orvarod was the friend and compeer of Hialmar. He also had long been smitten with the beauty of Helga, and resents the preference shown to Hialmar. As he pursues his way through the forest, he breaks upon the retreat of Helga; he reveals his love, to which she appears at first to listen, but soon falls senseless at his feet. Hialmar turns with the spring, and instantly seeks the shores of Sansoe, where Angantyr and his band are waiting his arrival. As he lands, six female forms, on "chargers of etherial birth," appear before him, and like the weird sisters, summon him to the hall of Odin. After this solemn invocation they vanish. Hialmar anticipates his melancholy doom, but is reproved by his fiercer friend, Orvarod, in the following spirited lines. "Curse on the dimpled cheek,' he cried, • That half unmans my comrade's pride! • Sooth'd thy fond bosom's wayward dream! • See See his bright steeds with equal pace • They waste not in the morning's bower Spring forth and win their glittering way: They pant, and struggle to the goal. • Thrust the strong lance and wave the brand.'' P. 144. The combat between Hialmar and Angantyr now begins: the latter weilds his ponderous mace, which is received on the sword of Hialmar, and is shivered in picces. Angantyr falls, but Hialmar disdains to smite a fallen foe: he bids him rise and defend himself with his sword. In the mean time, the bold Orvarod, who had singly engaged the remaining band, appears to fly, and outstrips his foes who follow, with unequal paces. Like another Horatius, he turns upon the first, who falls an easy victim; the rest follow one by one, and are thus singly and most classically dispatched. The combat between the chiefs still. proceeds; they are both mortally wounded; the first who falls is Angantyr; Halmar just lives to witness the defeat of his foe and expires. The Epicedion contains many fine lines, but it is far too long; the Icelandic mythology indeed holds out strong temptations to the poet, but we wonder that a man of Mr. Herbert's high and Virgilian taste, should have yielded to the seduction. We need not inform Mr. Herbert that out of an hundred and thirty lines, the hundred at least would have been better spared. The first strain of the last Canto, 66 Say when the spirit fleets away When When the cold limbs to earth return, That warm'd the heart with chaste desire?" P. 171. we fancy that we have heard that strain before. Mr. Herbert is indeed a plagiarist, but it is from himself. To many of our classical, and to all of our Etonian readers, the beautiful exercise of our author is too well known to be forgotten. To wind up the story of the poem, Angantyr is buried in the lonely island of Samsoe, and the body of Hialmar is conveyed by his friend Orvarod to the court of the Swedish monarch. As it is landed, it is met by Asbiorn, who is now conscience struck for his treacherous love. With a strange, but characteristic barbarity, the corpse itself is suddenly introduced by Orvarod into the presence of Helga. "O! it came o'er her like a blast She knew those features pale in death, And look'd, and seem'd to drink his breath; But, dared not lay her cheek to his, Nor ever from that dreadful hour Sentence or word spake Asbiorn more." P. 183. The concluding lines are in high taste, we shall therefore extract them with pleasure, as a most favourable specimen of Mr. Herbert's poetical powers. "With many a sigh and many a tear They placed her on Hialmar's bier, And to one melancholy grave They bore the beauteous and the brave. May hope to soothe the silent shade; Not that the plaint or pious wreath Can charm the dull cold power of death; Lifts the weak mourner's thoughts to heaven, Bids infant virtues rise and bloom. Who sleeps within that gloomy cell." P. 185. Upon Upon the merits of the poem before us, it is somewhat difficult to decide. The first Canto is unquestionably the worst; and cannot fail to impress the reader with the most unfavourable ideas of the whole. The sudden visit of Angantyr is unnatural in the extreme; and the description of his person, his appearance, and of his strength, is almost a childish caricature. With the second Canto, however, Mr. Herbert's genius bursts forth, and with the exception of a few instances of bad taste and tiresome description, continues to the end. Mr. Herbert is both an Icelandic and a classical scholar, but we must confess, that we prefer him much in his latter character. A few fine incidents are borrowed from the Northern mythology, but it is to his classical knowledge that he is indebted for being enabled to work them up with effect. We must confess, that with the exception of some few instances to the contrary, the Runic legends appear to us but sad baby-house trash. There is indeed a rumbling and uncouth sublimity in the names, which acts as a charm upon the imagination, and magnifies the most trifling and mean ideas into a sort of dark mysterious magnifi cence. That the poem abounds with passages of the most legitimate beauty, the extracts which we have made are a convincing proof. There are faults indeed, and such as we should not have expected from so polished and chastened a scholar as Mr. Herbert. prosperous gales Already fill the strutting sails." "Lustrous" and "thundrous," are words for which we believe that Mr. H. would have some difficulty in finding authority. But these are points in themselves of little consequence, unless by repeated usage they grow into a serious evil. The description of the northern scenery is both spirited and accurate; Mr. H. has taken here a new station in the poetical world, and he has maintained it well. We trust that the poem will meet the attention which it deserves, for with all its faults, it does no small degree of credit, both to the genius and to the taste of its author. Subjoined to Helga are some entertaining notes, illustrative of the Northern mythology. There are also two minor poems, "the Song of Vala," and "Brynhilda," which do not appear to contain much worthy of remark. ART. |