  “Nullus dolor est quem non longinquitas temporis minuat, ac molliat.” There is no grief time does not lessen and soften. Since the succeeding pages were written, Norway and Sweden have mourned the death of their King, Carl XV., at Malmoe, on the 18th September, 1872. The dedication of this work is, therefore, with the kind and special permission of his present Majesty, King Oscar II., inscribed “In Memoriam.” Thus the work opens to the reader with a shadow of melancholy; for, in our experience, few kings have had the love and affection of their subjects in a greater degree. One memorable event marked the close of his late Majesty’s reign, as if to illumine the last sands of the hour-glass of his life—the millennial period of the unity of Norway as one kingdom was accomplished on the 19th July, 1872. A thousand years had elapsed since Harald Haarfager (the Fair Hair) gained the battle of Hafsfjord, and united Norway under one crown.1 At Hafsfjord, by a strange coincidence, King Harald Haarfager, having reigned, it is said, from about 861 to 931, was buried, according to the ancient sagas, near the town of Haugesund, not far from the scene of his memorable victory, the last of a series of conquests which gave to Norway one king. The battle of Hafsfjord also accomplished King Harald’s vow, and gave to him the hand of Gyda, the handsome daughter of Eric, King of Hordaland, who, in answer to his proposals, had said, she would never throw herself away, even to take a king for a husband, who had only a few districts to rule over.2 The obelisk of granite, erected near Haugesund, on the grave of Harald Haarfager, to commemorate the event, is seventy feet high. Surrounding its base, twenty-one pillars, eight feet high, are inscribed with the names of the twenty-one petty kingdoms, into which ancient Norway was formerly divided. Bronzed reliefs on the pedestal record that Harald Haarfager is buried beneath, and that the monument was erected one thousand years after he had consolidated Norway into one kingdom. At a grand National Jubilee Festival, at Haugesund, on the 19th July, 1872, his present Majesty the King of Norway and Sweden,3 then Prince Oscar, with a large assemblage of the people of Norway, inaugurated the monument. The day was fine, and the associations of a thousand years carried the mind back through the far distance of time to the battle of Hafsfjord, when, to apply the words of “Sigvat the Scald,”— Loud was the battle-storm there, When the King’s banner flamed in air, The King beneath his banner stands, And the battle he commands. His late Majesty was also a poet and an artist. Two interesting volumes of the late King’s poems, entitled “En Samling Dikter” (a collection of poems), and “SmÄrre Dikter” (short poems) are the scintillations of a bright and imaginative mind—“Till Sverige” (To Sweden), “Borgruinen” (the Castle Ruins), “Fjerran” (Afar), “Ensamheten” (solitude), “TrosbekÄnnelse” (Confession of Faith), “I drÖmmen” (I Dream), “Hvar bor Friden” (Where dwelleth Peace), “Kallan” (The Fountain), “Ziguenerskan” (The Gipsy Girl), with other poems form the InnehÅl, or contents of the “SmÄrre Dikter.” The larger volume—“En Samling Dikter”—includes “Heidi Gylfes Dotter” (Heidi Gylfe’s Daughter), “En Viking Gasaga” (A Viking Saga)4 “Hafsfrun” (The Mermaid), “Tre Natter” (Three Nights), and several other poems. The full-paged portrait of his late Majesty Carl XV. is an excellent likeness. He was cast in Nature’s most It is beautifully engraved by the author of “Scrambles Amongst the Alps,” indeed, this and the engravings illustrating this work, which have all been taken from original sketches of the author, or photographs obtained specially for the work, are by Mr. Edward Whymper,5 to whom the author is much indebted for his prompt attention, when a very short space of time could only be allowed for their completion. An additional interest will also be felt by the reader in knowing that the work is true, even to the names of the gipsies. So must close our Introduction; and, as we look back to our tented wanderings, they seem as a bright summer’s day, whose sun, setting on the horizon of our fate, reflects itself, though with imperfect gleams, within this book, whilst the day is gone for ever!
THE GIPSY GIRL.Passing, I saw her as she stood beside A lonely stream between two barren wolds; Her loose vest hung in rudely-gathered folds On her swart bosom, which in maiden pride Pillowed a string of pearls; among her hair Twined the light blue bell and the stonecrop gay; And not far thence the small encampment lay, Curling its wreathÈd smoke into the air. She seemed a child of some sun-favoured clime; So still, so habited to warmth and rest; And in my wayward musings on past time, When my thought fills with treasured memories, That image nearest borders on the blest Creations of pure art that never dies. MAP |
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