  [The following lines are founded on the account given by Saxo-Grammaticus (Lib. VIII.) of the guilt, penitence, and death of StarkÀther, a fabulous Scandinavian hero, famous throughout the North for his bodily strength and warlike achievements, as well as for his poetical genius, of which traces are still to be found in the metrical traditions and phraseology of his country. According to the old legend, the existence of StarkÀther was prolonged for three lifetimes, in each of which he was doomed to commit some act of infamy; but this fiction has not here been followed out. OehlenschlÄger's drama, bearing the name of this hero, has many beauties; but deviates widely from Saxo's story of his death.] It was an aged man went forth with slow and tottering tread, The frosts of many a Northland Yule lay thick upon his head; A staff was in his outstretched hand, to lead him on his way, And vainly rolled his faded eyes to find the light of day. Yet in that ancient form was seen the pride of other years, In ruined majesty and night the Hero there appears. The awful brow, the ample breast, a shelter from the foe, And there the massive weight of arm that dealt the deadly blow. He stopped a passing stranger's steps, and thus his purpose told,— "See here the twin swords by my side, and see this purse of gold; Thy weapon choose to cope with One who should no longer live, And by an easy slaughter earn the guerdon I would give. "A hundred winters o'er my soul have shed their gathering gloom, And still I seek, but seek in vain, an honourable tomb; With friendly enmity consent to quench this lingering breath, And give, to crown a warrior's life, one boon—a warrior's death. "Of matchless might and fearless soul, with powers of song sublime, I spread afar my name and fame in every Gothic clime; Those godlike gifts were treasured long from blot and blemish clear, But one dark act of fraudful guilt bedimmed my bright career. "When Olo sat, the people's choice, in Sealand's kingly seat, And trampled liegemen and the laws beneath his tyrant feet, His nobles placed this glittering hoard within my yielding hand, And bade me rid them of a rule that wide enslaved the land. "I watched my royal victim well, I tracked his every path, And found him with a faithless guard within the secret bath; Yet rather had I faced an host fast rushing to the fight, Than the eye of that unarmÈd man, there gleaming bold and bright. "The fear of my defenceless foe awhile unnerved my arm, But thoughts of glory or of gain dispelled the better charm; The water reddened with his blood, I left the lifeless corse, To meet myself a living death,—a lifetime of remorse. "In every feud, in every fray, on every field of strife, I since have fondly sought release from such a loathÈd life; The foremost, who suborned my crime, have perished at my feet, But none had heart or hand to strike the blow I longed to meet. "Even as I am, I seek the fight, and offer as the prize The untasted bait that bribed my soul, nor thou the boon despise; Else, like some worn-out beast of prey, StarkÀther soon must lie, Nor gain the bliss that Odin gives to men who nobly die." "I know thee now," the stranger said, "I hear thy hated name, I take thy gold, I take thy life, a forfeit to my claim; My father fell beneath thy hand, his image haunts me still— But the hour of his revenge is come, and he shall drink his fill." He seized a sword; its sweeping edge soon laid the Hero low, But not before his sinking arm was felt upon his foe: "Thanks, youthful friend!" the Hero said; "now Odin's hall is won, Its rays already greet my soul, its raptures are begun." |
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