The ship has ceased her striving!
Mount the red flames higher - higher!
Till - on ocean's verge arriving,
Sudden sinks the Viking's pyre -
Hacon's gone!
Let me call one more heroic phantom from Norway's romantic
past.
A kingly presence, stately and tall; his shield held high
above his head - a broken sword in his right hand. Olaf
Tryggvesson! Founder of Nidaros; - that cold Northern Sea
has rolled for many centuries above your noble head, and
yet not chilled the battle heat upon your brow, nor
staunched the blood that trickles down your iron glove,
from hidden, untold wounds, which the tender hand of
Thyri shall never heal!
To such ardent souls it is indeed given "to live for
ever" (the for ever of this world); for is it not "Life"
to keep a hold on OUR affections, when their own passions
are at rest, - to influence our actions (however
indirectly) - when action is at an end for them? Who shall
say how much of modern heroism may owe its laurels to
that first throb of fiery sympathy which young hearts
feel at the relation of deeds such as Olaf Tryggvesson's?
The forms of those old Greeks and Romans whom we are
taught to reverence, may project taller shadows on the
world's stage; but though the scene be narrow here, and
light be wanting, the interest is not less intense, nor
are the passions less awful that inspired these ruder
dramas.
