The canto called "Frithjof's
Happiness," which is brimming over with a swelling redundance of
sentiment, is so cloyingly sweet that the reader must himself be in love
in order to enjoy it. It is written in the key of the watch-songs of the
German minnesingers and the aubades of Provencal troubadours. The Norse
note is not only wanting, but would never fit into that key:
"'Hush! 'tis the lark.' Nay, those soft numbers
Of doves' faith tell that knows no rest.
The lark yet on the hillside slumbers
Beside his mate in grassy nest.
To them no king seals his dominions
When morning breaks in eastern air;
Their life is free as are their pinions
Which bear aloft the gladsome pair.
"'See day is breaking!' Nay, some tower
Far eastward sendeth forth that light;
We yet may spend another hour,
Not yet shall end the precious night.
May sleep, thou sun, thee long encumber,
And waking may'st thou linger still,
For Frithjof's sake may'st freely slumber
Till Ragnaroek, be such thy will.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345