{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_29124/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_29124","id":"gutenberg_29124","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29124","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Danish poetry","Danish poetry -- Translations into English"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price, email\nccx074@pglaf.org.  Many thanks to Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library,\nUK, for kindly supplying the images from which this transcription was\nmade.\n\n\n\n\n\n                              THE GOLD HORNS\n\n\n                              TRANSLATED BY\n                              GEORGE BORROW\n\n                           _from the Danish of_\n                       ADAM GOTTLOB OEHLENSCHLAGER\n\n                                  EDITED\n                        _with an Introduction by_\n                            EDMUND GOSSE, C.B.\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                     PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION\n                                   1913\n\n               _Copyright in the United States of America_\n           _by Houghton_, _Mifflin & Co. for Clement Shorter_.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nEarly in the present year Mr. Thos. J. Wise discovered among the\nmiscellaneous MSS. of Borrow a fragment which proved to be part of a\nversion of Oehlenschlager's _Gold Horns_.  His attention being drawn to\nthe fact, hitherto unknown, that Borrow had translated this famous poem,\nhe sought for, and presently found, a complete MS. of the poem, and from\nthis copy the present text has been printed.  The paper on which it is\nwritten is watermarked 1824, and it is probable that the version was\ncomposed in 1826.  The hand-writing coincides with that of several of the\npieces included in the _Romantic Ballads_ of that year, and there can be\nlittle doubt that Borrow intended _The Gold Horns_ for that volume, and\nrejected it at last.  He was conscious, perhaps, that his hand had lacked\nthe skill needful to reproduce a lyric the melody of which would have\ntaxed the powers of Coleridge or of Shelley.  Nevertheless, his attempt\nseems worthy of preservation.\n\n_The Gold Horns_ marks one of the most important stages in the history of\nScandinavian literature.  It is the earliest, and the freshest, specimen\nof the Romantic Revival in its definite form.  In this way, it takes in\nDanish poetry a place analogous to that taken by _The Ancient Mariner_ in\nEnglish poetry.\n\nThe story of the events which led to the composition of _The Gold Horns_\nis told independently, by Steffens and by Oehlenschlager in their\nrespective Memoirs, and the two accounts tally completely.  Adam Gottlob\nOehlenschlager (1779-1850), the greatest poet whom the North of Europe\nhas produced, had already attracted considerable renown and even profit\nby his writings, which were in the classico-sentimental manner of the\nlate 18th century, when, in the summer of 1802, the young Norwegian\nphilosopher, Henrik Steffens, arrived in Copenhagen from Germany, where\nhe had imbibed the new romantic ideas.  He began to give lectures on\naesthetics, and these awakened a turmoil of opposition.  Among those who\nheard him, no one was more scandalised than Oehlenschlager, then in his\ntwenty-third year.  He was not acquainted with Steffens, but in the\ncourse of the autumn they happened to meet at a restaurant in Copenhagen,\nwhen they instantly experienced a violent mutual attraction.  Steffens\nhas described how deep an impression was made upon him by the handsome\nhead, flashing eyes, and graceful vivacity of the poet, while\nOehlenschlager bears witness to being no less fascinated by the gravity\nand enthusiasm of the philosopher.  The new friends found it impossible\nto part, and sixteen hours had gone by, and 3 a.m. had struck, before\nOehlenschlager could tear himself away from the company of Steffens.\n\nHe scarcely slept that night, and rose in a condition of bewilderment and\nrapture.  His first act, after breakfast, was to destroy a whole volume\nof his own MS. poetry, which was ready for press, and for which a\npublisher had promised him a handsome sum of money.  His next was to sit\ndown and write _The Gold Horns_, a manifesto of his complete conversion\nto the principles of romanticism.  Later in the day he presented himself\nagain at Steffens' lodgings, bringing the lyric with him, \"to prove,\" as\nhe says, \"to Steffens that I was a poet at last beyond all doubt or\nquestion.\"  His new friend received him with solemn exultation.  \"Now you\nare indeed a poet,\" he said, and folded him in his arms.  The conversion\nof Oehlenschlager to romanticism meant the conquest of Danish literature\nby the new order of thought.\n\nOehlenschlager has explained what it was that suggested to him the\nleading idea of his poem.  Two antique horns of gold, discovered some\ntime before in the bogs of Slesvig, had been recently stolen from the\nnational collection at Rosenborg, and the thieves had melted down the\ninestimable treasures.  Oehlenschlager treats these horns as the reward\nfor genuine antiquarian enthusiasm, shown in a sincere and tender passion\nfor the ancient relics of Scandinavian history.  From a generation\nunworthy to appreciate them, the _Horns_ had been withdrawn, to be\nmysteriously restored at the due romantic hour.  He was, when he came\nunder the influence of Steffens, absolutely ripe for conversion, filled\nwith the results of his Icelandic studies, and with an imagination\nredolent of _Edda_ and the Sagas.  To this inflammable material, Henrik\nSteffens merely laid the torch of his intelligence.\n\nIt is impossible to pretend that Borrow has caught the enchanting beauty\nand delicacy of the Danish poem.  But he has made a gallant effort to\nreproduce the form and language of Oehlenschlager, and we have thought it\nnot without interest to print opposite his version the whole of the\noriginal Danish.\n\n                                                             EDMUND GOSSE.\n\nGULDHORNENE {10}                    THE GOLD HORNS\n\nDe higer og soger                   Upon the pages\nI gamle Boger,                      Of the olden ages,\nI oplukte Hoie,                     And in hills where are lying\nMed speidende Oie,                  The dead, they are prying;\nPaa Svaerd og Skjolde,              On armour rusty,\nI mulne Volde,                      In ruins musty,\nPaa Runestene,                      On Rune-stones jumbled,\nBlandt smuldnede Bene.              With bones long crumbled.\n\nOldtids Bedrifter                   Eld's deeds, through guesses\nAnede trylle,                       Beheld, are delighting,\nMen i Mulm de sig hylle,            But mist possesses\nDe gamle Skrifter.                  The ancient writing.\nBlikket stirrer,                    The eye-ball fixed is,\nSig Tanken forvirrer,               The thought perplexed is;\nI Taage de famle.                   In darkness they're groping\n\"I gamle, gamle,                    Their mouths they're op'ing:\nForsvundne Dage!                    \"Ye days long past,\nDa det straalte paa Jorden,         When the North was uplighted,\nDa Osten var i Norden,              And with earth heav'n united,\nGiver Glimt tilbage!\"               A glimpse back cast.\"\n\nSkyen suser,                        The clouds are bustling,\nNatten bryser,                      The night blasts rustling,\nGravhoien sukker,                   Sighs are breaking,\nRosen sig lukker.                   From grave-hills quaking,\nDe sig mode, de sig mode,           The regions were under\nDe forklarede Hoie,                 Thunder.\nKampfarvede, rode,                  Of the mighty and daring,\nMed Stjerneglands i Oie.            The ghosts there muster,\n                                    Stains of war bearing,\n                                    In their eye star lustre.\n\n\"I, som rave iblinde,               \"Ye who blind are straying,\nSkal finde                          And praying,\nEt aeldgammelt Minde,               Shall an ag'd relic meet,\nDer skal komme og svinde!           Which shall come and shall fleet,\nDets gyldne Sider                   Its red sides golden,\nSkal Praeget baere,                 The stamp displaying\nAfaeldste Tider.                    Of the times most olden.\n\nAf det kan I laere,                 That shall give ye a notion\nMed andagtsfuld AEre                To hold in devotion\nI vor Gave belonne!                 Our gift, is your duty!\nDet skjonneste Skjonne,             A maiden, of beauty\nEn Mo                               Most rare.\nSkal Helligdommen finde!\"           Shall find the token!\"\n\nSaa sjunge de og svinde,            They vanished; this spoken\nLufttonerne doe.                    Their tones die in air.\n\nHrymfaxe, den sorte,                Black Hrymfax, weary,\nPuster og dukker                    Panteth and bloweth,\nOg i Havet sig begraver;            And in sea himself burieth;\nMorgenens Porte                     Belling, cheery,\nDelling oplukker,                   Morn's gates ope throweth;\nOg Skinfaxe traver                  Forth Skinfax hurrieth,\nI straalende Lue                    On heaven's bridge prancing,\nPaa Himmelens Bue.                  And with lustre glancing.\n\nOg Fuglene synge;                   The little birds quaver,\nDugperler bade                      Pearls from night's weeping;\nBlomsterblade,                      The flowers are steeping\nSom Vindene gynge;                  In the winds which waver;\nOg med svaevende Fjed               To the meadows, fleet\nEn Mo hendandser                    A maiden boundeth;\nTil Marken afsted.                  Violet fillet neat\nVioler hende krandser,              Her brows surroundeth;\nHendes Rosenkind braender,          Her cheeks are glowing,\nHun har Liljehaender;               Lilly hands she's showing;\nLet som et Hind,                    Light as a hind,\nMed muntert Sind                    With sportive mind\nHun svaever og smiler;              She smiling frisketh.\nOg som hun iler                     And as on she whisketh,\nOg paa Elskov grubler,              And thinks on her lover,\nHun snubler--                       She trips something over;\nOg stirrer og skuer                 And, her eyes declining,\nGyldne Luer                         Beholds a shining,\nOg rodmer og baever                 And red'neth and shaketh,\nOg skjaelvende haever               And trembling uptaketh\nMed undrende Aand                   With wondering sprite\nUdaf sorten Muld                    From the dingy mould,\nMed snehvide Haand,                 With hand snow-white,\nDet rode Guld.                      The ruddy gold.\nEn sagte Torden                     A gentle thunder\nDundrer;                            Pealeth;\nHele Norden                         The whole North wonder\nUndrer.                             Feeleth.\n\nOg hen de stimle                    Forth rush with gabble\nI store Vrimle;                     A countless rabble;\nDe grave, de soge                   The earth they're upturning,\nSkatten at foroge.                  For the treasure burning.\nMen intet Guld!                     But there's no gold!\nDeres Haab har bedraget:            Their hope is mistaken;\nDe see kun det Muld,                They see but the mould,\nHvoraf det er taget.                From whence it is taken.\n\nEt Sekel svinder!                   An age by rolleth.\n\nOver Klippetinder                   Again it howleth\nDet atter bruser.                   O'er the tops of the mountains.\nStormens Sluser                     Of the rain the fountains\nBryde med Vaelde                    Burst with fury;\nOver Norges Fjelde                  The spirits of glory\nTil Danmarks Dale.                  From Norge's highlands,\nI Skyernes Sale                     To Denmark's islands,\nDe forklarede Gamle                 In the halls of ether\nSig atter samle.                    Again meet together.\n\n\"For de sjeldne Faa,                \"For the few there below\nSom vor Gave forstaae,              Who our gift's worth know,\nSom ei Jordlaenker binde            Who earth's fetters spurn all,\nMen hvis Sjaele sig haeve           And whose souls are soaring\nTil det Eviges Tinde;               To the throne of th' Eternal;\nSom ane det Hoie                    Who in eye of Nature\nI Naturens Oie;                     Behold the Creator;\nSom tilbedende baeve                And tremble adoring,\nFor Guddommens Straaler             'Fore the rays of his power\nI Sole, Violer,                     In the sun, in the flower,\nI det Mindste, det Storste,         In the greatest and least,\nSom braendende torste               And with thirst are possest\nEfter Livets Liv;                   For of life the spring;\nSom, o store Aand                   Who, O powerful sprite\nFor de svundne Tider!               Of the times departed!\nSe dit Guddomsblik                  See thy look bright\nPaa Helligdommens Sider:            From the relic's sides darted:\nFor _dem_ lyder atter vort Bliv.    For them our Be once more shall\n                                    ring.\n\n\"Naturens Son,                      \"Nature's son, whose name\nUkjaendt i Lon,                     Is unknown to fame,\nMen som sine Faedre                 But his acre tilling,\nKraftig og stor,                    Strong-armed and tall,\nDyrkende sin Jord,                  Like his forefathers all,\nHam vil vi haedre,                  Him to honour we're willing,\nHan skal atter finde!\"              He shall find the second token!\"\nSaa syngende de svinde.             They vanished, this spoken.\n\nHrymfaxe, den sorte,                Black Hrymfax weary\nPuster og dukker                    Panteth and bloweth,\nOg i Havet sig begraver:            And in sea himself buried;\nMorgenens Porte                     And Belling cheery\nDelling oplukker;                   Morn's gates ope throweth;\nSkinfaxe traver                     Forth Skinfax hurrieth,\nI straalende Lue                    On heaven's bridge prancing,\nPaa Himmelens Bue.                  And with lustre glancing.\n\nVed lune Skov                       By the bright green shaw\nOxnene traekke                      The oxen striding\nDen tunge Plov                      The heavy plough draw,\nOver sorten Daekke.                 The soil dividing.\n\nDa standser Ploven                  The plough stops; sorest\nEn Gysen farer                      Of shudders rushes\nIgjennem Skoven;                    Right through the forest;\nFugleskaren                         The bird-quire hushes\nPludsclig tier;                     Sudden its strains;\nHellig Taushed                      Holy silence\nAlt indvier.                        O'er all reigns.\n\nDa klinger i Muld                   Then rings in the mould\nDet gamle Guld.                     The ancient gold.\n\nTvende Glimt fra Oldtidsdage        Glimpses two from period olden\n   Funkle i de nye Tider;              Lo! in modern time appearing;\nSelsomt vendte de tilbage,          Strange returned those glimpses\n   Gaadefyldt paa blanke Sider.     golden,\n                                       On their sides enigmas\n                                    bearing.\n\nSkjulte Helligdom omsvaever         Holiness mysterious hovers\n   Deres gamle Tegn og maerker;        O'er their signs, of meaning\nGuddomsglorien ombaever             pond'rous;\n   Evighedens Undervaerker.         Glory of the Godhead covers\n                                       These eternal works so\n                                    wondrous.\n\nHaedre dem ved Bon og Psalter;      Reverence them, for nought is\n   Snart maaske er hver             stable;\nforsvunden.                            They may vanish, past all\nJesu Blod paa Herrens Alter         seeking.\n   Fylde dem, som Blod i Lunden.    Let Christ's blood on Christ's\n                                    own table\n                                       Fill them, once with red blood\n                                    reeking.\n\nMen I see kun Guldets Lue,          But their majesty unviewing,\n   Ikke de AErvaerdighoie!             And their lustre but\nSaete dem som Pragt tilskue         descrying,\n   For et mat, nysgjerrigt Oie!     Them as spectacles ye're shewing\n                                       To the silly and the prying.\n\nHimlen sortner, Storme brage!       Storm-winds bellow, blackens\n   Visse Time, du er kommen.        heaven!\nHvad de gav, de tog tilbage--          Comes the hour of melancholy;\n   Evig bortsvandt Helligdommen.    Back is taken what was given,--\n                                       Vanished is the relic holy.\n\n\n\n                                 LONDON:\n               Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.\n                   _Edition limited to Thirty Copies_.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n\n{10}  The left-hand column contains the even pages of the printed\npamphlet, and the right-hand column the corresponding odd pages which\nappear opposite them.--DP.","title":"The Gold Horns","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":2119}