The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Gold Horns

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Title: The Gold Horns

Author: Adam Oehlenschläger

Editor: Edmund Gosse

Translator: George Borrow

Release date: June 15, 2009 [eBook #29124]

Language: Danish, English

Credits: Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price. Many thanks to Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library, UK, for kindly supplying the images from which this transcription was made

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLD HORNS *** 


Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David
Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org.  Many thanks to Norfolk and
Norwich Millennium Library, UK, for kindly supplying the images
from which this transcription was made.


THE GOLD HORNS


translated
by

GEORGE BORROW


from the Danish of

ADAM GOTTLOB OEHLENSCHLÄGER


Edited

with an Introduction by

EDMUND GOSSE, C.B.


London:

printed for private circulation

1913


p. 4Copyright in
the United States of America

by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. for Clement
Shorter.


p.
5INTRODUCTION


Early in the present year Mr. Thos. J. Wise discovered among
the miscellaneous MSS. of Borrow a fragment which proved to be
part of a version of Oehlenschläger’s Gold
Horns.  His attention being drawn to the fact, hitherto
unknown, that Borrow had translated this famous poem, he sought
for, and presently found, a complete MS. of the poem, and from
this copy the present text has been printed.  The paper on
which it is written is watermarked 1824, and it is probable that
the version was composed in 1826.  The hand-writing
coincides with that of several of the pieces included in the
Romantic Ballads of that year, and there can be little
doubt that Borrow intended The Gold Horns for that volume,
and rejected it at last.  He was conscious, perhaps, that
his hand had lacked the p. 6skill needful to reproduce a lyric the
melody of which would have taxed the powers of Coleridge or of
Shelley.  Nevertheless, his attempt seems worthy of
preservation.


The Gold Horns marks one of the most important stages
in the history of Scandinavian literature.  It is the
earliest, and the freshest, specimen of the Romantic Revival in
its definite form.  In this way, it takes in Danish poetry a
place analogous to that taken by The Ancient Mariner in
English poetry.


The story of the events which led to the composition of The
Gold Horns is told independently, by Steffens and by
Oehlenschläger in their respective Memoirs, and the two
accounts tally completely.  Adam Gottlob Oehlenschläger
(1779–1850), the greatest poet whom the North of Europe has
produced, had already attracted considerable renown and even
profit by his writings, which were in the classico-sentimental
manner of the late 18th century, when, in the summer of 1802, the
young Norwegian philosopher, Henrik Steffens, arrived in
Copenhagen from Germany, where he had imbibed the new romantic
ideas.  He began to give lectures on p.
7æsthetics, and these awakened a turmoil of
opposition.  Among those who heard him, no one was more
scandalised than Oehlenschläger, then in his twenty-third
year.  He was not acquainted with Steffens, but in the
course of the autumn they happened to meet at a restaurant in
Copenhagen, when they instantly experienced a violent mutual
attraction.  Steffens has described how deep an impression
was made upon him by the handsome head, flashing eyes, and
graceful vivacity of the poet, while Oehlenschläger bears
witness to being no less fascinated by the gravity and enthusiasm
of the philosopher.  The new friends found it impossible to
part, and sixteen hours had gone by, and 3 a.m. had struck,
before Oehlenschläger could tear himself away from the
company of Steffens.


He scarcely slept that night, and rose in a condition of
bewilderment and rapture.  His first act, after breakfast,
was to destroy a whole volume of his own MS. poetry, which was
ready for press, and for which a publisher had promised him a
handsome sum of money.  His next was to sit down and write
The Gold Horns, a manifesto p. 8of his complete
conversion to the principles of romanticism.  Later in the
day he presented himself again at Steffens’ lodgings,
bringing the lyric with him, “to prove,” as he says,
“to Steffens that I was a poet at last beyond all doubt or
question.”  His new friend received him with solemn
exultation.  “Now you are indeed a poet,” he
said, and folded him in his arms.  The conversion of
Oehlenschläger to romanticism meant the conquest of Danish
literature by the new order of thought.


Oehlenschläger has explained what it was that suggested
to him the leading idea of his poem.  Two antique horns of
gold, discovered some time before in the bogs of Slesvig, had
been recently stolen from the national collection at Rosenborg,
and the thieves had melted down the inestimable treasures. 
Oehlenschläger treats these horns as the reward for genuine
antiquarian enthusiasm, shown in a sincere and tender passion for
the ancient relics of Scandinavian history.  From a
generation unworthy to appreciate them, the Horns had been
withdrawn, to be mysteriously restored at the due romantic
hour.  He was, when he came under p. 9the influence
of Steffens, absolutely ripe for conversion, filled with the
results of his Icelandic studies, and with an imagination
redolent of Edda and the Sagas.  To this inflammable
material, Henrik Steffens merely laid the torch of his
intelligence.


It is impossible to pretend that Borrow has caught the
enchanting beauty and delicacy of the Danish poem.  But he
has made a gallant effort to reproduce the form and language of
Oehlenschläger, and we have thought it not without interest
to print opposite his version the whole of the original
Danish.


Edmund
Gosse.






p. 10GULDHORNENE [10]



THE GOLD HORNS







De higer og söger

I gamle Böger,

I oplukte Höie,

Med speidende Öie,

Paa Sværd og Skjolde,

I mulne Volde,

Paa Runestene,

Blandt smuldnede Bene.



Upon the pages

Of the olden ages,

And in hills where are lying

The dead, they are prying;

On armour rusty,

In ruins musty,

On Rune-stones jumbled,

With bones long crumbled.







Oldtids Bedrifter

Anede trylle,

Men i Mulm de sig hylle,

De gamle Skrifter.

Blikket stirrer,

Sig Tanken forvirrer,

I Taage de famle.

“I gamle, gamle,

Forsvundne Dage!

Da det straalte paa Jorden,

Da Östen var i Norden,

Giver Glimt tilbage!”



Eld’s deeds, through guesses

Beheld, are delighting,

But mist possesses

The ancient writing.

The eye-ball fixed is,

The thought perplexed is;

In darkness they’re groping

Their mouths they’re op’ing:

“Ye days long past,

When the North was uplighted,

And with earth heav’n united,

A glimpse back cast.”







p. 12Skyen suser,

Natten bryser,

Gravhöien sukker,

Rosen sig lukker.

De sig möde, de sig möde,

De forklarede Höie,

Kampfarvede, röde,

Med Stjerneglands i Öie.



The clouds are bustling,

The night blasts rustling,

Sighs are breaking,

From grave-hills quaking,

The regions were under

Thunder.

Of the mighty and daring,

The ghosts there muster,

Stains of war bearing,

In their eye star lustre.







“I, som rave iblinde,

Skal finde

Et ældgammelt Minde,

Der skal komme og svinde!

Dets gyldne Sider

Skal Præget bære,

Afældste Tider.



“Ye who blind are straying,

And praying,

Shall an ag’d relic meet,

Which shall come and shall fleet,

Its red sides golden,

The stamp displaying

Of the times most olden.







p. 14Af det kan I lære,

Med andagtsfuld Ære

I vor Gave belönne!

Det skjönneste Skjönne,

En Mö

Skal Helligdommen finde!”



That shall give ye a notion

To hold in devotion

Our gift, is your duty!

A maiden, of beauty

Most rare.

Shall find the token!”







Saa sjunge de og svinde,

Lufttonerne döe.



They vanished; this spoken

Their tones die in air.







Hrymfaxe, den sorte,

Puster og dukker

Og i Havet sig begraver;

Morgenens Porte

Delling oplukker,

Og Skinfaxe traver

I straalende Lue

Paa Himmelens Bue.



Black Hrymfax, weary,

Panteth and bloweth,

And in sea himself burieth;

Belling, cheery,

Morn’s gates ope throweth;

Forth Skinfax hurrieth,

On heaven’s bridge prancing,

And with lustre glancing.







p. 16Og Fuglene synge;

Dugperler bade

Blomsterblade,

Som Vindene gynge;

Og med svævende Fjed

En Mö hendandser

Til Marken afsted.

Violer hende krandser,

Hendes Rosenkind brænder,

Hun har Liljehænder;

Let som et Hind,

Med muntert Sind

Hun svæver og smiler;

Og som hun iler

Og paa Elskov grubler,

Hun snubler—

Og stirrer og skuer

Gyldne Luer

Og rödmer og bæver

Og skjælvende hæver

Med undrende Aand

Udaf sorten Muld

Med snehvide Haand,

Det röde Guld.

p.
18En sagte Torden

Dundrer;

Hele Norden

Undrer.



The little birds quaver,

Pearls from night’s weeping;

The flowers are steeping

In the winds which waver;

To the meadows, fleet

A maiden boundeth;

Violet fillet neat

Her brows surroundeth;

Her cheeks are glowing,

Lilly hands she’s showing;

Light as a hind,

With sportive mind

She smiling frisketh.

And as on she whisketh,

And thinks on her lover,

She trips something over;

And, her eyes declining,

Beholds a shining,

And red’neth and shaketh,

And trembling uptaketh

With wondering sprite

From the dingy mould,

With hand snow-white,

The ruddy gold.

A gentle thunder

Pealeth;

The whole North wonder

Feeleth.







Og hen de stimle

I store Vrimle;

De grave, de söge

Skatten at foröge.

Men intet Guld!

Deres Haab har bedraget:

De see kun det Muld,

Hvoraf det er taget.



Forth rush with gabble

A countless rabble;

The earth they’re upturning,

For the treasure burning.

But there’s no gold!

Their hope is mistaken;

They see but the mould,

From whence it is taken.







Et Sekel svinder!



An age by rolleth.







Over Klippetinder

Det atter bruser.

Stormens Sluser

Bryde med Vælde

Over Norges Fjelde

Til Danmarks Dale.

I Skyernes Sale

De forklarede Gamle

Sig atter samle.



Again it howleth

O’er the tops of the mountains.

Of the rain the fountains

Burst with fury;

The spirits of glory

From Norge’s highlands,

To Denmark’s islands,

In the halls of ether

Again meet together.







p. 20“For de sjeldne Faa,

Som vor Gave forstaae,

Som ei Jordlænker binde

Men hvis Sjæle sig hæve

Til det Eviges Tinde;

Som ane det Höie

I Naturens Öie;

Som tilbedende bæve

For Guddommens Straaler

I Sole, Violer,

I det Mindste, det Störste,

Som brændende törste

Efter Livets Liv;

Som, o store Aand

For de svundne Tider!

Se dit Guddomsblik

Paa Helligdommens Sider:

For dem lyder atter vort Bliv.



“For the few there below

Who our gift’s worth know,

Who earth’s fetters spurn all,

And whose souls are soaring

To the throne of th’ Eternal;

Who in eye of Nature

Behold the Creator;

And tremble adoring,

’Fore the rays of his power

In the sun, in the flower,

In the greatest and least,

And with thirst are possest

For of life the spring;

Who, O powerful sprite

Of the times departed!

See thy look bright

From the relic’s sides darted:

For them our Be once more shall ring.







“Naturens Sön,

Ukjændt i Lön,

Men som sine Fædre

Kraftig og stor,

Dyrkende sin Jord,

Ham vil vi hædre,

Han skal atter finde!”

Saa syngende de svinde.



“Nature’s son, whose name

Is unknown to fame,

But his acre tilling,

Strong-armed and tall,

Like his forefathers all,

Him to honour we’re willing,

He shall find the second token!”

They vanished, this spoken.







p. 22Hrymfaxe, den sorte,

Puster og dukker

Og i Havet sig begraver:

Morgenens Porte

Delling oplukker;

Skinfaxe traver

I straalende Lue

Paa Himmelens Bue.



Black Hrymfax weary

Panteth and bloweth,

And in sea himself buried;

And Belling cheery

Morn’s gates ope throweth;

Forth Skinfax hurrieth,

On heaven’s bridge prancing,

And with lustre glancing.







Ved lune Skov

Öxnene traekke

Den tunge Plov

Over sorten Dække.



By the bright green shaw

The oxen striding

The heavy plough draw,

The soil dividing.







Da standser Ploven

En Gysen farer

Igjennem Skoven;

Fugleskaren

Pludsclig tier;

Hellig Taushed

Alt indvier.



The plough stops; sorest

Of shudders rushes

Right through the forest;

The bird-quire hushes

Sudden its strains;

Holy silence

O’er all reigns.







Da klinger i Muld

Det gamle Guld.



Then rings in the mould

The ancient gold.







p. 24Tvende Glimt fra Oldtidsdage

   Funkle i de nye Tider;

Selsomt vendte de tilbage,

   Gaadefyldt paa blanke Sider.



Glimpses two from period olden

   Lo! in modern time appearing;

Strange returned those glimpses golden,

   On their sides enigmas bearing.







Skjulte Helligdom omsvæver

   Deres gamle Tegn og mærker;

Guddomsglorien ombæver

   Evighedens Underværker.



Holiness mysterious hovers

   O’er their signs, of meaning
pond’rous;

Glory of the Godhead covers

   These eternal works so wondrous.







Hædre dem ved Bön og Psalter;

   Snart maaske er hver forsvunden.

Jesu Blod paa Herrens Alter

   Fylde dem, som Blod i Lunden.



Reverence them, for nought is stable;

   They may vanish, past all seeking.

Let Christ’s blood on Christ’s own table

   Fill them, once with red blood reeking.







Men I see kun Guldets Lue,

   Ikke de Ærværdighöie!

Sæte dem som Pragt tilskue

   For et mat, nysgjerrigt Öie!



But their majesty unviewing,

   And their lustre but descrying,

Them as spectacles ye’re shewing

   To the silly and the prying.







Himlen sortner, Storme brage!

   Visse Time, du er kommen.

Hvad de gav, de tog tilbage—

   Evig bortsvandt Helligdommen.



Storm-winds bellow, blackens heaven!

   Comes the hour of melancholy;

Back is taken what was given,—

   Vanished is the relic holy.







 


p. 26London:

Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.

Edition limited to Thirty Copies.


Footnotes:


[10]  The left-hand column contains the
even pages of the printed pamphlet, and the right-hand column the
corresponding odd pages which appear opposite them.—DP.