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Grundtvig, Rahbek, Sander, and others, had each a stone to throw, but the greater were the genius of these opponents, the less did their opposition assume the shape of personal enmity.

In the spring of 1816, Oehlenschläger was induced to make a second foreign tour, as the travelling companion of the young Baron Bertasch, and which he has described in two volumes. On this journey he wrote in Paris his tragedy of the “ Foster-Brothers,”and met with Frederick Schlegel ; once more with Madame de Staël, who had been married to Rocca since he last saw her, and was again a widow; with Uhland in Tübingen ; with Dannecker in Stuttgard ; in Munich with Schelling and the Spanish painter Morillo ; in Vienna with Caroline Pichler, Grillparzer, von Hammer and Beethoven : and in Berlin with Schenkel, the architect and landscape painter, and other celebrated people.

After a year's absence he returned, and wrote his charming idyl, the “Little Herd-Boy,” the scene of which, founded on a real fact, is laid in Switzerland. In 1818, came out his comedy, “Robinson in England ;” and in 1819, his “Gods of the North.” This is, as he himself tells us, an attempt to combine the legends of the Eddas into one connected whole. It is a most successful attempt. Oehlenschläger has entered fully into the spirit of those grand ancient poems, and condensed and elaborated them into one fine poem, consisting of many chapters. He has done it as a poet of these times alone should do it. He has written as if he had faith in what he wrote, giving to his theme all the advantages of modern art and modern enlightenment. He has made the spirit of Christianity tacitly throw the last touch of beauty and grandeur over the old system, which it, in fact, annihilated by its own august and overpowering presence. He has em

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ployed a variety of metres in the different relations, so that each story forms a whole of itself, independently of the rest, while to the great whole it is an essentially requisite portion. In the various scenes of the upper, the middle and the under worlds of the Odinic Mythology ; in the regions of gods, of giants, of men and dwarfs ; in the striking variety of characters—the great and wise Odin, the good Balder, the mighty Thor, the subtle and malicious Loke, the queenly Frigga, the genial Freya, the lovely Iduna and the gentle Nanna; in all the magnificent scenery of Gladhem, Walhalla, Midgård, and Nifelhem, with the glorious tree Yggdrasil, the Rainbow Bridge, the fountain of Mimer, and the wild, tempesttraversed regions of Ran, the poet found inexhaustible scope for poetical embellishment, and he has availed himself of it with a genuine poet's power. Any one may, in his “Gods of the North,” find a luminous exposition of the whole mythology of ancient Scandinavia. We regret that our space will not permit us to give a specimen, but we are glad to perceive that Mr. Bowring has lately published an English translation of it.

In 1820, the year after the publication of the “Gods of the North," he wrote his opera of “Tordenskjold,” and his tragedy of “Erik and Abel.” “Tordenskjold” he dedicated to Thaarup, who had been of the party opposed to him, and by this friendly act won over the kind heart of the poet. Thaarup always visited him afterwards; but often before, his generous poetic nature had lifted itself above the jealousy which an elder poet too often feels towards younger ones. When Oehlenschläger was about the first time to go abroad, Thaarup said to Stephen Heger, a brother of Oehlenschläger's betrothed : “ May the Germans only not spoil him.” In reply, Stephen Heger read him some of “Aladdin," and when Thaarup

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had heard it, he stroked his chin in his usual humorous way, and said : “Let him go, he can take care of himself.

In 1822 was celebrated the literary centenary of Holberg, dating from the publication of his first comedy, the “Political Tinker." Oehlenschläger took great interest in it; and soon afterwards did the memory of Holberg a greater service, by issuing, with Brockhaus, in Leipsic, a German translation of his comedies. He also wrote now in German his romance of “ The Island in the South Sea." This he himself characterizes as not simply a romance, but a cycle of romances. With a good deal of extravagance, reminding one too much of the older days of German romance, of the Veit Weber school, there is in it much German student and burgher life. You are introduced to Peter the Great as he was working as a ship-builder at Saardam ; to Leibnitz the philosopher; and are left with a new Robinson Crusoe, the hundred years old Albert Julius, in a paradisaical island in the South Seas, the story of Albert Julius having been one of Oehlenschläger's boyish delights.

After the poet, through the years from 1821 to 1824, had thus employed himself, including the publication of three volumes of Danish lyrical poems and operas, “The Flight from the Convent," with the music of Mozart's “ Cosi fan Tutti ;” “The picture and the Bust;' and “Precipitation :" there followed in 1816, “The Väringer in Myklegård,” (Constantinople,) “Charlemagne ;” “The Three Brothers of Damascus :” “The Longobards,” and the heroic poem of “Rolf Kraké" in 1817.

It was about this time that Oehlenschläger, who had immensely enjoyed the romances of Sir Walter Scott as they appeared in succession, wrote to him expressing his admiration of them. Sir Walter, who had not yet acknowledged himself the author of these works, replied however, cordially, and was anxious to have Oehlenschläger's “ Island in the South Sea” translated by Mr. Gillies into English. The result is curious, as it shows the state of the public feeling in regard to translations from German or Scandinavian, which we found existing, when we ourselves resolved, at our own cost, to introduce the works of Miss Bremer.

Sir Walter tried in vain to get a publisher for this translation, so that Oehlenschläger and Mr. Gillies should divide the profits between them. He wrote to Mr. Feldborg then in London, who was the agent in the matter for Oehlenschläger : "Mr. Cadell says, no German work

“ has ever stood the expense of translating, and we know how very small that is. In short, I had the mortification to see that he is not in humour with the undertaking. I wish you would look into Constable's shop, and talk with Cadell on the subject. He will tell you that I offered to do anything in my power to make the British public acquainted with Mr. Oehlenschläger's merit, and I will assure you that the matter shall not miscarry for lack of zeal on my part.

Sir Walter does not appear to have been aware of the farfiner productions of Oehlenschläger-his “Aladdin,” his “Hakon Jarl,” and “Palnatoké.” In fact, who then knew anything of the rich and beautiful literature of the North? All that could be effected was to make honourable mention of Oehlenschläger, and to translate portions of the romance in the “Edinburgh Magazine."

Oehlenschläger was now arrived at his fiftieth year. He was crowned with honours beyond all the bards of the North ; but he had not attained this mature age of existence without experiencing those rubs and those losses which are inseparable from the career of humanity. Three

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times he had had a narrow escape of his life. In Italy while visiting Correggio, he fell into the cataract of Tivoli. While standing on the stage of the theatre, in Copenhagen, speaking with the manager, as his “Little Herdboy” was about to be acted, one of the heaviest scenes fell directly at his feet.

Two inches nearer, he observes, and the public would have seen the blood-stain on the stage where the author of the piece had finished his life. Again, when acting in a private theatre, in his

Correggio,” he took a wrong way to the stage, and fell into an open trap-door, severely bruising himself. But one step nearer to one side, and he would have plunged headlong into the cellar, and probably broken his neck. Though he had, however, escaped with his own life, friends and relatives had fallen into the gulph that awaits us all. His mother died before his fame commenced 1; his sister Sophia died early; Camma Rahbek was gone, and Rahbek had soon followed her; the Bakkehuus stood desolate. As he wrote his “Rolf Kraké," died Baggesen in Germany. For some time he had ceased his bitter and unworthy attacks on Oehlenschläger, and Oehlenschläger generously feeling that death reconciles many enmities, and declaring that the only thing which they should remember was his immortal genius, which in time had been too much disturbed by earthly weaknesses, wrote a beautiful poem for recital at the festival in honour of his memory. Soon after followed the death of his own father, who had so long and so much enjoyed the renown of his son. By this event, Frederiksborg Castle, the scene of his childhood, and till this late period still regarded as his proper home, where he often went with his wife and children, and spent whole summers, became a strange place to him. It required some fresh and sunny circumstance to disperse the shadows which those

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