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addition to the stores of our ballad literature.

There is one peculiarity in almost all the Danish and Swedish ballads, the real import of which has lately been the subject of a good deal of discussion, both in Denmark and Sweden, and in Germany,-We allude to the burden.-In some of the oldest English and Scottish ballads, and in the parodies of them, to be found in Shakspeare, the second line and the fourth of every stanza form the burden; and sometimes it has, but often it does not seem to have, a particular connection with the subjects. The following instances, among others, will explain what we mean : When daffodils begin to 'peer, With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,Why then comes in the sweet of the year; For the red blood reigns in the winters pale.

When that I was a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Thus in the following lines from a Danish ballad:

Early in the morning the lark she sung,

All under the hill side so green, Sir Charles from his bed he quickly sprung, For the king of Denmark will revenge

it all.

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or in the following, from a Swedish ballad:

To the lake-wake must go the maiden good,

The Linden tree shakes in the wind,
So she took the way to the darksome wood,
For in wild wood she was to die.
And when she came to the wood so drear,
The Linden tree shakes in the wind,
The grey wolf before her did appear,
For in wild wood she was to die.

O dear, dear wolf, O bite not me,
The Linden tree shakes in the wind,
My silk-sewed sark will I give to thee,
For in wild wood she was to die.

This peculiarity only appears in our oldest English and Scotch, and the oldest Dutch ballads: there is no trace of it in the German ballads, properly so called.-Few of our collectors have considered the subject worth much of their attention. Mr.

Jamieson, however, has some observations on the apparent want of connection between the burden of several of the ballads and the story, and concludes this has arisen from the transference of the burden of one song to another on a different subject.

The following elaborate observations by Gustavus Geijer, one of the editors of the Swedish collection, though, perhaps, too systematic, and in some of the general positions not strictly borne out by facts, appear to us to give, upon the whole, a very ingenious account of the origin and nature of the peculiarity to which we have been alluding." Narrative poetry," he remarks, "is the first poetry of every people, the first preserver of their recollections.-Its subject is deeds, not feelings. But as there can be no poetry without a lyrical element, for it belongs to its essence, this is found in music, which is inseparable from the infancy of poetry.

Song is the expression of feeling, the lyrical element in the narrative.This is the epic age of poetry, and the first in its history. In the next, feeling has found its own expression independent of the narrative. Poetry has itself taken possession of the lyre, which hitherto merely accompanied it. The soul of song has broken its prison, and, for the first time, understands how to express itself, and the lyrical beauty bursts on us like odour from the opening rose,

In the same manner as poetry itself becomes musical, a distinction first takes place between it and music in the proper sense, and the possibility of the development of the latter as a separate art, is now seen. -Fancy also, which before was merely the handmaid of memory, now obtains her freedom; and poetry, in the proper sense of the word, comes into life.-Instead of an external truth, or a poem, in which nothing farther is attempted than the relation of what is true, an internal truth is sought after, that is, the truth of the expression of feeling.— The human mind has begun to look back on itself. An inward world has arisen, for which the whole external world is merely a symbol; and in this treatment of every thing external merely as an image for what is internal, fancy first knows herself,

and becomes conscious of her creative powers. Then comes dramatic poetry, which may be considered as connecting the two former, by representing the transition from the one to the other.

"If we consider these three periods of the natural development of poetry, it is obvious, that it is in the second or lyrical period that art, properly speaking, first begins to appear; for fancy now first becomes acquainted with her own powers. The internal feelings, which form the nutriment and the subject of lyrical poetry, are in their nature common to all. How else could this poetry be an enjoyment accessible to all, and the true enjoyment of a lyrical piece be, properly speaking, a recomposing of it in our own soul? But these feelings have, at the same time, in each person, their individual expression.--The great national forms for poetry, in the epic period, fall asunder, therefore, as the lyrical ingredient obtains a preponderancy.When every poet follows his own impulse, he takes or creates for himself the form which best coincides with his own peculiarity; and now we have authorship, properly so called. We do not mean by this to say, that in the epic period, nothing like this,―no art exists; but merely, that it has still no individual character. As poetry itself, in this period, is merely the expression of the living national recollections, there is, in like manner, for this common subject, only a common and national form. Thus we have authors, but no separate authorship,—an art without artists; because this art is always identical. Hence, from the epic age of a people, we have accounts of many singers and sayers, but either of no authors, or of one who passes for many, or if several, each so like one another, that they might almost pass for one.-With the dwelling on the internal of lyric poetry first arises the possibility of a true organic diversity and dissimilarity, which are afterwards fully developed through dramatic poetry.

"Let us now apply these considerations to our subject.-We say then, that the old Scandinavian ballads stand precisely on the transition between the epic and lyric periods. -To the former they still belong from their narrative nature, and from the circumstance, that a common national form still passes for all.

But on the other hand, they already begin to separate themselves through their subjects.-The epic age knows only two subjects for poetry: sagas (says) or narratives of gods, and narratives of heroes; which again are both connected by relationship, for the heroes descend from gods.-But the poets of this age, present themselves to the eyes of posterity in the same relation to each other as their subjects.-They are not independent, but united together like a family; the union is not an agreement, but a natural tie.-One works into the hands of another, each relating what is newest and most wonderful; and thus have originated, as it were, of themselves, those great circles of sagas,† which comprehend the destiny, the conflict, and the final destruction of a whole heroic world.-But in the old ballads the epical connection is already dissolved. They do not connect themselves in larger cycles (smaller cycles sometimes occur), and with their subjects they have a lower and more common range. This range is not the heroic life, elevated beyond measure above common life; but human life in general, with its destinies, sufferings, and enjoyments. The wonderful, which in the remains of the epic age displays itself boldly, and, as it were, bodily, withdraws itself now more into a deep back-ground.—But still, however, the whole of this world of song in like manner rests,— as does real life, in so many respects, -on a dark and wonderful ground. -The nature on which the northern ballad dwells, is still peopled with its peculiar wonderful beings; powers of nature, driven, indeed, from their former throne of majesty, but still

That the narrative in the ballads is at the same time so often in præsenti, is a remarkable peculiarity, which shows that in connection with the lyrical element, the narration begins to assume a more dramatic character.

Originally poetical, not merely in their subject, but even in their form. The prosaic saga is later, or a remodelling of the older poetical sagas.

only the melody or musical tone, which was originally inseparable from all poetry,- but also the lyrical tone, a tone of feeling which runs through the whole (whence in another place I observed, that the music of these ballads merely unfolds the song, which is in-born in them):beyond this, I say, its lyrical nature displays itself expressly in a distinct peculiarity of most of the older Scandinavian ballads; and this peculiarity is the burden.

"From its contents it may be divided into three kinds.-It recalls, first, either the principal person, the principal action, or some principal circumstance in the relation. This kind of burden occurs too often to render it necessary to adduce any examples of it. Or, secondly, it merely expresses, in general, a poetical disposition of mind, either by an excitement to song and poetry, or still more often in a significant manner by images. The flowering summer has here in particular been an image for the inward summer, which arises in the soul and puts the fancy in flower. It is named either expressly, as in the following burdens: In summer, At mid-summer tide,

interfering by stealth, as it were, in various ways, with the concerns of men. Through all this, the poetry in question has a general connection with an older poetry, separate parts of which it even presents to us.For single forms from the gigantic world of the old sagas still cast their shadows into this new and more cheerful circle; separate recollections have found their way over-recollections of former heroic races, and of the mythology of the Edda.-All this, however, appears in a new dress; it has lost much of its original meaning, and moves, as it were, in a new and foreign element.-What is then this new element which it has entered? It is the lyrical element, which has now begun to display itself in poetry; for all these ballads rest on a lyrical ground. They almost all betray a separate poetical intention, which we in vain look for in the epic age. They display, each separately for itself, a peculiar vein of mind, for which the narrative merely serves as a clothing or expression. It is feeling, which has not yet found its own language, which has not yet learned the lyrical flight, but which amid all the recollections selects those which most coincide with it--In summer, when the small birds self, gives life to them, and expresses sing so well, and the like;—or by itself in the separate narrative, satis- some of its attributes, as, For now fied therewith, without art, without the wood it stands in flower,-While pretension, and without name, and the wood comes into leaf,-In the roseso allows its story to wander on, till, wood,-In the grove; and a thousand seized on by new lips, it is made by others of the same nature. We must them an interpreter for the same not wonder that these short, conpurpose. Thus the separate songs, stantly recurring propositions, do not no one's property, and every one's appear to have any visible connecproperty, float about from mouth tion with the subject of the ballads: to mouth, from heart to heart, the -they are, as has been said, merely expression of the hopes, sorrows, and the expression of a poetical disposirecollections of the people, foreign tion of mind in general, as I also and yet near to every man, centuries was in Arcadia, simply (and we may old, but still never obsolete; for the almost say, with a striking unskilfulhuman heart, whose history they ness) indicated in a constant recitarepresent in such various shifting tion of the most general and most images, remains like to itself in all obvious images. But these indicaages. Many are merely a sigh, a tions are not limited to images of single wailing, an infinitely-moving spring and summer, lilies and roses. sound, but still they never quit the -We find also single objects, which narrative form, and seem to lay in the fancy of the people had once claim alone to be simply related.- a poetical signification, and are, Among many of this character, I therefore, applied in the same sense. need only refer to No. 71 (Little Kerstin's wedding and burial). It does not show the lyrical nature of the narrative ballad, merely in this, that it has the tone,-I mean not

The Linden, or lime-tree, has in particular such a poetical signification.-It occurs in the burden of many ballads, without our being able to assign any other cause for the

circumstance. For example, Under the Linden,-But the Linden grows well,-The Linden tree shakes in the wind,-The Linden grows in the island far, &c. Mr. Afzelius has remarked, that the Linden, which occurs so often, not merely in the burdens, but also in the subjects of the ballads relating to witchcraft, is still invested by the people with a sort of sanctity, and is considered a tree of particular signification, under which elves, hobgoblins, and lind-worms (annulated snakes) are not fond of being seen. Thirdly, and lastly, the burden expresses, not only that the singer is in a poetical mood, in general, but more definitely the particular feeling which prevails in the ballad.-Examples of this are too general to require to be cited. I will only observe, that the burden is in this respect occasionally ironical.-This irony is sometimes of the nature of banter or raillery, but more often it is serious.-There is frequently an aim at something deep in it, as, for example, in the burden: Ye rejoice yourselves every day, in the melancholy and truly admirable ballad (No. 6.), where the earth's joys and sorrows are represented in so moving a manner as penetrating into the dwellings of the beloved dead.-This same ballad has also a burden: Who breaks the leaf from the lily stalk?which by a pleasant and singular image seems to indicate the power of sorrow over all that in innocence and beauty is the most prepossessing, in the same manner as the former transports us in idea amidst the joys and delights of the mere moment. And this leads us to say a few words respecting the double burden in general. "In a number of ballads there occurs, not only a burden towards its end, but also another in the middle of each strophe.-We will call the latter the middle burden, to distinguish it from the concluding one.For the most part they have both a reference to each other.-This is either so that the one strengthens the other, or that it contains something in the same sense.-Occasionally the concluding burden merely concludes a sense which was begun in the middle one: for example, in the ballad (No. 17), where the complete burden, Young is my life-and hence is all my grief, is distribut

ed, so that the first half of the proposition comes in the middle, and the latter in the end of each strophe.Sometimes the two burdens are in opposition to each other; and this opposition is never without signification in respect to the contents of the ballad. Thus, to take the first example, which now occurs to me, the two burdens in No. 16, O could we well bethink ourselves!—and, Sir Bold he will go over the path, oppose thoughtful reflection, and the raving of passion, which is the cause of the sad catastrophe, to each other.-Oppositions of this nature between the two burdens often occur; sometimes they are merely symbolically indicated; and sometimes such an opposition is expressed through the change in the burden itself, especially when the subject of the ballad from being cheerful becomes melancholy, or the reverse.— However, the two burdens are not always exactly in the relations of connection or opposition to each other here specified. They may even be each separately of a dissimilar kind, according to the arrangement we have laid down. In this manner the connection of most of the burdens with ballads is intelligible.-When we cannot discern it, on the principles here stated, we may, without hesitation, lay the blame on the uncertainty and confusion of tradition, whence a number of burdens have been assigned to ballads to which they originally never belonged.

"We say now, not merely that the burden is a lyrical peculiarity prominently displayed in the ballads, but that in the three kinds of burdens which we have described, this lyrical nature always expresses itself more and more, and in regular progression.-It is, in general, a lyrical peculiarity; for in the first place, it does not belong to the narrative, to the epic element in the ballads, but contains, on the contrary, a reflection on it; and this constant returning, this repetition in the form and contents of the burden, can only have a lyrical object; namely, the retention of a certain impression.-But this retention, this fixing of a given impression, or feeling, is at once both the condition and the object of all lyric poetry. Further, this burden's lyrical nature always discloses itself

more and more in the three kinds
of burden specified by us, and in the
order in which we specified them.
A poet's reflection on himself lies at
the bottom of all lyric poetry.-This
hetrays itself already in the first kind
of burden named by us, but its
unity seems to be more external than
internal, and shows itself merely in
the comprising of the subject of the
narrative in a few constantly return-
ing traits: the burden is still epic
in its contents, though lyrical in its
object. In the second kind of bur-
den there is already expressed in this
reflection something internal, a dis-
position of mind, but with a univer-
sality and indefiniteness. In the third
kind, this disposition assumes a de-

finite expression; and appears in a sort of individual connection with the subject of the narrative itself.

"The burden of the popular ballad seems to be peculiar to our north (if we include Scotland); but in the north, so far as I know, the burden is never sung in chorus. Neither I, nor any of my friends have ever heard any thing of the kind. Indeed, if it were to be sung in chorus, it would, in most cases, produce an injurious and disagreeable effect, for it often consists of short symbolical indications, which are only intelligible in the most intimate connexion with the ballad and the singer."

Thus far Mr. Geijer. We shall resume the subject in a future number.

ALPHABET STUDIES, AND CHINESE IMITATIONS. WHO has not made himself merry at the expense of the poor Chinese? Their babyish arrogance, their laughable solemnity, their stately submission to be pummelled and bastinadoed, and their never-ending manœuvres of absurd and ludicrous ceremony; but, above all, their gravely employing their whole lives in the study of their alphabet,-have stamped upon the nation the same character of frivolity and presumption, which seems to be natural to our dancing, fighting, and philosophising neighbours-the French.

Was it this similarity of character, that drew from Voltaire such high eulogiums on Chinese civilization, and Chinese philosophy, by which, in spite of Mr. Barrow and his facts, European opinion is still deeply influenced? Barrow is but a traveller, and the memory of Sir John Mandeville is not yet forgotten; but there is no end to the ramifications of a philosopher's sway: Aristotle has now held the scholastic throne for more than two thousand years. Voltaire, then, we think, it must have been, who, by ignorantly praising the Chinese, and leading some to admire them, paved the way for the numerous imitations of their alphabet studies, which have since prevailed, and are now rapidly increasing, among our philosophers.

Nothing can be more evident, than that in all science, and in all acquirements, there is an alphabet to be

learned,-rudiments to be mastered, which rationally ought to be held subservient to higher advances in study. In China, however, it would be quite heretical and unlawful to advance a step beyond the A, B, C ; and in this it is that our philosophers are their humble imitators; for it is now become fashionable, in almost every branch of learning and of philosophy, to esteem the acquisition of the mere rudiments, or horn-book alphabet, as the consummation of perfection.

Are proofs demanded? They crowd upon us. The republic of letters is peopled to an overflow with alphabet-mongers, who have ingenuity enough to persuade the world of the profundity of their scholarship. For example: a man is accounted a profound Greek scholar, not because he possesses skill in the usage and force of words, and in the idioms and anomalies of the language; nor because he can enter deeply into the spirit and character of the Grecian classics; nor by having an intimate and extensive knowledge of the manners and political constitution, and of the nature and spirit of the religion and the poetry, of Greece:-not by any, or all of these; but by being able to measure the long and short syllables of the language, and to assign long, hard names to their arrangement in verse. But though this is certainly mere alphabet learning, yet it is now, by

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