Page:History of the Literature of the Scandinavian North.djvu/405

Rh university professor. In 1824 he became bishop in Vexiö, which position he held until his death in 1846.

Already in his early youth Tegnér wrote verses, but they were in the academic style, and did not reveal any particular talent. Then he wrote in 1808 the war song, "För skånska landtvärnet" (for the militia of Scania), and this song gained him the hearts of all. In 1811 he won the prize of the Academy by his grand poem, "Svea." In a vigorous and commanding style he addresses the sluggish age, holding up before his countrymen the customs of their fathers as a mirror, admonishing them in burning words to follow in the footsteps of their ancestors, and promising them with glowing enthusiasm a glorious future, if they heed his warning. He begins the poem in the traditional Alexandrines, which soon, however, have to yield to a freer rhythm in harmony with the tempestuous torrent of his thoughts. This poem had a very marked influence on the development of Swedish literature, not only on account of its enthusiastic, imaginative diction, but also because it abandoned the rigid academic form. His reputation as one of the greatest poets of his country was firmly established, and it grew with every new poem. He now joined the Gothic Union, but kept aloof from its exaggerations, and did not hesitate to recognize the excellent qualities of the men of Gustav III's time, as he did with emphasis in one of his most famous poems, an address in verse on the occasion of the semi-centennial celebration of the Academy. On the other hand, he took a very decided stand against the Phosphorists, and he frequently took them to task in his speeches and poems, and ridiculed with withering sarcasm their exclusiveness and want of a definite purpose. But he contributed most to the eradication of Phosphoristic hyperidealism by his greater poems, which were received with great enthusiasm by the people.

In 1820 appeared the idyl "Nattvärdsbarnen" (the Children of the Lord's Supper), probably the best poem he ever