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 less than fifty years what Latin versions of the Eddas had not been able to accomplish in three centuries. Two of Oelenschlæger's poems are given translated in Poets and Poetry of Europe, and Mr. Longfellow has given us permission to present them here. We will now avail ourselves of his kindness and not discuss this portion of the subject of this chapter any further, knowing that the reader will find the poems Thor's Fishing and The Dwarfs far more pleasing and convincing than any additional arguments we might be able to produce. Here they are:

On the dark bottom of the great salt lake Imprisoned lay the giant snake, With naught his sullen sleep to break.

Huge whales disported amorous o'er his neck; Little their sports the worm did reck, Nor his dark, vengeful thoughts would check.

To move his iron fins he has no power, Nor yet to harm the trembling shore, With scaly rings he is covered o'er.

His head he seeks 'mid coral rocks to hide, Nor e'er hath man his eye espied, Nor could its deadly glare abide.

His eye-lids half in drowsy stupor close, But short and troubled his repose, As his quick heavy breathing shows.

Muscles and crabs, and all the shelly race, In spacious banks still crowd for place A grisly beard, around his face.

When Midgard's worm his fetters strives to break, Riseth the sea, the mountains quake; The fiends in Naastrand merry make