A miserable man, And ill-conditioned, Sneers at everything: One thing he knows not, Which he ought to know, That he is not free from faults.

Know if thou hast a friend Whom thou fully trustest, And from whom thou would'st good derive; Thou should'st blend thy mind with his, And gifts exchange, And often go to see him.

If thou hast another Whom thou little trustest, Yet would'st good from him derive, Thou should'st speak him fair, But think craftily, And leasing pay with lying.

But of him yet further Whom thou little trustest, And thou suspectest his affection, Before him thou should'st laugh, And contrary to thy thoughts speak; Requital should the gift resemble.

I once was young, I was journeying alone And lost my way; Rich I thought myself When I met another: Man is the joy of man.

Liberal and brave Men live best, They seldom cherish sorrow; But a bare-minded man Dreads everything; The n.i.g.g.ardly is uneasy even at gifts.

My garments in a field I gave away To two wooden men: Heroes they seemed to be When they got cloaks:[1]

Exposed to insult is a naked man.

Something great Is not always to be given, Praise is often for a trifle bought.

With half a loaf And a tilted vessel I got myself a comrade.

Little are the sand grains, Little the wits, Little the minds of men; For all men Are not wise alike: Men are everywhere by halves.

Moderately wise Should each one be, But never over-wise; For a wise man's heart Is seldom glad, If he is all-wise who owns it.

Much too early I came to many places, But too late to others; The beer was drunk, or not ready: The disliked seldom hits the moment.

Cattle die, Kindred die, We ourselves also die; But the fair fame Never dies of him who has earned it.

Cattle die, Kindred die, We ourselves also die; But I know one thing That never dies, Judgment on each one dead.

[1] The tailor makes the man.

--Tr. by Thorpe.

VAFTHRUDNISMAL. THE SONG OF VAFTHRUDNER.

From the third poem in the Elder Edda came the following lines, describing the day and the night:

Delling called is he Who the Day's father is, But Night was of Norve born; The new and waning moons The beneficent powers created To count years for men.

Skinfaxe[1] he is named That the bright day draws Forth over human kind; Of coursers he is best accounted Among faring men; Ever sheds light that horse's mane.

Hrimfaxe[2] he is called That each night draws forth Over the beneficent powers; He from his bit lets fall Drops every morn Whence in the dells comes dew.

--Tr. by Thorpe

[1] Skinfaxe (shining mane), the horse of Day.

[2] Hrimfaxe (Rime mane), the horse of Night.

CHAPTER IV. GERMAN LITERATURE.

There are three cla.s.sical periods in German literature.[1]

[1] See Scherer's "History of German Literature." Vol. I., page 16.

1. The Old High German Period, culminating about 600 A. D. The chief development of this period is the epic legend and poetry.

As this literature remained largely unwritten, it is all lost except one fragment, The Song of Hildebrand.

2. The Middle High German Period, culminating about 1200 A. D.

This was in Germany, as elsewhere in Europe, a time of abundant literary activity. It is the period of the renaissance of the heroic legends of the first period, and their remaking into developed epic poetry; of the writing of romances of chivalry and of antiquity; of the development of the lyric poetry of the Minnesingers; of the growth of popular fables and tales and of the drama. In short, all the forms of literary production known to the Middle Ages flourished in Germany in this period.

3. The Modern Cla.s.sical Period, culminating about 1800 in the work of Goethe, Schiller, and the many poets and scholars surrounding them.

THE NATIONAL EPIC.

The fragment of the "Song of Hildebrand" is the sole surviving portion of the heroic literature of the first period. The story runs that "Hildebrand had fought in his youth in Italy, married there, and left a three-year son, when he was driven by Odoacer to Attila, king of the Huns. After years, in which the son grew up to manhood, Hildebrand re-entered Italy as a great chief in the army of Theodorle. His son, Hadubrand was then a chief combatant in Odoacer's army." They challenge each other to combat, and though the fragment ends before the fight is over, it is thought from other references that Hildebrand is victor.

THE SONG OF HILDEBRAND.

I have heard tell, they called each other forth, Hildebrand, Hadubrand, among the hosts.

Son, father, made them ready for the strife.

Donned their war shirts, and girded on their swords Over ringed mail, rode, heroes, to the fight.

Hildebrand, Herbrand's son, the elder man And wiser, spake, well skilled in questionings Asked in few words, who among all the folk His father was, "or of what stock thou be?

Tell, and I'll give a mail of triple web: Child in this realm, I knew its families."

Hadubrand spoke, Hildebrand's son: "The old And wise among our folk tell me my father Was Hildebrand, my name is Hadubrand.

My father went to the east to fly the hate Of Otaker, with Dietrich and his bands.

A slender bride abiding in the lands He left in bower, with an ungrown child, And weapons masterless. Eastward he went When sorrow came to Deitrich, friendless man, My kinsman Otaker became his foe.

Most famed of warriors, since Dietrich fell, Foremost in every field, he loved the fight, Praised by the bold, I doubt not he is dead."

"Lord G.o.d of men," spake Hildebrand, "from heaven Stay strife between two men so near in blood!"

Then twisted from his arm the bracelet ring That once the King of Huns had given him, I give it you in token of my love."

Spake Hadubrand, the son of Hildebrand, "At the spear's point I take of you such gifts, Point against point. No comrade thou, old Hun, With Bly, enticing words wouldst win me near: My answer to thee is with cast of spear.

Thou'rt old. This cunning out of age is bred."

Over the Midland Sea came foes who said, "Hildebrand, son of Herbrand, he is dead."

Hildebrand, son of Herbrand, spake again: "Thine arms show that in this land thou couldst not gain A liberal leader or a royal friend.

Now well away. Great G.o.d, fate's evil end!

For sixty years, exile in stranger lands, Summer and winter with spear-darting bands, Never once leg bound within city wall, I come back by my own son's hand to fall, Hewn by his sword, or be his murderer,-- But if thy strength hold, thou canst readily Win of the brave his arms, spoil of the slain, When thine by right." Said Hildebrand, "Now, worst Of Ostrogoths be he who holds me back! My heart is for the fray.

Judge comrades who look on, which of us wins The fame, best throws the dart, and earns the spoil."

The ashen spears then sped, stuck in the shields With their keen points, and down on the white shields The heavy axes rang with sounding blows, Shattering their rims, the flesh behind stood firm. . . .

--Tr. by Morley.

In the second, or Middle High German Period, the heroic legends of early times were revived and formed the subject matter of many epic and semi epic poems. These legends have been cla.s.sified into six several cycles of romances:[1]