ere peculiar to
Sondmor, because they happened to be lineal descendants of Old Norse,
nor should it insist on preterites in _ade_ and participles in _ad_
merely because these forms were found in the sagas. We cannot enter upon
this subject; we can but point out that this movement was born almost
with Landsmaal itself, and that, after Aasen's fragments, the first
Norwegian translation of any part of Shakespeare is a rendering of
Sonnet CXXX in popularized Eastern, as distinguished from Aasen's
literary, aristocratic Western Landsmaal. It is the first translation of
a Shakespearean sonnet on Norwegian soil. The new language was hewing
out new paths.

Som Soli Augunn' inkje skjin,
og som Koraller inkje Lipunn' glansar,
og snjokvit hev ho inkje Halsen sin,
og Gullhaar inkje Hove hennar kransar,

Eg baae kvit' og raue Roser ser--,
paa Kinni hennar deira Lit'kje blandast;
og meire fin vel Blomsterangen er,
en den som ut fraa Lipunn' hennar andast.

Eg hoyrt hev hennar Royst og veit endaa,
at inkje som ein Song dei laeter Ori;
og aldrig hev eg set ein Engel gaa--
og gjenta mi ser stott eg gaa paa Jori.

Men ho er storre Lov og AEre vaer
enn pyntedokkane me laana Glansen.
Den reine Hugen seg i alting ter,
og ljost ho smilar under Brurekransen.[18]

[18. "Ein Sonett etter William Shakespeare." _Fram_--1872.]

Obviously this is not a sonnet at all. Not only does the translator
ignore Shakespeare's rime scheme, but he sets aside the elementary
definition of a sonnet--a poem of fourteen lines. We have here sixteen
lines and the last two add nothing to the original. The poet, through
lack of skill, has simply run on. He could have ended with line 14 and
then, whatever other criticism might have been passed upon his work, we
should have had at least the sonnet form. The additional lines are in
themselves fairly good poetry but they have no place in what purports to
be translation. The translator signs himself simply "r." Whoever he was,
he had poetic feeling and power of expression. No mere poetaster could
have given lines so exquisite in their imagery, so full of music, and
so happy in their phrasing. This fact in itself makes it a poor
translation, for it is rather a paraphrase with a quality and excellence
all its own. Not a line exactly renders the English. The paraphrase is
never so good as the original but, considered by itself, it is good
poetry. The disillusionment comes only wi