he list on a previous
page, and of no others that are significant. But such excellent use was
made of them, that it would seem as if nothing was left in them that
could be made valuable for spreading a knowledge of and an enthusiasm
for Icelandic literature. When it is remembered that Warton's purpose
was to prove the Saracenic origin of romantic fiction in Europe, through
the Moors in Spain, and that Icelandic literature was mentioned only to
account for a certain un-Arabian tinge in that romantic fiction, the
wonder grows that so full and fresh a presentation of Old Norse poetry
should have been made. He puts such passages as these into his
illustrative notes: "Tell my mother Suanhita in Denmark, that she will
not this summer comb the hair of her son. I had promised her to return,
but now my side shall feel the edge of the sword." There is an
appreciation of the poetic here, that makes us feel that Warton was not
an unworthy wearer of the laurel. He insists that the Saxon poetry was
powerfully affected by "the old scaldic fables and heroes," and gives in
the text a translation of the "Battle of Brunenburgh" to prove his
case. He admires "the scaldic dialogue at the tomb of Angantyr," but
wrongly attributes a beautiful translation of it to Gray. He quotes at
length from "a noble ode, called in the northern chronicles the Elogium
of Hacon, by the scald Eyvynd; who, for his superior skill in poetry was
called the Cross of Poets (Eyvindr Skalldaspillir), and fought in the
battle which he celebrated."

He knows how Iceland touched England, as this passage will show: "That
the Icelandic bards were common in England during the Danish invasions,
there are numerous proofs. Egill, a celebrated Icelandic poet, having
murthered the son and many of the friends of Eric Blodaxe, king of
Denmark or Norway, then residing in Northumberland, and which he had
just conquered, procured a pardon by singing before the king, at the
command of his queen Gunhilde, an extemporaneous ode. Egill compliments
the king, who probably was his patron, with the appellation of the
English chief. 'I offer my freight to the king. I owe a poem for my
ransom. I present to the ENGLISH CHIEF the mead of Odin.' Afterwards he
calls this Danish conqueror the commander of the Scottish fleet. 'The
commander of the Scottish fleet fattened the ravenous birds. The sister
of Nera (Death) trampled on the foe: she trampled on the evening food of
the eagle.'"

So wide a