captured and put to death by his
enemies. The actual manner of his death was too horrible even for the
purposes of tragedy; and the poet has chosen the better part in ending
the play with a foreshadowing of the outcome. Sigurd has made his last
stand, his Danish allies have deserted him, and he well knows what will
be the next day's issue. And here we have one of the noblest
illustrations in all literature of that _Versoehnung_ which is the last
word of tragic art. For in this supreme hour the peace of mind which
he has sought for so many years comes to him when least expected, and
all the tempests of life are stilled. That reconciliation which the
hour of approaching death brings to men whose lives have been set at
tragic pitch, has come to him also; he now sees that this was the
inevitable end, and the recognition of the fitness with which events
have shaped themselves brings with it an exaltation of soul in which
life is seen revealed in its true aspect. No longer veiled in the
mists which have hitherto hidden it from his passionate gaze, he takes
note of what it really is, and casts it from him. In this hour of
passionless contemplation such a renunciation is not a thing torn from
the reluctant soul, but the clear solution, so long sought, of the
problem so long blindly attempted. That which his passion enslaved
self has so struggled to avert, his higher self, at last set free,
calmly and gladly accepts.

"What miracle is this? for in the hour I prayed, the prayer was
granted! Peace, perfect peace! Then I will go to-morrow to my last
battle as to the altar; peace shall at last be mine for all my longings.

"How this autumn evening brings reconciliation to my soul! Sun and wave
and shore and sea flow all together, as in the thought of God all
others; never yet has it seemed so fair to me. But it is not mine to
rule over this lovely land. How greatly I have done it ill! But how
has it all so come to pass? for in my wanderings I saw thy mountains in
every sky, I yearned for home as a child longs for Christmas, yet I
came no sooner, and when at last I came, I gave thee wound upon wound.

"But now, in contemplative mood, thou gazest upon me, and givest me at
parting this fairest autumn night of thine; I will ascend yonder rock
and take a long farewell."

The action of "Sigurd Slembe," is interspersed with several lyrics, the
most striking of which is herd translated in exact reproduction of the
original f