s was covered as
with a carpet softer and more variegated than the most precious loom of
Turkey. Where others lost their temper at the gray cold fog, they marveled
at the silver veil of the bride of the morning, and the gold illumination
of the departing sun. Now every cockney can admire the smallest lake in
Westmoreland or the barest moor in the Highlands. Why is this? Because few
eyes are so dull that they cannot see what is beautiful after it has been
pointed out to them, and when they know that they need not feel ashamed of
admiring it. It is the same with the beauties of poetry, as with the
beauties of nature. We must first discover what is beautiful in poetry,
and, when it is discovered, communicate it; otherwise the authors of
Scotch ballads are but strolling singers, and the Niebelungen songs are,
as Frederick the Great said, not worth powder and shot. The trade of
fault-finding is quickly learnt; the art of admiration is a difficult art,
at least for little minds, narrow hearts, and timid souls, who prefer
treading broad and safe paths. Thus many critics and literary historians
have rushed by the poems of Wilhelm Mueller, just like travellers, who go
on in the beaten track, passing by on the right hand and on the left the
most beautiful scenes of nature, and who only stand still and open both
eyes and mouth when their "Murray" tells them there is something they
ought to admire. Should an old man who is at home here meet them on their
way, and counsel the travellers to turn for a moment from the high road in
order to accompany him through a shady path to a mill, many may feel at
first full of uneasiness and distrust. But when they have refreshed
themselves in the dark green valley with its lively mill stream and
delicious wood fragrance, they no longer blame their guide for having
called somewhat loudly to them to pause in their journey. It is such a
pause that I have tried in these few introductory lines to enforce on the
reader, and I believe that I too may reckon on pardon, if not on thanks,
from those who have followed my sudden call.

1858

VI. ON THE LANGUAGE AND POETRY OF SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN.

After all that has been written about the Schleswig-Holstein question, how
little is known about those whom that question chiefly concerns,--the
Schleswig-Holsteiners! There may be a vague recollection that, during the
general turmoil of 1848, the German inhabitants of the Duchies rose
against the Danes;