Norse mythology; or, The religion of our forefathers, containing all the myths of the Eddas, systematized and interpretedAnderson, Rasmus Björn
Religion
Norse mythology; or, The religion of our forefathers, containing all the myths of the Eddas, systematized and interpreted
Anderson, Rasmus Björn
Mythology, Norse; Northmen -- Religion; Old Norse literature; Tales, Medieval
There is something in the natural scenery of Norway—a peculiar blending
of the grand, the picturesque, the gigantic, bewildering and majestic.
There is something that leaves you in bewildering amazement, when you
have seen it, and makes you ask yourself, Was it real or was it only a
dream? Norway is in fact one huge imposing rock, and its valleys are but
great clefts in it. Through these clefts the rivers, fed by vast
glaciers upon the mountains, find their way to the sea. They come from
the distance, now musically and chattingly meandering their way beneath
the willows, now tumbling down the slopes, reeking and distorted by the
rocks that oppose them, until they reach some awful precipice and tumble
down some eight hundred to a thousand feet in a single leap into the
depths below, where no human being ever yet set his foot. We are not
overdrawing the picture. You cannot get to the foot of such falls as the
Voring Force or Rjukan Force, but you may look over the precipice from
above and see the waters pouring like fine and fleecy wool into the
seething caldron, where you can discern through the vapory mists shoots
of foam at the bottom, like rockets of water, radiating in every
direction. You hear a low rumbling sound around you, and the very rock
vibrates beneath your feet; and as you hang half giddy over the cliff,
clasping your arms around some young birch-tree that tremblingly leans
over the brink of the steep, and turn your eyes to the huge mountain
mass that breasts you,—its black, melancholy sides seemingly within a
stone’s throw, and its snow-white head far in the clouds above,—your
thoughts involuntarily turn to _him_, the God, whom the skald dare not
name, to _him_ at whose bidding Gausta Fjeld and Reeking Force sprang
from Ginungagap, from the body of the giant Ymer, from chaos. You look
longer upon this wonderful scene, and you begin to think of Ragnarok, of
the Twilight of the gods. Once seen, and the grand picture, which defies
the brush of the painter, will forever afterwards float before your mind
like a dream.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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