The Northern war-poetry, before the introduction of Christianity, is vigorous enough, but it abounds in disagreeable commonplaces: trunks are cleft till each half falls sideways; limbs are carved for ravens, who appear as invariably as the Valkyrs, and while the latter pounce upon the souls that issue with the expiring breath, the former banquet upon the remains. The celebration of a victory is an exulting description of actual scenes of revelling, mead-drinking from mounted skulls, division of the spoils, and half-drunken brags[4] of future prowess. The sense of dependence upon an unseen Power is manifested only in superstitious vows for luck and congratulations that the Strong Ones have been upon the conquering side. There is no lifting up of the heart which checks for a time the joy of victory. They are ferociously glad that they have beaten. This prize-fighting imagery belongs also to the Anglo-Saxon poetry, and is in marked contrast with the commemorative poetry of Franks and Germans after the introduction of Christianity. The allusions may be quite as conventional, but they show that another power has taken the field, and is willing to risk the fortunes of war. Norse poetry loses its vigor when the secure establishment of Christianity abolishes piracy and puts fighting upon an allowance. Its muscle was its chief characteristic. We speak only of war-poetry. [Footnote 4: Braga was the name of the goblet over which the Norse drinkers made their vows. Probably no Secessionist ever threatened more pompously over his whiskey. The word goes back a great distance. _Paruf_ is Sanscrit for rough, and _Ragh_, to be equal to. In reading the Norse poetry, one can understand why _Brága_ was the Apollo of the Asa gods, and why the present made to a favorite Scald was called _Bragar-Laun_ (_Lohn_). _Bravo_ is also a far-travelled form.] Here, for instance, is the difference plainly told. Hucbald, a monk of the cloister St. Amand in Flanders, wrote "The Louis-Lay," to celebrate the victory gained by the West-Frankish King Louis III. over the Normans, in 881, near Saucourt. It is in the Old-High-German. A few lines will suffice:-- The King rode boldly, sang a holy song, And all together sang, Kyrie eleison. The song was sung; the battle was begun; Blood came to cheeks; thereat rejoiced the Franks; Then fought each sword, but none so well as Ludwig, So swift and bold, for 't was his inborn nature; He struck down many, many a one pierced through, And at his hands his enemies received A bitter drink, woe to their life all day. Praise to God's power, for Ludwig overcame; And thanks to saints, the victor-fight was his. Homeward again fared Ludwig, conquering king, And harnessed as he ever is, wherever the need may be, Our God above sustain him with His majesty!