nicely depict soldiers' moods. Language itself was fighting for
recognition, as well as industrial and social rights. The verses mark
successive steps of a people into consciousness and civilization. Some
of this battle-poetry is worth preserving; a few camp-rhymes, also,
were famous enough in their day to justify translating. Here are some
relics, of pattern more or less antique, picked up from that field of
Europe where so many centuries have met in arms. [3]

[Footnote 3: Among such songs is one by Bayard Taylor, entitled
_Annie Laurie_, which is of the very best kind.]

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