The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction | Page 5

Oxford, whither he repaired penniless, to secure a good education.
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Holberg, Samsoe, and Oehlenschlager are the three dramatic luminaries of Denmark. The best production of Samsoe is the play of _Dyveke_, produced a few days after his death. Such was the enthusiasm it excited, that the following epitaph was proposed to be inscribed on his tomb, in the public cemetery of Copenhagen:--
"Here lies Samsoe; He wrote Dyveke and died."
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The best poet that Sweden has ever produced is Esaias Tegner, the bishop of Wexio, now living. His first production was _Axel_, a short poem on the adventures of one of those pages of Charles XII. who were sworn to a single life, to be entirely devoted to the fortunes of war. He has struck out great interest by plunging this hero in love, and painting the conflicts between his passion and his reverence for his oath. The words have been translated into Danish, German, and English. The latter translation appeared in _Blackwood's Magazine._ Although the Danish language is so akin to the Swedish, that translation is the worst of the three. It is said that this poem procured Tegner the bishoprick of Wexio. A singular circumstance is connected with it. A German literary gentleman was so delighted with the version of it in his own language, that he actually studied Swedish for the sole purpose of reading it in the original.
A compliment like this has rarely been paid, as the poem does not contain more than about a thousand lines. Since then, Tegner has written a poem, entitled _Frethioff's Sage_ founded on one of the wild and singular traditions of the North. It has been more popular than even _Axel_, and the announcement of a third poem from the same hand, said to outdo all former efforts, excites the greatest interest in Stockholm.
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Novels have only been introduced within these few years in Denmark. Ingemann is their most successful manufacturer. His last production is entitled _Valdemar Seier_, or Waldemar the victorious. The Danes have translations of Sir Walter Scott and Cooper.
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It is supposed there are not above three persons in Copenhagen who cannot speak German. Oehlenschlager, the best modern author of Denmark, writes equally well in German and Danish.
ANGLO-SVECUS.
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PLEASURES OF SNUFF-TAKING.
Let some the joys of Bacchus praise, The vast delights which he conveys, And pride them in their wine; Let others choose the nice _morceau_, The piquant joys of feasting know, But other gifts are mine.
Give me, ye gods, my quantum suff. Of Grimstone's or Gillespie's snuff-- These are the sorts I crave; Defend me from the Lundyfoot, 'Tis to my nostrils worse than soot, And from the Irish save.
Your Prince's Mixture I despise, It clogs the head and dims the eyes-- The nose rejects such burden; Sure 'tis the critic's vast delight, So dull and stupidly they write, I call for witness ----.
Oh! where shall I for courage fly? Or what restorative apply? A pinch be my resource; Perchance the French are not polite, And with my country wish to fight, Then I must grieve perforce;
Or, if with doubt the bosom heaves. The heart for Grecian sorrows grieves, And pines to see them fail. Such critics sometimes court the muse, And I perchance the rhymes peruse, Then heaves the breast with pain.
To soothe the mind in such an hour, A pinch of snuff has ample power-- One pinch--all's well again. A pinch of snuff delights again, And makes me view with great disdain, And soothes my patriot grief.
Thus for the list of human woes, The pangs each mortal bosom knows, I find in snuff relief: It makes me feel less sense of sorrow, When modern bards their verses borrow, And soothes my patriot grief.
Then let me sing the praise of snuff-- Give me, ye gods, I pray, enough-- Let others boast their wine; Let some prefer the nice morceau And piquant joys of feasting know, The bliss of snuff be mine.
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ODE ON A COLLEGE FEAST DAY.
(_For the Mirror._)
Hark! hear ye not yon footsteps dread That shook the hall with thundering tread? With eager haste, The fellows past. Each intent on direful work. High lifts the mighty blade and points the deadly fork!
But hark! the portals sound and pacing forth, With steps, alas! too slow, The college gips of high illustrious worth With all the dishes in long order go; In the midst, a form divine, Appears the fam'd Sir-loin; And soon with plums and glory crown'd, A mighty pudding sheds its sweets around. Heard ye the din of dinner bray? Knife to fork, and fork to knife: Unnumber'd heroes through the glorious strife, Through fish, flesh, pies, and puddings cut their destin'd way.
See, beneath the mighty blade, Gor'd