Britain ... - Blue-Lite

106 NOTES TO THE ENGLISH SLAVE.
The chiefs of the North were often Scaldi, as well as warriors.
Regnor Lodbrog, King of Denmark, united (as was not
uncommon in that age) the characters of
king, warrior, poet,
and pirate.
"
Anlaft entered the camp of the Saxon King, Athelstan,
under the disguise of a Scald, and Alfred did the same in the
of the Danes. When the hordes of the Tartar Huns
camp
retired to the West, from the limits and dominion of the Chinese
empire, into the extensive plains of Sogdiania, they still
retained one vestige of their ancient barbarism ; for when a
chieftain died, his companions or retainers who had shared his
liberality and wealth, were buried alive with him in the same
grave." Procopius de Bell. Persico,!. \. c. 3.
( 36 )
In the far-sounding cataract's solemn roar,
Whose grandeur Jills the wild. . . p. 60.
"The roaring of torrents in the moor, after heavy rains, is
sublime to a degree inconceivable by those who have never
heard this impressive music in a wild and solitary district."
Notes to Carringtons Dartmoor.
And here we are happy to have it in our power to offer a
simple testimony of respect to our late dear friend, Mr. Carrington,
with whom, since the publication of the Royal Minstrel
till his lamented death, we were in the habit of frequent
correspondence. His poem of Dartmoor, from which we have
extracted the above note, is replete with such glowing images,
such just and tender sentiments, as cannot fail to touch the
heart of all those who soar above the grovelling conceptions
and brutal appetites of the mere ignorant purse-proud worldling.
His is poetry equally devoid of raving bombast, of
maudlin cant, and dull obscurity, with which the strains of
many of our modern " twangling jacks" so much abound. Its
melody is exquisite, yet varied ; and its descriptive scenes are
the fac-simile of Nature's most beautiful and sublime productions.
We have heard that his townsmen of Devonport have
it in contemplation to erect a monument to his memory. Such
an act would do honour to themselves, but the bard of Devon
needs not this just memorial of his merits and his fame. He
who has so sweetly sung
" Devonia's lovely land of flowers and song,"
shall never lack a monument to celebrate his name while
Dartmoor's lofty tors and mountains of eternal granite lift
their majestic summits to heaven, a resting-place for the cloud
and the storm,