were songs upon the river from the fisher-
barks; and occasionally a chorus, plaintive and wild, such as I had never
heard before, the words of which I did not understand, but which, at the
present time, down the long avenue of years, seem in memory's ear to
sound like "Horam, coram, dago". Several robust fellows were near me,
some knee-deep in water, employed in hauling the seine upon the strand.
Huge fish were struggling amidst the meshes--princely salmon,--their
brilliant mail of blue and silver flashing in the morning beam; so goodly
and gay a scene, in truth, had never greeted my boyish eye.

And, as I gazed upon the prospect, my bosom began to heave, and my tears
to trickle. Was it the beauty of the scene which gave rise to these
emotions? Possibly; for though a poor ignorant child--a half-wild
creature--I was not insensible to the loveliness of nature, and took
pleasure in the happiness and handiworks of my fellow-creatures. Yet,
perhaps, in something more deep and mysterious the feelings which then
pervaded me might originate. Who can lie down on Elvir Hill without
experiencing something of the sorcery of the place? Flee from Elvir
Hill, young swain, or the maids of Elle will have power over you, and you
will go elf-wild!--so say the Danes. I had unconsciously laid myself
down upon haunted ground; and I am willing to imagine that what I then
experienced was rather connected with the world of spirits and dreams
than with what I actually saw and heard around me. Surely the elves and
genii of the place were conversing, by some inscrutable means, with the
principle of intelligence lurking within the poor uncultivated clod!
Perhaps to that ethereal principle, the wonders of the past, as connected
with that stream, the glories of the present, and even the history of the
future, were at that moment being revealed. Of how many feats of
chivalry had those old walls been witness, when hostile kings contended
for their possession?--how many an army from the south and from the north
had trod that old bridge?--what red and noble blood had crimsoned those
rushing waters?--what strains had been sung, ay, were yet being sung, on
its banks?--some soft as Doric reed; some fierce and sharp as those of
Norwegian Skaldaglam; some as replete with wild and wizard force as
Finland's runes, singing of Kalevala's moors, and the deeds of
Woinomoinen! Honour to thee, thou island stream! Onward may thou ever
roll, fresh and green