aga_ was
supplemented by certain songs from the _Elder Edda_ which were
introduced by the translators at points where they would come naturally
in the story. The work, both in prose and verse, is well done, and the
attempt was successful to make, as the preface proposes, the "rendering
close and accurate, and, if it might be so, at the same time, not over
prosaic." The last two paragraphs of this preface are particularly
interesting to one who is tracing the influence of Old Norse literature
on English literature, because they are words with power, that have
stirred men and will stir men to learn more about a wonderful land and
its lore. We copy them entire:

"As to the literary quality of this work we might say much, but we think
we may well trust the reader of poetic insight to break through whatever
entanglement of strange manners or unused element may at first trouble
him, and to meet the nature and beauty with which it is filled: we
cannot doubt that such a reader will be intensely touched by finding,
amidst all its wildness and remoteness, such startling realism, such
subtilty, such close sympathy with all the passions that may move
himself to-day.

"In conclusion, we must again say how strange it seems to us, that this
Volsung Tale, which is in fact an unversified poem, should never before
have been translated into English. For this is the Great Story of the
North, which should be to all our race what the Tale of Troy was to the
Greeks--to all our race first, and afterwards, when the change of the
world has made our race nothing more than a name of what has been--a
story too--then should it be to those that come after us no less than
the Tale of Troy has been to us."

Morris wrote a prologue in verse for this volume, and it is an exquisite
poem, such as only he seemed able to indite. So often does the reader of
Morris come upon gems like this, that one is tempted to rail against the
common ignorance about him:

O hearken, ye who speak the English Tongue,
How in a waste land ages long ago,
The very heart of the North bloomed into song
After long brooding o'er this tale of woe!

. . . . . . . . .

Yea, in the first gray dawning of our race,
This ruth-crowned tangle to sad hearts was dear.

. . . . . . . . .

So draw ye round and hearken, English Folk,
Unto the best tale pity ever wrought!
Of how from