“As I breathed its pure atmosphere, and pressed the young verdure which was just appearing from beneath the mantle of snow, which had shrouded it for many long months, I felt as if I were treading the unsullied shores of a better world. Our good fisherman conducted our failing footsteps over the wild and slippery rocks into a beautiful valley. The frosts which had locked up nature during the long winter, had yielded to the influence of the returning sun, which sent the rejoicing current through the veins of every living thing. The stunted trees put on their garniture of green in token of joy, the lichens and mosses brightened in the genial ray, and all blended in a smile of love and gratitude. We reached the cottage of the fisherman, sheltered by overhanging rocks on one side, from the icy winds; and were welcomed by its inmates with the looks and offices of kindness. They consisted of a mother and three children. The countenance of the former, notwithstanding the national peculiarity of features, was pleasing, expressing both intelligence and benevolence. The oldest of her offspring was a girl of extremely prepossessing appearance. You would not, perhaps, in your country, call her beautiful, for she had not the slender figure and the delicate features which you associate with the idea of female loveliness; but the laughing blue eye lighted up with its beam, a face which seemed the mirror of her heart; her cheek was now mantled with rosy smiles, now moistened with the tear of sympathy or affection. Her hair was light, scarcely tinged with the sunny glow, but it was in unison with her fair complexion, and curled slightly around a neck of transparent whiteness. Her age might be fourteen, but there was so much childish gaiety in her manner, that you would have supposed her much younger. Her brothers were manly, noble looking boys, several years younger than herself. Never shall I forget the compassionate look with which the matron placed a seat near the warm fire, while with gentle voice she chid the curiosity of her little group, saying, ‘the stranger is cold and tired, and we must do all we can to make him comfortable.’ They instantly retreated—but the two oldest hung over her shoulder, earnestly whispering in her ear. I guessed that I was the subject of their discourse, by hearing the mother reply in a low voice—‘Yes Ulea, you may run and milk Minny, and Korner, get the potatoes ready, and the fish too. By the time you return, he will be dry and warm, I hope.’ With delighted countenances, they shot out of the cottage, and the good woman busied herself in mending up the fire, and spreading a couch of soft skins, on which she invited me to rest my weary limbs. I attempted to speak my gratitude to heaven, and to her, but the words were stifled by the strength of my feelings, which gushed out in tears. She seemed to understand the nature of my emotions. Her tone was soothing and encouraging. ‘God is good,’ she said, ‘and not only saves us in perils, but provides a table in the desert. He puts it in the hearts of strangers to show kindness, and makes us feel that we are all brethren, the children of his care and bounty.’ ‘How,’ said I; ‘in this remote spot of creation, have you learned these heavenly precepts?’ ‘Our lives,’ she answered, ‘are crowned with blessings, and the greatest of all is, that of our dear missionary, who guides our erring footsteps in the way of duty, as he points our hopes to a brighter world.’ While she was speaking, Ulea returned, exclaiming, ‘Ah! mother, Minny seemed to know how much haste I was in, for she stood right still; and here is Korner too, with the fish and potatoes—let us set the dinner for the poor stranger.’ In a few moments the repast was on the table, and I had scarcely taken the seat provided, before my young hosts pressed me to eat of one and another dish, telling me that ‘this was the richest milk because Minny gave it, and these fish were taken by Korner's green rocks.’ I had scarcely finished a hearty meal, when Holstein (for that was the name of the good fisherman) came in, attended by our other deliverers and my two comrades, who having received their hospitality, came with them to consult whether any attempt could be made to save what remained on the wreck. Holstein thought it probable no vestige of the wreck itself was left. But the other fishermen said it might have drifted over the rocks, and still contain something valuable. Under this possibility we followed our conductors to the scene of destruction; but we found it as Holstein had predicted; only a scattered plank here and there marked the place of ruin. Emotions of awe and gratitude filled my soul, when I beheld the vortex from which heaven had rescued us; but my fellow sufferers evinced mortification and disappointment, when their last hope was extinguished, and they saw themselves thrown on the charity of strangers, even for a change of raiment. This was particularly observable in the manner of Osman, a young adventurer, who had joined our expedition from a romantic turn for novelty and excitement. He was a singular compound of opposite qualities; sometimes exhibiting the hardihood and bold daring of his father, who was a Dane, then all the impassioned sentiment joined with the frivolity of an Italian, which he was on his mother's side. Since there remained nothing more to feed this adventurous excitement, his mind seemed to dwell on the loss he had sustained, particularly that of his wardrobe and musical instruments. Notwithstanding the occasion, which was fit to call forth only feelings of a solemn nature, I could not help being interested for him, when I heard him bewailing the loss of these resources of dress and music.
“His person was very striking, calculated to engage the attention of a stranger. A tall and graceful figure was united to a face of perfect symmetry, over which the light of full dark hazel eyes shone in alternate fire and softness. Until this time I had only observed him under passions of another kind, and was astonished at the pathetic strains in which he mourned over the extinction of his prospects. The fishermen endeavored in their sincere but homely language to comfort him, proffering the only help in their power—a share in their fishing spoils and a passage to Denmark, when another whaling expedition should visit the island. His youth and apparent sensibility interested us all in his favor, and induced us to do all in our power to promote his happiness.
“It was concluded that we should each remain with our hosts, and assist in such labor as we were able to do, in making preparations for a fishing cruise. I became more and more attached to the dear members of Holstein's family. Their daily avocations were simple and homely, but their minds were pure and elevated, deriving their highest enjoyments from the contemplation of a better world.
“Ulea engaged much of my interest. She was at that most pleasing of all ages, when we see the simplicity of childhood blended with the thoughts and reflections of a riper age; when the heedless word is followed by the conscious blush, and we love while we rebuke the tongue that speaks all the heart feels.
“Time glided pleasantly away, even in Iceland. We spent the evenings and inclement days in cheerful recreation, or in reading; which is a great, and almost universal resource among these Icelanders: it is thus they pass their long wintry nights—one ‘making vocal the poetic, or historic page.’
“Osman became our constant and welcome visitor. He constructed an instrument, on which he made very sweet music; and frequently sung the sentimental airs of his country. This, joined to his talent for wild and impassioned recitation, charmed the listening ear of all, but it vibrated to the heart of Ulea. Her delight did not show itself like her brother's in noisy ecstacy, but her eyes filled with tears, and her heart throbbed with silent emotion. ‘Mother,’ she would say, ‘Osman's singing reminds me of what I have heard about the harps of the angels.’ ‘It is pretty, my child, but I had rather hear the fisherman's welcome home.’ ‘That, mother, is because our father sings it. But when Osman sings I think of a happier world than this.’ ‘You are mistaken, my dear, if you think Osman's songs have any thing good in them. I have listened to them, and I think they are only calculated to make people discontented with what God has allotted them, and to fill the mind with foolish fancies.’ ‘Ah! mother, how can you wonder that his songs are melancholy, when he is far away from all that he loves, and that he has nothing to console him for the beautiful world he has left! You know he loves to climb our steep rocks, to see the sun go down behind Hecla. I did not know how grand our volcano could look, until he pointed to it, as the sun's last beams rested on its snowy scalp. Then he told me of Italy his country, where the mountains are crowned with snow, while flowers blow in the valleys—birds sing in the branches of trees, which bear golden fruit—the air is filled with the fragrance that breathes from the vineyards, and the bowers that never wither. Then there are temples in every grove, and the ruins of ancient cities, which people come to visit from every country. Do you wonder that he was happy in that lovely land?’ ‘No doubt, the inhabitants have much to be thankful for; but not more than we have. Would you, Ulea, be willing to exchange our own loved island for Italy, with all its charms?’ ‘No, dear mother, but I only wish Iceland was like it.’ ‘This is a vain, and I fear a sinful thought, and I shall tell Osman, when you walk with him again, to talk of something more profitable.’
“The fishermen were generally occupied in building or refitting boats for the approaching expedition, in which they were assisted by our hardy comrade, while Osman and myself were left to occupy or amuse ourselves as we chose. I remarked the gradual influence he was gaining over the unconscious heart of the young Ulea. I mourned over it, for I feared that he was incapable of a deep and lasting attachment. I saw that her family were blinded by their artless confidence, to the insidious poison that threatened to destroy their happiness. I could not bear to be the first to interrupt their peace. What should I do? I revolved in my mind the whole affair, and at last resolved that I would watch the conduct of Osman narrowly, and without being suspected, penetrate the secret of his soul. With this design I mingled more frequently in his pleasures, joined the little circle when he descanted on the scenes of his early life—beautiful Italy! whose charms were always associated with female loveliness, whose atmosphere breathed of love. This was the theme of his glowing narration, and his dark eye seemed to catch inspiration from the kindling blush of Ulea. After he had sung one or two of the most melting Italian airs, I was roused from my ruminating fit by Ulea's remarking—‘Steinkoff has grown very silent of late. Osman's songs, I believe, make him sad.’ ‘Quite otherwise,’ I replied, ‘and if he will listen, I will sing a song of the olden time myself.’ They exclaimed in one voice, ‘he will, he shall!’ ‘No need for compulsion,’ he said, ‘I will hear it with pleasure.’ Without prelude I began—
| Soon as the wintry blasts were o'er, The maiden roamed the vale, To hear the cheerful robin pour His sweet notes on the gale. Then he, the faithless-hearted knight, Told of his own lov'd bowers, Where birds sing in the chequered light To the bright opening flowers. And when the light of parting day Gleamed on the distant hill, She climbed the steep and rocky way, Or lingered by the rill. Then he, the faithless-hearted knight, Sung of that region bland, Where sunset paints with golden light, The skies, the sea, the land. When down the long, long night let fall Her curtains o'er the earth, And nature lay in silence, all Beneath the pall of death. Then he, the faithless-hearted knight, Spoke of his country fair— How the moon walks heaven in silv'ry light, And the breath of flowers, is the air. And he whispered the tale of love in her ear, And the maiden, believing his truth, Left the home of her childhood, but sorrow and care Fled with her, and faded her youth. |
I kept my eye on Osman: I wished to read his conscience. As the strain proceeded, his glance met mine; he saw my suspicions. Conscious that they were well founded, his countenance fell—he bit his lip in anger, and revenge fired his blood. Far differently was the innocent heart of Ulea wrought on. ‘I could weep,’ she said ‘for the poor maiden. Who would have thought the fair spoken knight would be false? But I hope it is only a tale of the olden time, fair and false as the lover of whom it sings.’ ‘It may be so,’ I said; ‘but let it serve as a warning to young maidens, how they listen to tales of love.’ Osman left the cottage while I was speaking. I saw the dark cloud lower on his brow, and I resolved to bring him to an acknowledgment of his passion, while he was under the influence of resentment—an unguarded hour with us all. I found him walking hurriedly, and muttering the words, ‘Villain, he shall pay dearly for this insult.’ I accosted him in a calm voice. I told him that my design was not to irritate or insult him, but to warn him in time of the danger of a passion which was growing upon himself daily, while he could not be insensible to the influence he was gaining over the affections of an unsuspecting girl. ‘And how does it concern you, cold hearted wretch,’ he exclaimed, ‘that I have excited the sympathy, the love of the only amiable being on this desolate island? Know, that love scorns the interference of such meddlers. It is enough that we can trust each other, and woe be to him who gives his counsel unadvisedly.’ With these last words he raised his arm in menace. ‘Osman,’ I replied, ‘you know I am superior to your threats. Unless you openly declare your love to the parents of Ulea, I shall consider myself bound to guard her from your arts.’ ‘Beware,’ he exclaimed, ‘how you injure me with her, or this dagger drinks your blood.’ Saying this, he strode away, and I returned with a heavy heart to the cottage. Not that I was personally afraid of Osman; I never feared the arm of man: but I had a trying office to perform—to destroy the confidence of an amiable family, to show them that they had cherished in their bosoms a serpent, instead of a friend. It was evident that Osman wished to conceal his passion even from her who was the object of it. I determined before another interview, to endeavor to awaken her to the impropriety and danger of giving any encouragement to his attentions. The following day he did not come as usual. ‘How long the day seems,’ said Korner, ‘when Osman does not come. Ulea thinks so too, for she has not spoken a word to-day.’ ‘I have been thinking,’ replied Ulea, ‘that he looked last night as if something disturbed him. Did you observe him, Steinkoff? I hope nothing has happened.’ I said in a low tone, ‘Nothing, I believe. Suppose we walk: perhaps we may meet him.’ She sprang forward, animated with the hope; and we followed the winding path by which he generally came. I proposed that we should see which of us could first attain the top of a picturesque eminence which hung over our path, and from which there was a fine view of the neighboring cottages. She readily consented to make the trial, and arriving at the goal first, exultingly chid my loitering steps. She little knew that my real motive was to obtain a private interview with her. I began by saying, ‘Osman's gait is fleeter than mine, Ulea.’ ‘O yes,’ she said, ‘I shall never forget the charming evening we came here together;’ and a bright smile irradiated her features. ‘His society is fascinating, but it may be dangerous to you. Already he has given you a distaste to the pleasures of your childhood, and he has presented in their place the attractions of an ideal world. Beware how you lend your pure and unsuspecting ear to the seductive charms of his conversation. He has confessed to me that he loves you; that you are the only being in this island that has power to interest him.’ ‘Oh! Steinkoff, ought you not rather to pity than to blame him? He has told me, that were it not for me, he would end his miserable existence—that every one else looks coldly on him. How can I think unkindly of him? He would protect me against all harm. When I told him of my cousin Ormond, who would not go into the far Greenland seas, until my father promised him that his little pet Ulea, should be his when he returned, he only said, May that day be distant, for then you will not care for Osman. And he asked me if I should be quite happy when I should be Ormond's wife.’ ‘And what was your answer?’ I asked anxiously. ‘I did not answer at all; because I have not seen him for a long time, and he seems like a stranger to me—I wish not to think of it now.’ I could no longer repress my indignation. ‘My dear girl,’ I said, ‘trust Osman no further, he will destroy your peace, your innocence. I know him well; for present gratification he would not scruple to involve your whole family in wretchedness. I say this, because I will not see impending ruin coming on the child of my benefactor, if I can avert it.’ I saw Ulea start, while surprise and terror were painted on her countenance. I turned to ascertain the cause, and beheld Osman within a few steps of me. ‘Wretch,’ he cried, ‘have you dared to betray me? Revenge has nerved my arm, and my sword shall drink your blood, even were the form I love best between us.’ At that instant he rushed upon me; but fury blinded his sight, and his weapon missed its aim. This redoubled his wrath; he prepared for another thrust, and my superior muscular strength could not have saved me from the mortal stroke, had not Ulea in a phrenzy of despair, thrown herself between us, and received in her side the stab that was intended for me. Time can never efface the horror of that moment, when I saw her fall under the murderous stroke, and the red current pouring from her side. ‘Monster!’ I exclaimed, ‘you have verified your threat. Would to God, this were my heart's blood instead of hers!’
“I raised the lifeless girl—I pressed her to my bosom. In the agony of my soul I entreated her to speak—to say that she forgave me. But all was silent, save the ebbing pulsations of her heart. Osman had fled the moment he saw what he had done. How should I obtain assistance, or even get a little water to revive her, if life was not extinct? Necessity is fruitful of invention—I lifted the pale form, and hastened to a near rivulet—I bathed her temples—I staunched the blood with the cooling current, and bound the wound with my handkerchief. I heard a faint sigh—I thought it was her last. Imagine my joy, when she opened her eyes, awaking as from a long sleep. I whispered, ‘Speak not, it will exhaust you; I will carry you home—you will soon be better.’ She cast her eyes towards heaven, to signify that her home would soon be there. I was advancing with a quick step, when I heard the voices of the children in search of us. They stopt their merry gambols, and stood in amazement. I broke the silence by telling them that Ulea was very ill, that they must run home and tell their mother not to be alarmed, but endeavor as soon as possible to prepare a cordial and a bed, for I should reach the cottage in a few minutes. I hoped this would be some preparation for what was to follow. The mother met me at the door, with a look of anguish and of doubt. I motioned to her to be silent, while we administered some of the restorative: we then laid Ulea on the bed. I watched by her a few moments, and seeing she had fallen into a gentle sleep, I took the hand of the agonized mother, whose suppressed sobs shook her whole frame. I supported her to a retired spot, where the burst of her grief might be unheard by the languid sufferer.