We now approach larger rocky islands, and the huge, grey, broken rocks of the main land, where dwarfish pine woods grow in a continual combat with the blast; the Skjaergaards sometimes become only a narrow canal, sometimes an extensive lake strewed with small islets, all of stone, and often only a mere block of stone, to which a single little fir-tree clings fast:  screaming sea-gulls flutter around the land-marks that are set up; and now we see a single farm-house, whose red-painted sides shine forth from the dark background.  A group of cows lies basking in the sun on the stony surface, near a little smiling pasture, which appears to have been cultivated here or cut out of a meadow in Scania.  How solitary must it not be to live on that little island!  Ask the boy who sits there by the cattle, he will be able to tell us.  “It is lively and merry here,” says he.  “The day is so long and light, the seal sits out there on the stone and barks in the early morning hour, and all the steamers from the canal must pass here.  I know them all; and when the sun goes down in the evening, it is a whole history to look into the clouds over the land:  there stand mountains with palaces, in silver and in gold, in red and in blue; sailing dragons with golden crowns, or an old giant with a beard down to his waist—­altogether of clouds, and they are always changing.

“The storms come on in the autumn, and then there is often much anxiety when father is out to help ships in distress; but one becomes, as it were, a new being.

“In winter the ice is locked fast and firm, and we drive from island to island and to the main land; and if the bear or the wolf pays us a visit we take his skin for a winter covering:  it is warm in the room there, and they read and tell stories about old times!”

Yes, old Time, how thou dost unfold thyself with remembrances of these very Skjaergaards—­old Time which belonged to the brave.  These waters, these rocky isles and strands, saw heroes more greatly active than actively good:  they swung the axe to give the mortal blow, or as they called it, “the whining Jetteqvinde."[E]

[Footnote E:  Giantess.]

Here came the Vikings with their ships:  on the headland yonder they levied provisions; the grazing cattle were slaughtered and borne away.  Ye mouldering cliffs, had ye but a tongue, ye might tell us about the duels with the two-handed sword—­about the deeds of the giants.  Ye saw the hero hew with the sword, and cast the javelin:  his left hand was as cunning as his right The sword moved so quickly in the air that there seemed to be three.  Ye saw him, when he in all his martial array sprang forwards and backwards, higher than he himself was tall, and if he sprang into the sea he swam like a whale.  Ye saw the two combatants:  the one darted his javelin, the other caught it in the air, and cast it back again, so that it pierced through shield and man down into the earth.  Ye saw warriors with sharp swords and angry hearts; the sword was struck downwards so as to cut the knee, out the combatant sprang into the air, and the sword whizzed under his feet.  Mighty Sagas from the olden times!  Mouldering rocks, could ye but tell us of these things!