CHAPTER XV.

Paternoster Rocks-Othorno of Ossian-Fingal and proud Starnö Alf and the Scots - The burying-place of Thor- Queen Ulrika's gold cradle-St. Olof's voyage - Blåkulla, the Gormaal of Ossian The fair Walborg-Lysekil - Legend of the last priest of Wiken.

ISLAND OF TJÖRN.

WE quitted Marstrand with regret, a place noted down in Hope's golden calendar to visit once again. Steamed past the Cow's five " Mouths," which, gaping wide, suck in the breakers, as though athirst; pass by the Paternoster rocks, so feared in olden times by mariners, who, at the sight of them, fell on their knees to pray, forgetful, or perhaps untaught, how "Ora et labora" should be man's motto. Small crosses, planted on the granite, tell sad tales; and, if you care to listen, each sailor will spin a yarn about some favourite tragedy. In the small church of Klädsholm, itself a landmark, hang little models of boats, or pots more useful still.

*Whitelocke mentions these Paternoster rocks, "so called for that the dreadfulness of them puts the passengers in mind of saying their prayers; and surely, that coast and country, being full of huge, tall, craggy, numberless company of rocks, especially at that time of the year, and scarce anything else to be seen, yielded a prospect full enough of dread and terror. Then stories of monstrous fishes in this seasome in the shape of giants-rising to the top of the water, coming to a ship's side, and snatching away men from the decks to the bottom of the sea. Then multitudinous tales of witches, and other dismal stories, neither persuade much credit, nor readiness to go thither to inquire into the truth of them."

level. The old clergyman of Tjörn declares, when he first came to his parish, the tower alone of the church of Stenkirke could be descried from his parsonage; now, after a lapse of thirty years, the roof of the building is distinctly visible.*

The rocks sparkle with mica, save in one place, where nature, in convulsions, has thrown up a vein of trap, volcanic matter, black, porous, and honeycombed, as though perforated by the shell of the pholas, worked by the action of the waves into armchairs and wild forms. The granite rocks are clad in gray lichen, but Dame Nature, who sees no virtue in sombre colours, has strewn the trap with one of a bright orange hue, a most effective contrast.

The sea catch-fly hangs with her wide-opening flowers to the cliff side. Nakna Jomfru,† the fishers call it; but to discover the maiden you must first strip off her snow-white petals and turn down her green calyx; then she presents the form of a half-dressed female with black cap and outstretched arms; so, at least, says fancy.

"A maiden, in the days of the fairies, vowed fidelity to her sailor lover, about to sail forth on a viking expedition. Prayed she, May the elves of the rocks accurse me should I prove unfaithful!' When her betrothed was gone she received the addresses of a sea-pirate, who nightly crossed the channel to visit her, buffeting the waves as did Leander of old. One eve she ran

*The north of Scandinavia is said by Swedish geologists to rise seven feet in the course of a century; the Gulf of Bothnia four and a half; Bohuslan, two; Marstrand, one; Norköping, two and nine inches.

†The naked maiden-Silene maritana.

to meet him, and there on the cliff she found, not her expected love, but the bleeding corpse of the sailor, who, on his return, apprised of her infidelity, had watched for the pirate, fought him, and both had fallen in the fray. The maiden stood horror-struck-as the wave rippled against the shore, a moonbeam falling on its crest disclosed for one second the ghastly features of him who had braved the waters for her sake, then closed over him for ever. The elves of the rocks, in punishment of her crime, and as a warning to all maidens betrothed to sailors, transformed her into this white flower, which hangs trailing down, to wait and watch, with arms outstretched, the coming of one who never will arrive to all eternity."

We clambered to St. Erik's cave and well, where early Apostles preached the faith long before the first island church was built by King Hako. St. Erik's well is still noted for its healing virtues. My companion told me how, when a boy, he was sent by an aged aunt, on St. John's eve, armed with three heavy bottles, to fetch the water, with which she bathed her eyes. Each pilgrim drops in a small coin, or, if poor, a needle, to get at which offering the well from time to time was cleaned out, and so kept sweet. When Tordenskiöld took Marstrand, the islanders fled to St. Erik's Rock for refuge; and in a stone cavern, still called "the lady's chamber," the wife of a rich merchant, Magnus Arvedson, bore a son, who was baptized in the well's waters-a poet known in Swedish literature as translator of Ossian. Hard by grow the dwarf cornel *

* "Cornus svecica." The red leaves are considered to possess tonic qualities, and to increase the appetite; hence its Gaelic name "Lus a chrasis "-plant of gluttony.

In churches on the wild sea-waste, far removed from human dwelling, iron and copper pots may still be found, thankofferings from grateful hearts; the church doors stood open, a refuge for those flung shipwrecked on the beach; and fuel was placed beside, that whoso sought shelter might prepare "warm food, and pray for the soul of the giver."

Now comes the isle of Tjörn, the Otorno of Ossian -Otorno in Lochlin,* "Land of the Waters." "Island of Waves and Storms" again the poet calls it, and Kumlens O-"Island of Cairns;" while about it he might have said "Scotch cairns," for they are heaped above the bones of his own countrymen.

Here long ago King Alf had his castle upon the Borge Berg, in the domains of Stordal, living for ever in warfare with the Scots. On one occasion they landed near Hummersund, and, advancing towards Alf's castle, endeavoured to storm it; Alf, sallying forth, drove back the enemy to the west, near Hoga. In both these places are numerous cairns, found to contain burnt bones and rusty iron, remains of the hostile Scots. At Hoga there were once eighty, but many have been destroyed; the largest, where the leader was interred, bears the name of Köngs-hugen. Round stones upon the hill mark the flight of the Scots from Hoga to their vessels at Hummersund, where they were again cut down at Mard-rik-the "Land of Murder."†

Ossian mentions three kings of Lochlin-Annir, his son Starno, and grandson Suaran. In Irish annals the Sea-kings are termed Lochlinach. In 852, when Olof King of Lochlin came to Erin, the Northern adventurer submitted to his yoke, the Irish paid him tribute, and he reigned in Dublin.

† Proud Starnö, says an old Scotch song, could not forgive the suc

The islanders in the days of herring fishery were well to do; still in the peasants' houses are found large silver drinking-cups-relics of good days gone by. In the fourteenth century Alexander III. of Scotland founded a church here; the natives declare Thor to be buried, along with his gold hammer, hard by Märkesten, and tell how, on his grave, there once stood a Runic stone, now embedded in a cellar wall; but Thor, in Scandinavia, has more burial-places than cats have lives. The women are fair; even Ossian sings of Strinandavine, fairest maid of Otorno:" but they are very superstitious, fear not only the evil eye, but an "ond tonga," which don't signify scandal or words of hate and malice, but kind words coming from a bad mouth. If by chance you meet a comely matron or freshfaced girl, and exclaim, "By Jove, what a pretty

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cesses of Fingal, so he asked him to come over and hunt in the Swedish woods, and offered him his daughter in marriage. Fingal arrived with his men at arms. The son of the snow had already determined on his death, and had set ambushes for him in the forest. Azandika-she of the snow-white heart-saw the hero and loved him. She sighed after him in secret; coming with her melancholy eyes, she addressed the King of Morvan thus: “Fingal, trust not the son of the snow. In the wood lie his champions awaiting thee. Beware! but save me from my father's wrath, oh king of the stormy Morvan!" Fingal, undaunted, conducted his heroes to the wood, the murderers rush forward to seize his sword, but fall beneath the weapon of the hero.

Outside the hill Starnö and the sons of the mountain are gathered in solemn assembly. The eyebrows of the king are as a frowning cloud, his eyes dark as the night. "Bring hither," he cries," Azandika to the King of Morvan. Her hand is stained with the blood of my people; her words have caused it." The maiden is led forward sighing deeply. Starnö pierces her side with the cold steel; she falls like a snow-flake to the earth.

Fingal looked at his warriors and his men-at-arms. They slew Starno and his people. Fingal took the pale maiden in his fast-sailing ship; her grave was dug on the shore of Ardwen; the sea roars around Azandika's dark resting-place.-Not at all to the credit of Fingal.