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Chap. XXVIII.
HIARNØ—ALRØ.
13
level with tlie waters: this is the island of Hiarnø,*
death and burial-place of the poet king. A heap of
stones, carved over with ships of rude workmanship,
marks the place of his interment. His grave rests
undisturbed by the antiquaries, though not by the cattle;
for many years since a mad bull tore up the turf with
his horns and brought to light an ancient sword. The
labourer who inhabited the farm on which the grave
was situated declared that from that hour nothing but
ill-luck happened to him. And now in the background
rises the sister isle of Alrø, the resting-place of his
Queen Alruna. There is something poetic in the idea
of these two early Scandinavians, each sleeping in their
own small grassy isle, the waters of the horde Rowing
between them.
We coast by a wooded aitch, with an extensive
farm-house, the property of Baron Juel, Vaarsø by name; a
smaller, still green and desert, called Vaarsø’s Calf;
then come shipping, the towers of Horsens, windmills
hard at work on hilltop, none so busy as the Jutland
windmill. We land upon the pier, and, after ten minutes’
walk, take up our lodgings at Jørgensens.
* Hiame had reigned for some years when Friedlev the heir, whom
the Danes imagined to have been dead, returned to his native country,
and Hiame, after a battle in which he was worsted, fled to the island
of Hiarnø, disguised as a peasant: he later repairs to the court, and
gets employed as a salt-boiler in the Royal kitchen. Iio keeps his
person so dirty, the king oitlers him to be washed, after which he is
recognised. The king inquires of him “Did you come here to take my
life?” “No,” replies Hiame; “but to decide the matter by single
ÆpmbaQ’ Friedlev agrees, and Hiarne is slain and receives honourable
burial iu his own islartd.
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