In fact, these old Norse songs have a truth in them—an inward perennial truth and greatness—as indeed all must have that can very long preserve itself by tradition alone. It is a greatness not of mere body and gigantic bulk, but a rude greatness of soul. There is a sublime uncomplaining melancholy traceable in these old hearts—a great free glance into the very deeps of thought. They seem to have seen—these brave old Northmen—what meditation has taught all men in all ages, that this world is after all but a show, a phenomenon or appearance, no real thing. All deep souls see into that—the Hindoo Mythologist, the German Philosopher, the Shakespeare, the earnest thinker wherever he may be—

"We are such stuff as dreams are made of!"