human
Can you continue this poem for me?
  Then a _b_and of _b_old knights     _b_usily gathered,
_K_een men at the _c_onflict;     with _c_ourage they stepped
forth,
_B_earing _b_anners,     _b_rave-hearted companions,
And _f_ared to the _f_ight,     _f_orth in right order,
_H_eroes under _h_elmets     from the _h_oly city
At the _d_awning of _d_ay;     _d_inned forth their shields
A _l_oud-voiced a_l_arm.     Now _l_istened in joy
The lank _w_olf in the _w_ood     and the _w_an raven,
_B_attle-hungry _b_ird,     _b_oth knowing well
That the _g_allant people     would _g_ive them soon
A _f_east on the _f_ated;     now _f_lew on their track
The _d_eadly _d_evourer,     the _d_ewy-winged eagle,
_S_inging his war _s_ong,     the _s_wart-coated bird,
The _h_orned of beak.
All on earth is     irksome to man.
The best diction to be used in such a translation is difficult to
The texts used as a standard for translation are indicated in the
Date: Probably late sixth or early seventh century.
Widsith now spoke,     his word-hoard unlocked,
He who traveled the widest     among tribes of men,
Farthest among folk:     on the floor he received
The rarest of gifts.     From the race of the Myrgings
The fair framer of peace,     for the first time
He sought the home     of the Hraeda king,
From the Angles in the East     --of Eormanric,
Fell and faithless.     Freely he spoke forth:
Every leader should live     a life of virtue;
One earl after the other     shall order his land,
He who wishes and works     for the weal of his throne!
Of these for a while     was Hwala the best,
Was most famous of lords,     and he flourished the most
Of all the earls     whom on earth I have known.
Attila ruled the Huns,     Eormanric the Goths,
Witta ruled the Swabians,     Wada the Haelsings,
Theodoric ruled the Franks,     Thyle the Rondings,
Oswine ruled the Eowas     and the Ytas Gefwulf;
Finn Folcwalding     ruled the Frisian people.
Sigehere ruled longest     the Sea-Dane's kingdom.
Hnaef ruled the Hocings,     Helm the Wulfings,
Sceafthere ruled the Ymbrians,     Sceafa the Lombards,
Hringweald was called     the king of the pirates.
Among these men     he was mightiest of all,
But he equalled not Offa     in earl-like deeds.
For Offa by arms     while only a child,
First among fighters     won the fairest of kingdoms;
In a single combat     in the siege of battle
He fixed the frontier     at Fifeldore
Against the host of the Myrgings,     which was held thenceforth
By Angles and Swabians     as Offa had marked it.
A neighborly compact,     the nephew and uncle,
After they had vanquished     the Viking races
And Ingeld's array     was overridden,
Hewed down at Heorot     the Heathobard troop.
All over the earth;     of evil and good
There I made trial,     torn from my people;
Far from my folk     I have followed my travels.
Therefore I sing     the song of my wanderings,
How gifts have been given me     by the great men of earth.
I was with the Huns     and with the Hraeda-Goths,
With the Hronas I was and with the Deanas     and with the
With the Thuringians I was     and with the Throwendas;
As reward for my song:     not slothful that king!
With the Franks I was and with the Frisians     and with the
He had, as I have heard,     a hand the readiest
For praiseworthy deeds     of prowess and daring;
With liberal heart     he lavished his treasures,
Shining armlets     --the son of Eadwine.
With the Greeks I was and with the Finns     and with far-famed
Who sat in rule     over the cities of revelry--
Over the riches and wealth     of the realm of the Welsh.
With the Scots I was and with the Picts     and with the
There the king of the Goths     gave me in honor
Of shining metal     in shillings counted;
I gave over this armlet     to Eadgils then,
To my kind protector     when I came to my home,
Who gave me the land     that was left by my father;
And Ealhhild then also     another ring gave me,
Queen of the doughty ones,     the daughter of Eadwine.
Her praise has passed     to all parts of the world,
Where I knew under heavens     the noblest of queens,
Golden-adorned,     giving forth treasures.
Then in company with Scilling,     in clear ringing voice
'Fore our beloved lord     I uplifted my song;
Then many men     with minds discerning
Spoke of our lay     in unsparing praise,
That they never had heard     a nobler song.
Then I roamed through all     the realm of the Goths;
The crowd of comrades     of the court of Eormanric.
Hethca sought I and Beadeca     and the Harlungs,
Emerca sought I and Fridla     and East-Gota,
Sage and noble,     the sire of Unwen.
Eadwine sought I and Elsa     Aegelmund and Hungar
And the worthy troop     of the With-Myrgings.
Wulfhere sought I and Wyrmhere:     there war was seldom lacking
Must wage their wars     by the woods of Vistula
To hold their homes     from the hordes of Attila.
Raedhere sought I and Rondhere,     Rumstan and Gislhere,
Though their names at the last     of my list are numbered.
Full oft from that host     the hissing spear
Fiercely flew on the     foemen's troopers.
There the wretches ruled     with royal treasure,
So I ever have found     as I fared among men
That in all the land     most beloved is he
To whom God giveth     a goodly kingdom
To hold as long     as he liveth here.
Minstrels of men     through many lands,
Express their needs     and speak their thanks.
Ever south and north     some one they meet
Skillful in song     who scatters gifts,
To do deeds of honor,     till all shall depart,
Light and life together:     lasting praise he gains,
And has under heaven     the highest of honor.
equivalent of the Gothic Sunilda and the Northern Swanhild."
myth-cycle, which was told in Europe for many centuries. It is
difficult to reconstruct the story as it was known at the time
identified with the modern Lapps.
conclusion of a poem descriptive of the life of a minstrel.
stupefying Beadohild with liquor, puts her to shame.]
To Weland came woes     and wearisome trial,
And cares oppressed     the constant earl;
His lifelong companions     were pain and sorrow,
And winter-cold weeping:     his ways were oft hard,
Cut the supple sinew-bands     of the sorrowful earl.
That has passed over:     so this may depart!
Beadohild bore     her brothers' death
Less sorely in soul     than herself and her plight
That unwed she should bear     a babe to the world.
She never could think     of the thing that must happen.
That has passed over:     so this may depart!
Much have we learned     of Maethhild's life:
How love and its sorrows     allowed him no sleep.
That has passed over:     so this may depart!
Theodoric held     for thirty winters
The town of the Maerings:     that was told unto many.
We all have heard     of Eormanric
Of the wolfish heart:     a wide realm he had
Of the Gothic kingdom.     Grim was the king.
Many men sat     and bemoaned their sorrows,
That the cruel king     might be conquered at last.
That has passed over:     so this may depart!
Sad in his soul     he sitteth joyless,
Mournful in mood.     He many times thinks
Then must he think     how throughout the world
The gracious God     often gives his help
And manifold honors     to many an earl
And sends wide his fame;     but to some he gives woes.
That I was happy once     as the Heodenings' scop,
Dear to my lord.     Deor was my name.
assistant
Sure, a continuation for this poem could be:
  Many winters I found     a worthy following,
Held my lord's heart,     till Heorrenda came,
That the proud helm of earls     had once promised to me!
That has passed over:     so this may depart!
Date: Probably eighth century.
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     she eagerly heartened him:
"Lo, the work of Weland     shall not weaken or fail
For the man who the mighty     Mimming can wield,
The frightful brand.     Oft in battle have fallen
Endure the conflict!     The day is now come,
Through all the ages,     O Aelfhere's son!
No fault do I find,     my faithful lover,
Saying I have seen thee     at sword-play weaken,
Yield like a coward     to a conqueror's arms,
Protect thy body,     though bands of the foemen
Were smiting thy burnies     with broad-edged swords;
But unfalt'ring still farther     the fight thou pursuedst
Over the line of battle;     hence, my lord, I am burdened
To wage on him war.     Be worthy of thyself
In glorious deeds     while thy God protects thee!
Have no fear as to sword     for the fine-gemmed weapon
Thou shalt pay back the wrong     of unrighteously seeking
To stir up the struggle     and strife of battle;
The lustrous gems;     now, leaving them all,
His ancient land,     or lie here forever
" .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     a better sword
Except that other,     which also I have
I know that Theodoric     thought that to Widia
Worked all with gold.     This reward he would send
Because, when a captive,     the kinsman of Nithhad,
Weland's son, Widia,     from his woes had released him--
He held in his hand     his helper in battle,
He grasped his weapon,     shouting words of defiance:
"Indeed, thou hadst faith,     O friend of the Burgundians,
Defeated me on foot.     Fetch now, if thou darest,
From me weary with war     my worthy gray corselet!
It lies on my shoulder     as 'twas left me by Aelfhere,
Goodly and gorgeous     and gold-bedecked,
When he goes into battle     to guard his life,
To fight with his foes:     fail me it will never
When a stranger band     shall strive to encounter me,
Besiege me with swords,     as thou soughtest to do.
Is eager and ready     to aid every right:
He who hopes for the help     of the holy Lord,
For the grace of God,     shall gain it surely,
If his earlier work     has earned the reward.
Take pride in their property!     That is  .  .  .  ."
praises his equipment.
Alliterative translation, Gummere, _Oldest English Epic_, p. 160.
".  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     Are the gables not burning?"
Boldly replied then     the battle-young king:
"The day is not dawning;     no dragon is flying,
And the high gable-horns     of the hall are not burning,
While bloodthirsty sing     the birds of slaughter.
Now clangs the gray corselet,     clashes the war-wood,
Shield answers shaft.     Now shineth the moon,
Through its cover of clouds.     Now cruel days press us
But wake at once,     my warriors bold,
Stand now to your armor     and strive for honor;
Fight at the front     unafraid and undaunted."
Then arose from their rest,     ready and valiant,
The noble knights     went now to the door
And seized their swords,     Sigeferth and Eaha,
And to the other door     Ordlaf and Guthlaf,
And Hengest who followed     to help the defense.
Lest fearless at the first     of the fight he rush
To the door and daringly     endanger his life,
Since now it was stormed     by so stalwart a hero.
But unchecked by these words     a challenge he shouted,
"I am Sigferth," he said,     "the Secgan's prince;
Wide have I wandered;     many woes have I known
And bitter battles.     Be it bad or good
Thou shalt surely receive     what thou seekest from me."
In the hands of heroes     the hollow bucklers
Shattered the shields.     Shook then the hall floor
Till there fell in the fight     the faithful Garulf,
Most daring and doughty     of the dwellers on earth,
O'er the corpses hovered     the hungry raven,
Swarthy and sallow-brown.     A sword-gleam blazed
As though all Finnsburg     in flames were burning.
Never heard I of heroes     more hardy in war,
Of swains who repaid     their sweet mead better
Than his loyal liegemen     to their loved Hnaef.
Five days they fought,     but there fell not a one
Of the daring band,     though the doors they held always.
He said that his burnie     was broken asunder,
His precious war-gear,     and pierced was his helmet.
Then questioned their chief     and inquired of him
How the warriors recovered     from the wounds they received,
Grendon divides the charms into five classes:
benedicti; _and_ Pater Noster _as often as anything else_.
I pray to the God of glory;     I pray to the gracious Lord;
I pray to the high and holy     Heavenly Father;
I pray to the earth     and all of the heavens,
And to the true and virtuous     virgin Saint Mary,
That with God's blessing     I may unbind this spell
With my open teeth,     and through trusty thought
May awaken the growth     for our worldly advantage,
May fill these fields     by fast belief,
That he hath honors on earth     whose alms are free,
Who wisely gives,     by the will of God.
Erce, Erce, Erce,     of earth the mother,
May he graciously grant thee,     God Eternal,
Growing in profit     and gaining in power;
A host of products     and harvests in plenty,
Bright with the broad     barley harvest;
And heavy with the white     harvest of wheat,
That against all of the enemies     this earth may be guarded,
Protected and made proof     against the powers of evil,
Against sorceries and spells     dispersed through the land.
That no woman of witchcraft,     no worker of magic,
May change or unspell     the charm I have spoken.
_Then drive forth the plow and turn the first furrow and say:_
Be goodly thy growth     in God's embrace,
Filled with food     as a favor to men.
Full be the field     with food for mankind,
Blossoming brightly.     Blessed by thou
By the holy name     of Heaven's Creator,
May God who created the ground     grant us growing gifts,
That each kernel of corn     may come to use.
Christian and pagan ideas.
Loud were they, lo loud,     as over the lea they rode;
Protect thyself that thy trouble     become cured and healed.
Out, little stick,     if it still is
I stood under the linden,     under the light shield,
Where the mighty women     their magic prepared,
But I will send them     a spear in return,
Unerringly aim     an arrow against them.
Out, little stick,     if it still is within!
There sat a smith     and a small knife forged
Out little stick     if it still is within!
Six smiths sat and     worked their war-spears.
Out, spear!     be not in, spear!
If it still is there,     the stick of iron,
If thou wert shot in the skin,     or sore wounded in the flesh,
your life.
If some deity shot it,     or some devil shot it,
devil's shot;
Be thou wholly healed.     Thy help be from God.
_30_ _Then take the knife and put it into the liquid._
Date: Probably eighth century for most of them.
What man is so clever,     so crafty of mind,
As to say for a truth     who sends me a-traveling?
When I rise in my wrath,     raging at times,
Savage is my sound.     Sometimes I travel,
And ravage and rob them;     then rolls the smoke
Gray over the gables;     great is the noise,
The death-struggle of the stricken.     Then I stir up the woods
And the fruitful forests;     I fell the trees,
Wandering widely     at the will of heaven.
I bear on my back     the bodily raiment,
The fortunes of folk,     their flesh and their spirits,
Together to sea. Say who may cover me,
At times I travel     in tracks undreamed of,
In vasty wave-depths     to visit the earth,
The floor of the ocean.     Fierce is the sea
.  .  .  .  .  .  .     the foam rolls high;
The streams beat the shores,     and they sling at times
Great stones and sand     on the steep cliffs,
With weeds and waves,     while wildly striving
Under the burden of billows     on the bottom of ocean
I leave not ere he lets me     who leads me always
In all my travels.     Tell me, wise man,
Who was it that drew me     from the depth of the ocean
When the streams again     became still and quiet,
At times I am fast     confined by my Master,
Who sendeth forth     under the fertile plain
My broad bosom,     but bridles me in.
He drives in the dark     a dangerous power
Sits the weight of the world.     No way of escape
Can I find from the torment;     so I tumble about
The homes of heroes.     The halls with their gables,
The tribe-dwellings tremble;     the trusty walls shake,
Over all the country     and calm the waters,
Till I press in my fury     from my prison below,
Obeying His bidding     who bound me fast
In fetters at first     when he fashioned the world,
From his power who points out     the paths I must follow.
Downward at times     I drive the waves,
Stir up the streams;     to the strand I press
The flint-gray flood:     the foamy wave
Rises on the deep;     dark in its trail
Stirred up with the sea     a second one comes,
And close to the coast     it clashes and strikes
On the lofty hills.     Loud soundeth the boat,
The stone cliffs steep     through the strife of the waters,
The dashing of waves,     when the deadly tumult
Crowds to the coast.     Of cruel strife
The sailors are certain     if the sea drive their craft
They are sure that the ship     will be shorn of its power,
Be deprived of its rule,     and will ride foam-covered
On the ridge of the waves.     Then ariseth a panic,
Fear among folk     of the force that commands me,
At times I drive     through the dark wave-vessels
That ride on my back,     and wrench them asunder
And lash them with sea-streams;     or I let them again
Glide back together.     It is the greatest of noises,
When clouds as they strive     in their courses shall strike
Edge against edge;     inky of hue
In flight o'er the folk     bright fire they sweat,
A stream of flame;     destruction they carry
Fighting they fare.     They let fall from their bosom
A deafening rain     of rattling liquid,
Of storm from their bellies.     In battle they strive,
The awful army;     anguish arises,
Distress in the strongholds,     when the stalking goblins,
The pale ghosts shoot     with their sharp weapons.
The fool alone fears not     their fatal spears;
But he perishes too     if the true God send
Whizzing and whistling     the whirlwind's arrows,
The flying death.     Few shall survive
Whom that violent guest     in his grimness shall visit.
I always stir up     that strife and commotion;
Powerfully strive     and press through the tumult,
Over the bosom of the billows;     bursteth loudly
The gathering of elements.     Then again I descend
In my helmet of air     and hover near the land,
Minding the mandates     of the mighty Lord.
So I, a tried servant,     sometimes contend:
Now under the earth;     now from over the waves
I drive to the depths;     now dropping from heaven,
Where I war with the welkin.     Wide do I travel,
Swift and noisily.     Say now my name,
Or who raises me up     when rest is denied me,
Or who stays my course     when stillness comes to me?
A lonely warrior,     I am wounded with iron,
Scarred with sword-points,     sated with battle-play,
Weary of weapons.     I have witnessed much fighting,
Much stubborn strife.     From the strokes of war
Ere I pass from the world     with the proud warrior band.
With brands and billies     they beat upon me;
The hard edges hack me;     the handwork of smiths
In crowds I encounter;     with courage I endure
And no doctor to heal me     in the whole field of battle,
To bind me with ointments     and bring me to health,
But my grievous gashes     grow ever sorer
Through death-dealing strokes     by day and night.
My robe is noiseless     when I roam the earth,
Or stay in my home,     or stir up the water.
At times I am lifted     o'er the lodgings of men
By the aid of my trappings     and the air above.
Bears me on its bosom.     My beautiful ornament,
My raiment rustles     and raises a song,
Sings without tiring.     I touch not the earth
But wander a stranger     over stream and wood.
With my mouth I am master     of many a language;
Cunningly I carol;     I discourse full oft
In melodious lays;     loud do I call,
Ever mindful of melody,     undiminished in voice.
Solace in cities;     when, skillful in music,
My voice I raise,     restful at home
They sit in silence.     Say what is my name,
That call so clearly     and cleverly imitate
Words full welcome     with my wonderful voice.
I was once an armed warrior.     Now the worthy youth
Gorgeously gears me     with gold and silver,
Curiously twisted.     At times men kiss me.
Sometimes I sound     and summon to battle
Across the border.     The courser of the sea
Now bears me o'er the billows,     bright in my trappings.
Fills my bosom with beer.     On the board now I lie
Now fair in my fretwork     at the feast I hang
In my place on the wall     while warriors drink.
Now brightened for battle,     on the back of a steed
A war-chief shall bear me.     Then the wind I shall breathe,
At times with my voice     I invite the heroes,
The warriors to wine;     or I watch for my master,
And sound an alarm     and save his goods,
Put the robber to flight.     Now find out my name.
My throat is like snow,     and my sides and my head
Are a swarthy brown;     I am swift in flight.
Battle-weapons I bear;     on my back stand hairs,
And also on my cheeks.     O'er my eyes on high
On the green grass.     Grief comes upon me
If the slaughter-grim hunter     shall see me in hiding,
Shall find me alone     where I fashion my dwelling,
Bold with my brood.     I abide in this place
Hence, trembling I carry     my terrified children
Far from their home     and flee unto safety.
If he crowds me close     as he comes behind,
Meet my furious foe     (it were foolish to do so),
But, wildly rushing,     I work a road
Through the high hill     with my hands and feet.
I fail not in defending     my family's lives;
Through a secret hole     inside the hill,
My beloved brood,     no longer need I
Fear the offense     of the fierce-battling dogs.
Follows me close,     he will fail not of conflict,
Of a warm encounter,     when he comes on my war-path,
If I reach, in my rage,     through the roof of my hill
And deal my deadly     darts of battle
considered "badger" seems on the whole the more reasonable.
My name is spelled _AGOB_     with the order reversed.
I am marvelously fashioned     and made for fighting.
When I am bent     and my bosom sends forth
Its poisoned stings,     I straightway prepare
As soon as my master,     who made me for torment,
Loosens my limbs,     my length is increased
Till I vomit the venom     with violent motions,
The swift-killing poison     I swallowed before.
Not one that I spoke of     shall speed from the fight,
If there falls on him first     what flies from my belly.
He pays with his strength     for the poisonous drink,
For the fatal cup     which forfeits his life.
Unbound I shall fail.     Now find out my name.
A stern destroyer     struck out my life,
Deprived me of power;     he put me to soak,
Dipped me in water,     dried me again,
And set me in the sun,     where I straightway lost
Of the keen knife cut me     and cleansed me of soil;
Then fingers folded me.     The fleet quill of the bird
With speedy drops     spread tracks often
Over the brown surface,     swallowed the tree-dye,
Traveled a black track.     With protecting boards
Then a crafty one covered me,     enclosed me with hide,
Made me gorgeous with gold.     Hence I am glad and rejoice
At the smith's fair work     with its wondrous adornments.
Of the Sovereign of nations!     Read me not as a penance!
If the children of men     will cherish and use me,
They shall be safer and sounder     and surer of victory,
More unfailing in wisdom.     More friends shall they have,
Dear and trusty,     and true and good,
And faithful always,     whose honors and riches
Shall increase with their love,     and who cover their friends
With loving arms.     I ask how men call me
Who aid them in need.     My name is far famed.
I am helpful to men,     and am holy myself.
XLV. Dough
In a corner I heard     a curious weak thing
Swelling and sounding     and stirring its cover.
On that boneless body     a beautiful woman
Laid hold with her hands;     the high-swelled thing
She covered with a cloth,     the clever lord's daughter.
XLVII. A Bookworm
A moth ate a word.     To me that seemed
A curious happening     when I heard of that wonder,
That a worm should swallow     the word of a man,
A thief in the dark     eat a thoughtful discourse
I stood on the strand     to the sea-cliffs near,
Hard by the billows.     To the home of my birth
Fast was I fixed.     Few indeed are there
Of men who have ever     at any time
In the brown embrace     of the billows and waves
I was locked each dawn.     Little I dreamed
That early or late     I ever should
With men at the mead-feast     mouthless speak forth
And strange to the sight     when one sees it first
That the edge of a knife     and the active hand
And wit of the earl     who wields the blade
Should bring it about     that I bear unto thee
Boldly announce it,     so that no other man
May speak our secrets     or spread them abroad.
All frost shall freeze,     fire consume wood,
Earth grow its fruits.     Ice shall bridge water,
Which shall carry its cover     and cunningly lock
The fetter of frost,     the Father Almighty.
Winter shall away,     the weather be fair,
The sun hot in summer.     The sea shall be restless.
The deep way of death     is the darkest of secrets.
The goods of a dead man.     Glory is best.
A king shall with cups     secure his queen,
Buy her with bracelets.     Both shall at first
Be generous with gifts.     Then shall grow in the man
Cherished by the folk;     cheerful of mood,
She shall keep all counsel     and in kindness of heart
Give horses and treasure;     before the train of heroes
With full measure of mead     on many occasions
Shall hold the cup high     and hand him to drink
Like a worthy wife.     Wisely shall counsel
The two who hold     their home together.
The ship shall be nailed,     the shield be bound,
When he lands in the haven,
To the Frisian wife     is the welcome one dear:
The boat is at hand     and her bread-winner home,
Her own provider.     She invites him in
And washes his sea-stained garments     and gives him new ones to
Woman shall be wedded to man,     and her wickedness oft shall
disgrace him;
Some are firm in their faith,     some forward and curious
And shall love a stranger     while their lord is afar.
A sailor is long on his course,     but his loved one awaits his
coming,
For his home return, if his health permit,     and the heaving
waters
High over his head     do not hold him imprisoned.
Full often through the grace     of God it happens
That man and wife     to the world bring forth
A babe by birth;     they brightly adorn it,
And tend it and teach it     till the time comes on
Have grown in strength     and sturdy grace.
It is fondled and fed     by father and mother
And gladdened with gifts.     God alone knows
What fate shall be his     in the fast-moving years.
To be snatched away     by sudden death
In woeful wise.     The wolf shall devour him,
The hoary heath-dweller.     Heart-sick with grief,
His mother shall mourn him;     but man cannot change it.
One shall lead his life     without light in his eyes,
Shall feel his way fearing.     Infirm in his step,
One his wounds shall bewail,     his woeful pains--
One from the top     of a tree in the woods
Without feathers shall fall,     but he flies none the less,
Swoops in descent     till he seems no longer
The forest tree's fruit:     at its foot on the ground
On the roots now lies     his lifeless body.
One shall fare afoot     on far-away paths,
Shall bear on his back     his burdensome load,
Tread the dewy track     among tribes unfriendly
To welcome the wanderer.     The woeful face
Of the hapless outcast     is hateful to men.
One shall end life     on the lofty gallows;
Dead shall he hang     till the house of his soul,
His eyes shall be plucked     by the plundering raven,
The sallow-hued spoiler,     while soulless he lies,
And helpless to fight     with his hands in defense
Against the grim thief.     Gone is his life.
The body all bleached     shall abide its fate;
The death-mist shall drown him--     doomed to disgrace.
The body of one     shall burn on the fire;
The flame shall feed     on the fated man,
In the lurid glow.     Loud weeps the mother
As her boy in the brands     is burned to ashes.
One the sword shall slay     as he sits in the mead-hall
Angry with ale;     it shall end his life,
One shall meet his death     through the drinking of beer,
Maddened with mead,     when no measure he sets
To the words of his mouth     through wisdom of mind;
He shall lose his life     in loathsome wise,
And men shall know him     by the name of self-slayer,
Shall deplore with their mouths     the mead-drinker's fall.
One his hardships of youth     through the help of God
Overcomes and brings     his burdens to naught,
He shall prosper in pleasure,     in plenty and wealth,
With flourishing family     and flowing mead--
For such worthy rewards     may one well wish to live!
Thus many the fortunes     the mighty Lord
Dispenses powers     as his pleasure shall lead him.
One is favored with fortune;     one failure in life;
One pleasure in youth;     one prowess in war,
The sternest of strife;     one in striking and shooting
One is crafty and cunning.     A clerk shall one be,
Weighted with wisdom.     Wonderful skill
Is one granted to gain     in the goldsmith's art;
Full often he decks     and adorns in glory
Grants him broad lands,     which he gladly receives.
One shall give pleasure     to people assembled
On the benches at beer,     shall bring to them mirth,
Where drinkers are draining     their draughts of joy.
Of his lord shall sit     and receive a reward;
Fast shall his fingers     fly o'er the strings;
Daringly dancing     and darting across,
With his nails he shall pluck them.     His need is great.
The hawk on his hand,     till the haughty bird
Grows quiet and gentle;     jesses he makes him,
Feeds in fetters     the feather-proud hawk,
The daring air-treader     with daintiest morsels,
Hooded and belled,     he obeys his master,
Tamed and trained     as his teacher desires.
Thus in wondrous wise     the Warden of Glory
Through every land     has allotted to men
To all men on earth     of every race.
For the graces granted     let us give him thanks--
For his manifold mercies     to the men of earth.
Often the lonely one     longs for honors,
The grace of God,     though, grieved in his soul,
Over the waste of the waters     far and wide he shall
Row with his hands     through the rime-cold sea,
So the wanderer spake,     his woes remembering,
His misfortunes in fighting     and the fall of his kinsmen:
"Often alone     at early dawn
I make my moan!     Not a man now lives
And tell of its trials.     In truth I know well
That there belongs to a lord     an illustrious trait,
To fetter his feelings     fast in his breast,
To keep his own counsel     though cares oppress him.
Nor may the troubled in thought     attempt to get aid.
Therefore the thane     who is thinking of glory
Binds in his breast     his bitterest thoughts.
So I fasten with fetters,     confine in my breast
In a foreign country     far from my kinsmen.
I long ago laid     my loyal patron
In sorrow under the sod;     since then I have gone
Weary with winter-care     over the wave's foamy track,
In the home and the hall     of a host and ring-giver,
Who, mindful of mercy     in the mead-hall free,
In kindness would comfort     and care for me friendless,
Would treat me with tenderness.     The tried man knows
For him who has few     of friends and loved ones:
He trails the track of the exile;     no treasure he has,
But heart-chilling frost--     no fame upon earth.
He recalls his comrades     and the costly hall-gifts
He who lacks for long     his lord's advice,
His love and his wisdom,     learns full well
How sorrow and slumber     soothe together
He seems in his sleep     to see his lord;
He kisses and clasps him,     and inclines on his knee
His hands and his head     as in happier days
When he experienced the pleasure     of his prince's favors.
He sees full before him     the fallow waves,
The sea-birds bathing     and beating their wings,
Frost and snow falling     with freezing hail.
Then heavier grows     the grief of his heart,
His kinsmen's memory     he calls to his mind,
And eagerly greets it;     in gladness he sees
His valiant comrades.     Then they vanish away.
In the soul of a sailor     no songs burst forth,
Who sends his soul     o'er the sea full oft,
Over the welling waves     his wearied heart.
Hence I may not marvel,     when I am mindful of life,
That my sorrowing soul     grows sick and dark,
How they are suddenly snatched     from the seats of their power,
And droops and dies     each day and hour;
And no man is sage     who knows not his share
Not too hot in his heart,     nor too hasty in words,
Nor too weak in war,     nor unwise in his rashness,
Nor too forward nor fain,     nor fearful of death,
Nor too eager and arrogant     till he equal his boasting.
Till, restraining his thoughts,     he thoroughly knows
Where his vain words of vaunting     eventually will lead him.
The sage man perceives     how sorrowful it is
When all the wealth of the world     lies wasted and scattered.
Stormed on by winds     the walls are standing
Rimy with hoar-frost,     and the roofs of the houses;
The wine-halls are wasted;     far away are the rulers,
Deprived of their pleasure.     All the proud ones have fallen,
In its bloody embrace;     some birds have carried
Over the high seas;     to some the hoar wolf
Has dealt their death;     some with dreary faces
By earls have been exiled     in earth-caves to dwell:
Till the proud one's pleasure     has perished utterly,
And the old work of the giants     stands worthless and joyless.
He who the waste of this wall-stead     wisely considers,
And looks down deep     at the darkness of life,
Much struggle and spoil     and speaks these words:
'Where are the horses? Where are the heroes?
Where are the high treasure-givers?
Alas the bright wine-cup!     Alas the burnie-warriors!
Under the shadow of night     as it never had been!
Over the trusty troop     now towers full high
A wall adorned     with wondrous dragons.
The strength of the spear     has destroyed the earls,
And the storms strike down     on the stony cliffs;
The snows descend     and seize all the earth
In the dread of winter;     then darkness comes
And dusky night-shade.     Down from the north
All on earth is     irksome to man;
Oft changes the work of the fates,     the world under the
firmament.
Here treasure is fleeting;     here true friends are fleeting;
Here comrades are fleeting;     here kinsmen are fleeting.
So says the sage one in mind,     as he sits and secretly
ponders.
Good is the man who is true to his trust;     never should he
betray anger,
Divulge the rage of his heart     till the remedy he knows
That quickly will quiet his spirit.     The quest of honor is a
noble pursuit;
probable that the poems of this group have no relation with one
Anglo-Saxon poetry as "the old work of the giants."
I will sing of myself     a song that is true,
Tell of my travels     and troublesome days,
How often I endured     days of hardship;
Bitter breast-care     I have borne as my portion,
Awful welling of waves;     oft on watch I have been
On the narrow night-wakes     at the neck of the ship,
When it crashed into cliffs;     with cold often pinched
Were my freezing feet,     by frost bound tight
Hot around my heart.     Hunger tore within
My sea-weary soul.     To conceive this is hard
For the landsman who lives     on the lonely shore--
How, sorrowful and sad     on a sea ice-cold,
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     deprived of my kinsmen,
Hung about by icicles;     hail flew in showers.
There I heard naught     but the howl of the sea,
The ice-cold surge     with a swan-song at times;
The sea-bird's song     for sayings of people,
For the mead-drink of men     the mew's sad note.
Storms beat on the cliffs,     'mid the cry of gulls,
Icy of feather;     and the eagle screamed,
With merciful kindness     my misery to conquer.
Of this little can he judge     who has joy in his life,
And, settled in the city,     is sated with wine,
And proud and prosperous--     how painful it is
Night shadows descended;     it snowed from the north;
The world was fettered with frost;     hail fell to the earth,
The coldest of corns.
Yet course now desires
Which surge in my heart     for the high seas,
My soul constantly kindles     in keenest impatience
To fare itself forth     and far off hence
To seek the strands     of stranger tribes.
There is no one in this world     so o'erweening in power,
So daring in his deeds,     so dear to his lord,
But that he leaves the land     and longs for the sea.
By the grace of God     he will gain or lose;
Nor hearkens he to harp     nor has heart for gift-treasures,
Save in the welling of waves     no whit takes he pleasure;
But he ever has longing     who is lured by the sea.
The forests are in flower     and fair are the hamlets;
The woods are in bloom,     the world is astir:
Sends the seeker     of seas afar
To try his fortune     on the terrible foam.
The cuckoo warns     in its woeful call;
The summer-ward sings,     sorrow foretelling,
For the man of pleasure,     what many with patience
Endure who dare     the dangers of exile!
In my bursting breast     now burns my heart,
My spirit sallies     over the sea-floods wide,
To the bounds of the world     and back at once,
Eagerly, longingly;     the lone flyer beckons
My soul unceasingly     to sail o'er the whale-path,
Over the waves of the sea.
Sorrowfully I sing     my song of woe,
My tale of trials.     In truth I may say
That the buffets I have borne     since my birth in the world
Were never more than now,     either new or old.
Long since went my lord     from the land of his birth,
Over the welling waves.     Woeful at dawn I asked
Where lingers my lord,     in what land does he dwell?
Then I fared into far lands     and faithfully sought him,
His treacherous tribesmen     contrived a plot,
The width of a world,     where with weary hearts
We live in loneliness,     and longing consumes me.
Alas, in this land     my loved ones are few,
My faithful friends!     Hence I feel great sorrow
That the man well-matched     with me I have found
To be sad in soul     and sorrowful in mind,
Though blithe in his bearing.     Oft we bound us by oath
That the day of our death     should draw us apart,
Nothing less end our love.     Alas, all is changed!
Now is as naught,     as if never it were,
Endure the hate     of one dear to my heart!
He condemned me to dwell     in a darksome wood,
Under an oak-tree     in an earth-cave drear.
Old is the earth-hall.     I am anxious with longing.
Bleak the tribe-dwellings,     with briars entangled,
Unblessed abodes.     Here bitterly I have suffered
The faring of my lord afar.     Friends there are on earth
Living in love,     in lasting bliss,
Under the oak-tree     the earth-cave near.
Sadly I sit there     the summer-long day,
Wearily weeping     my woeful exile,
My many miseries.     Hence I may not ever
Nor all the longings     of my life of woe.
Always may the young man     be mournful of spirit,
Unhappy of heart,     and have as his portion
Many sorrows of soul,     unceasing breast-cares,
Be his joys in the world.     Wide be his exile
To far-away folk-lands     where my friend sits alone,
A stranger under stone-cliffs,     by storm made hoary,
A weary-souled wanderer,     by waters encompassed,
Unmeasured mind-care:     he remembers too oft
A happier home.     To him is fate cruel
Who lingers and longs for     the loved one's return!
First I shall freely     confide to you
The tale of this tablet of wood.     As a tree I grew up
On the coast of Mecealde,     close by the sea.
Frequently thence     to foreign lands
In the keel of the ship     at a king's behest.
Full oft on the bosom     of a boat I have dwelt,
Fared over the foam     a friend to see,
Wherever my master     on a mission sent me,
On the deck of a ship     and in duty inquire
How now in your heart     you hold and cherish
The love of my lord.     Loyalty unwavering
I affirm without fear     you will find in his heart.
O bracelet-adorned one,     to bring to thy mind
And impress on thy heart     the promises of love
That ye two in the old days     often exchanged
While at home in your halls     unharmed you might still
Dwell in the same country.     He was driven by feud
From the powerful people.     He prays now, most earnestly
That you learn with delight     you may launch on the sea-stream
When from the height of the hill     you hear from afar
Let not thereafter     any living man
Prevent thy voyage     or prevail against it.
Seek now the shore,     the sea-mew's home!
Embark on the boat     that bears thee south,
Where lingers thy lover     in longing and hope.
In the width of the world     not a wish or desire
More strongly stirs him     (he instructs me to say)
Than that gracious God     should grant you to live
To distribute treasures     to retainers and friends,
To give rings of gold.     Of gilded cups
And of proud possessions     a plenty he has,
And holds his home     far hence with strangers,
High-spirited heroes--     though here my liege-lord,
Forced by the fates,     took flight on a ship
And on the watery waves     went forth alone
To fare on the flood-way:     fain would he escape,
Won the fight against woe.     No wish will he have
Nor any earl's treasures     on earth to be found,
O gentle lord's daughter,     if he have joy in thee,
I set as a sign     S and R together,
E, A, W, and D,     as an oath to assure you
That he stays for thee still     and stands by his troth;
And as long as he lives     it shall last unbroken,--
Wondrous is its wall-stone     laid waste by the fates.
The burg-steads are burst,     broken the work of the giants.
The roofs are in ruins,     rotted away the towers,
The fortress-gate fallen,     with frost on the mortar.
Eaten under by age.     The earth holds fast
The master masons:     low mouldering they lie
In the hard grip of the grave,     till shall grow up and perish
A hundred generations.     Hoary and stained with red,
Still remains its wall-stone,     struck down by weapons.
They have fallen     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
Ground down by grim fate     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
The cunning creation     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     from its clay covering is bent;
Mind   .  .  .  .  .  .     the swift one drawn.
The bold ones in counsel     bound in rings
Many mead-halls,     where men took their pleasure,
Till an end came to all,     through inexorable fate.
The people all have perished;     pestilence came on them:
Their proud works of war     now lie waste and deserted;
This fortress has fallen.     Its defenders lie low,
Its repairmen perished.     Thus the palace stands dreary,
And its purple expanse;     despoiled of its tiles
Broken in heaps     --there where heroes of yore,
Glad-hearted and gold-bedecked,     in gorgeous array,
Wanton with wine-drink     in war-trappings shone:
In the firm-built fortress     of a far-stretching realm.
The stone courts stood;     hot streams poured forth,
Wondrously welled out.     The wall encompassed all
In its bright embrace.     Baths were there then,
They let then pour     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
Over the hoary stones     the heated streams,
Such as never were seen     by our sires till then.
Hringmere was its name     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     That is a royal thing
Prose translation: Kennedy, _The Caedmon Poems_, p. xvii.
The poem is interesting in that it is found in two texts, the
Now shall we praise     the Prince of heaven,
The might of the Maker     and his manifold thought,
The work of the Father:     of what wonders he wrought
The Lord everlasting,     when he laid out the worlds.
The heaven as a roof,     the holy Ruler.
Then the world below,     the Ward of mankind,
The Lord everlasting,     at last established
As a home for man,     the Almighty Lord.
_Primo cantavit_ Caedmon _istud carmen_.
This poem was attributed to Bede, who died in 735, by his pupil,
Before leaving this life     there lives no one
Of men of wisdom     who will not need
To consider and judge,     ere he sets on his journey,
What his soul shall be granted     of good or evil--
centuries.
Source: Vulgate Bible; first twenty-two chapters.]
His trusted servant;     tried him sorely
To learn if his love     was lasting and certain.
With strongest words     he sternly said to him:
"Hear me and hasten     hence, O Abraham.
Thy own child Isaac!     As an offering to me
Thyself shalt sacrifice     thy son with thy hands.
When thy steps have struggled     up the steep hill-side,
To the height of the land     which from here I shall show you--
With the edge of the sword     as a sacrifice to me;
Let the black flame burn     the body of that dear one."
He delayed not his going,     but began at once
The angel of the Lord,     and he loved his God.
And then the faultless     father Abraham
Gave up his night's rest;     he by no means failed
To obey the Lord's bidding,     but the blessed man
That he bore in his breast.     His beasts then he fed,
This aged giver of gold.     To go on the journey
Two young men he summoned:     his son made the third;
He himself was the fourth.     He set forward eagerly
The child ungrown,     as charged by his God.
Then he hurried ahead     and hastened forth
Along the paths     that the Lord had pointed,
The way through the waste;     till the wondrous bright
Arose in radiance.     Then the righteous man
Saw the hill-tops rise     high around him,
As the holy Ruler     of heaven had shown him.
Then Abraham said     to his serving-men:
Quietly in this place!     We shall quickly return
When we two have performed     the task before us
Which the Sovereign of souls     has assigned us to do."
The old man ascended     with his own son
Went through the wealds;     the wood Isaac carried--
His father the fire and the sword.     Then first inquired
The boy young in winters,     in these words of Abraham:
"Fire and sword, my father,     we find here ready:
Abraham answered     (he had only one thing
That he wished to perform,     the will of the Father):
"The Sovereign of all     himself shall find it,
Up the steep hill struggled     the stout-hearted man,
Leading the child     as the Lord had charged,
Till climbing he came     to the crest of the height,
To the place appointed     by the powerful Lord,
He loaded the altar     and lighted the fire,
And fettered fast     the feet and hands
Of his beloved son     and lifted upon it
The youthful Isaac,     and instantly grasped
With his hands as he promised     and pour on the fire
The gore of his kinsman.     --Then God's servant,
An angel of the Lord,     to Abraham loudly
Spoke with words.     He awaited in quiet
Then forthwith spoke     from the spacious heavens
The messenger of God,     with gracious words:
"Burn not thy boy,     O blessed Abraham,
Lift up the lad     alive from the altar;
O man of the Hebrews,     as meed for thy obedience,
Through the holy hand     of heaven's King,
Thyself shall receive     a sacred reward,
A liberal gift:     the Lord of Glory
More sacred than thy son     himself to thee."
The altar still burned.     Abraham was blessed
By the King of mankind,     the kinsman of Lot,
With the grace of God,     since he gave his son,
Around over his shoulder,     and a ram he saw
Not far away     fastened alone
In a bramble bush--     Haran's brother saw it.
Then Abraham seized it     and set it on the altar
With his sword he smote it;     as a sacrifice he adorned
The reeking altar     with the ram's hot blood,
Gave to his God     this gift and thanked him
For all of the favors     that before and after
When these words had been uttered     the army arose;
The cohorts lifted     their linden-shields,
Their signals on the sand.     The sea-wall mounted,
Stood upright over     Israel's legion,
For day's time;     then the doughty band
Held them unharmed     in its hollow embrace.
They spurned not the speech     nor despised its teaching,
As the wise man ended     his words of exhorting
And the noise diminished     and mingled with the sound.
Went into the waves,     the warriors in a band
Struggled alone     over the strange path
Before their kinsmen.     So the King of heaven
He gave them a great     and glorious victory,
That to them should belong     the leadership
In the kingdom, and triumph     over their kinsmen and tribesmen.
Among the godly group,     a golden lion,
The boldest of beasts     over the bravest of peoples.
At the hands of their enemy     no dishonor or shame
Would they deign to endure     all the days of their life,
The fight was at the front,     furious soldiers
Wielding their weapons,     warriors fearless,
And bloody wounds,     and wild battle-rushes,
Marching after the army     were the eager seamen,
The sons of Reuben;     raising their shields
The sea-vikings bore them     over the salt waves,
A multitude of men;     a mighty throng
Was forfeited by his sins,     so that he followed after
In his comrade's track.     In the tribes of the Hebrews,
The blessings of the birthright     his brother enjoyed,
His riches and rank;     yet Reuben was brave.
The sons of Simeon     in swarming bands,
The third great host.     With hoisted banners
Over the watery path     the war-troop pressed
Dewy under their shafts.     When daylight shone
The bright morning,--     the battle-lined marched.
Each of the tribes     traveled in order.
At the head of the helmeted     host was one man,
Mightiest in majesty     and most renowned;
By tribes and by troops.     Each truly knew
The right of rank     as arranged by Moses,
Every man's order.     They were all from one father.
Their sacred sire     received his land-right,
He gave birth to a brave,     bold-hearted race,
The sage patriarch     to a sacred people,
To the Children of Israel,     the chosen of God.
The folk were affrighted     with fear of the ocean;
Sad were their souls.     The sea threatened death;
The sides of the hill     were soaked with blood;
The water full of weapons;     the wave-mist arose.
They fled in fright;     fear overtook them;
Hurrying in haste     their homes they sought;
The welling waters;     not one returned
Of the host to their homes,     but behind they were locked
By Wyrd in the waves.     Where once was the path
The breakers beat     and bore down the army.
High to the heavens,     the harshest of noises.
Dark grew the clouds.     The doomed ones cried
With fated voices;     the foam became bloody.
The sea-walls were scattered     and the skies were lashed
The princes in their pomp--     they were past all help
In the edge of the ocean.     Their armor shone
High over the hosts.     Over the haughty ones poured
The stream in its strength.     Destroyed were the troop
For that day's work     deeply punished,
Because not any of the army     ever came home;
Of that mighty multitude     there remained not a one
Who could announce in the cities     the sorrowful news
To the wives of the warriors     of the woeful disaster.
But the sea-death swallowed     the sinful men,
And their messengers too,     in the midst of their power,
Thou art the wall-stone     that the workmen of old
Rejected from the work.     Well it befits thee
To become the head     of the kingly hall,
In thy fast embrace,     the flint unbroken;
That through all the earth     every eye may see
And marvel evermore,     O mighty Prince,
Declare thy accomplishments     through the craft of thy hand,
Leave wall against wall.     For the work it is needful
That the Craftsman should come     and the King himself
And raise that roof     that lies ruined and decayed,
Fallen from its frame.     He formed that body,
And shall free from foemen     the frightened in heart,
The downcast band,     as he did full oft.
Fairest of king's thrones!     fortress of Christ!
The home-seat of angels,     where the holy alone,
The souls of the righteous,     shall find rest unceasing,
Exulting in triumph.     No trace of sin
But all faults shall flee     afar from thee,
All crime and conflict;     thou art covered with glory
Of highest hope,     as thy holy name showest.
Cast now thy gaze     on the glorious creation,
Looks on all sides,     how the Lord of Hosts
Seeks thee in his course     and comes himself,
And adopts thee to dwell in,     as in days agone
In words of wisdom     the wise men said,
Thou choicest of cities!     Now the child has come,
Born to make worthless     the work of the Hebrews.
He bringeth thee bliss;     thy bonds he unlooseth;
He striveth for the stricken;     understandeth their
translation.
Dost thou plan to turn     from thy plighted troth,
And leave my love?"
I am oppressed with grief     and deprived of honor.
I have borne for thee     many bitter words,
Scathing abuses,     and they scorn me now
In wrathful tones.     My tears I shall pour
In sadness of soul.     My sorrowful heart,
My grief full easily     our God may heal,
Mary maiden!"
And bitterly weepest?     No blame in thee,
Nor any fault     have I ever found
For wicked works,     and this word thou speakest
And faults wert filled."
Thy conception has caused me     to suffer in shame.
How can I bear     their bitter taunts
Or ever make answer     to my angry foes
That I took from the glorious     temple of God
A beautiful virgin     of virtue unblemished,
The chastest of maidens,     but a change has now come,
Though I know not the cause.     Nothing avails me--
Then the daughter of David     shall die for her crime,
Struck down with stones;     yet still it were harder
To conceal the sin;     forsworn forever
I should live my life     loathed by all people,
The work of wonder,     and these words she spoke:
"Truly I say,     by the Son of the Creator
The Savior of souls,     the Son of God,
I tell thee in truth     that the time has not been
On all the earth;     but early in life
This grace was granted me,     that Gabriel came,
The high angel of heaven,     and hailed me in greeting,
In truthful speech:     that the Spirit of heaven
With his light should illumine me,     that life's Glory by me
Unspoiled and spotless;     the Spirit of comfort
Hath his dwelling in me.     Endure now no longer
Sorrow and sadness,     and say eternal thanks
Thou art famed as his father,     if fulfillment should come
Of the truth that the Prophets     foretold of his coming."
Not ever on earth     need any man
Of the fighting of the fiends,     whose defense is in God,
The just Lord of Hosts.     The judgment is nigh
When each without fail     shall find his reward,
Of weal or of woe,     for his work on the earth
How from on high     the humble one came,
The Treasure-hoard of honor,     to the earth below
In the Virgin's womb,     the valiant Son of God,
Holy from on high.     I hope in truth
When Christ and his angels     shall come again,
Since I kept not closely     the counsels my Savior
Bade in his books.     I shall bear therefore
To see the work of sin     (it shall certainly be)
To receive justice     in the sight of their Judge.
Then the _C_ourageous shall tremble,     shall attend the King,
The Righteous Ruler,     when his wrath he speaks
To the worldlings who weakly     his warning have heeded
Many wearily shall wait     on the wide plain
What doom shall be dealt them     for the deeds of their life,
Of angry penalties.     Departed hath _W_insomeness,
That long our _L_ife-joys     were locked in the sea-streams,
Our _F_ortunes on earth;     in the fire shall our treasure
Burn in the blast;     brightly shall mount,
The red flame, raging     and wrathfully striding
The castles shall crumble;     then shall climb the swift fire,
The greediest of guests,     grimly and ruthlessly
Eat the ancient treasure     that of old men possessed
While still on the earth     was their strength and their pride.
That he be cautious     in the care of his soul,
And not pour it forth in pride     in that portion of days
That the Lord allows him     to live in the world,
While the soul abideth     safe in the body,
To bethink him deeply     in the days of his life
How meekly and mildly     the mighty Lord
Came of old to us     by an angel's word;
Yet grim shall he be     when again he cometh,
And the measureless ends     of the mighty earth
Shall tremble in terror.     The triumphant King
Shall avenge their vain     and vicious lives,
Their loathsome wickedness.     Long shall they wallow
Suffer for their sins     in its surging flame.
The poem is usually regarded as Cynewulf's masterpiece.]
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     Heart-care oppressed
The Roman ruler;     of his realm he despaired;
He was lacking in fighters;     too few were his warriors,
His close comrades     to conquer in battle
Earls about their aetheling,     at the edge of the stream,
Where they spread their tents     for the space of the
night,
After first they had found     their foes approach.
To Caesar himself     in his sleep there came
To the valiant king     a vision appeared:
It seemed that he saw     a soldier bright,
Glorious and gleaming     in the guise of a man
More fair of form     than before or after
Hastily donned his helmet.     The herald straightway,
The resplendent messenger     spoke unto him,
Named him by name     --the night vanished away:
"O Constantine,     the King of angels bids--
The Lord of the faithful.     No fear shouldst thou have,
Though foreign foes     bring frightful war,
And horrors unheard of!     To heaven now look,
To the Guardian of glory:     Thou shalt gain there support,
Soon was he ready
To obey the holy bidding,     and unbound his heart,
And gazed on high,     as the herald had bade him,
He saw the radiant rood     over the roof of clouds,
The brilliant beam     bore these letters
Shining with light:     "Thou shalt with this sign
Overcome and conquer     in thy crying need
The fearsome foe."     Then faded the light,
Unto the clean-hearted company.     The king was the blither,
And suffered in his soul     less sorrow and anguish,
The valiant victor,     through the vision fair.
Striving in strength     and with steadfast heart,
Under its covering of turf,     till at twenty feet
Below the surface     concealed he found
Shut out from sight,     under the shelving cliff,
In the chasm of darkness     --three crosses he found,
In their gloomy grave     together he found them,--
The unrighteous race     had wrapped them in earth,
They showed their hate     as they should not have done
Had they not harkened     to the behests of the devil.
His soul was inspired     by the sacred tree.
His heart was emboldened     when he beheld that beacon
Holy and deep hidden.     With his hands he seized
The radiant cross of heaven,     and with his host he raised it
And princes and aethelings     went all to the town.
In her sight they set     the three sacred trees,
The proud valiant men,     plain to be seen
Before Elene's knee.     And now was joy
On which of the crosses     the crucified Lord,
The heavenly Hope-giver,     hung in pain:
"Lo! we have heard     from the holy books
It told for a truth     that two of them
On the hallowed tree.     The heavens were darkened
In that terrible time.     Tell, if you can,
On which of these roods     the Ruler of angels,
The Savior of men     suffered his death.
Clearly reveal     that victory tree
On which the Lord     was lifted high,
The son of God,     but they set, by his order,
In the very middle     of the mighty city
Till the Almighty King     should manifest clearly
Before the multitude the might     of that marvelous rood.
The assembly sat,     their song uplifted;
They mused in their minds     on the mystery trees
Through a marvelous deed.     --There a multitude came,
Of folk not a little,     and, lifted among them,
There was borne on a bier     by brave-hearted men
Nigh to the spot     --it was the ninth hour--
Of Judas in great     rejoicing and gladness.
He commanded them to set     the soulless man,
With life cut off,     the corpse on the earth,
Bereft of life,     and there was raised aloft
The trusty in counsel,     two of the crosses
Over that house of death.     It was dead as before
The body fast to the bier:     about the chill limbs
Was grievous doom.     Then began the third cross
Until above him was reared     the rood of the Lord,
The holy cross     of heaven's King,
The sign of salvation.     He soon arose
With spirit regained,     and again were joined
And fair of the folk.     The Father they thanked
And the true and sacred     Son of the Almighty
With gracious words.     --Glory and praise be his
Always without end     from every creature.
The poem has much in common with _Elene_, especially the intimate
Lo, I shall tell you     the truest of visions,
A dream that I dreamt     in the dead of night
While people reposed     in peaceful sleep.
I seemed to see     the sacred tree
The brightest of beams;     that beacon was wholly
Gorgeous with gold;     glorious gems stood
Fair at the foot;     and five were assembled,
At the crossing of the arms.     The angels of God looked on,
For beholding his sufferings     were the holy spirits,
The men of the earth     and all of creation.
Wondrous was that victory-wood,     and I wounded and stained
With sorrows and sins.     I saw the tree of glory
Full rarely enriched     the rood of the Savior.
Through the sight of that cross     I came to perceive
Its stiff struggle of old,     when it started first
The fair sight inspired me with fear.     Before me the moving
beacon
Changed its clothing and color.     At times it was covered with
blood
Until I heard it     lift high its voice.
The worthiest of the wood-race     formed words and spoke:
"It was ages ago     --I shall always remember--
When first I was felled     at the forest's edge,
On their backs and shoulders they bore me     to the brow of the
lofty hill.
There the hated ones solidly set me.     I saw there the Lord of
Struggling forward with courage     to climb my sturdy trunk.
So I bent not nor broke     when there burst forth a trembling
From the ends of the earth.     Easily might I
Destroy the murderers,     but I stood unmoved.
"The Young Hero unclothed him     --it was the holy God--
Wounds wide open;     but not one of them dared I to harm.
They cursed and reviled us together.     I was covered all over
with blood,
That flowed from the Savior's side     when his soul had left the
Grim-visaged grief:     the God of mankind I saw
And his frightful death.     The forces of darkness
Covered with clouds     the corpse of the Lord,
The shining radiance;     the shadows darkened
The king's fall bewailed.     Christ was on the rood.
Finally from afar     came faithful comrades
To the Savior's side,     and I saw it all.
Bitter the grief that I bore,     but I bowed me low to their
hands;
deserted,
To stand stained with blood.     I was stricken and wounded with
nails.
Limb-weary they laid him there,     and at their Lord's head they
And set their Savior upon it.     A sorrowful dirge they chanted,
And waited long     after the wailing ceased
Of the brave company.     The body grew cold,
The most precious of corpses.     Then they pulled us down,
All to the earth     --an awful fate!
And gorgeously decked me     with gold and with silver.
"Now mayst thou learn,     my beloved friend,
That the work of the wicked     I have worthily borne,
When through the wide world     I am worshipped and honored,
That all manner of men,     and the mighty creation,
Hold sacred this sign.     On me the Son of God
Death-pangs endured.     Hence, dauntless in glory,
To each and to all     who have awe in my presence.
"Long ago I was the greatest     and most grievous of torments,
Most painful of punishments,     till I pointed aright
The road of life     for the race of men.
To the worthless wood     --by the Warden of heaven--
Just as Mary, his mother,     the maiden blessed,
Received grace and glory     from God Almighty,
And homage and worship     over other women.
That thou reveal     this vision to men.
Tell them I am truly     the tree of glory,
That the Savior sorrowed     and suffered upon me
For the race of men     and its many sins,
"He there tasted of death;     but in triumph he rose,
The Lord in his might     and gave life unto men.
Then he ascended to heaven,     and hither again
Shall the Savior descend     to seek mankind
Of highest heaven,     with his host of angels.
Then will he adjudge     with justice and firmness
Rewards to the worthy     whose works have deserved them,
Who loyally lived     their lives on the earth.
For the warning they had     in the words of their Master:
He shall demand of many     where the man may be found
To consent for the sake     of his Savior to taste
The bitter death     as He did on the cross.
What words they shall speak     in response to Christ.
Then no feeling of fright     or fear need he have
Who bears on his heart     the brightest of tokens,
But there shall come to the kingdom     through the cross and its
Of the holy who hope     for a home with their Lord."
Then I adored the cross     with undaunted courage,
With the warmest zeal,     while I watched alone
And saw it in secret.     My soul was eager
An hour of longing.     Through all my life
I shall seek the sight     of that sacred tree
Alone more often     than all other men
And worthily worship it.     My will for this service
In the cross of Christ.     My comrades of old,
The friends of fortune,     all far from the earth
And high in the heavens     with the holy God
To arrive at last     when the rood of the Lord,
Which once so plainly     appeared to my sight,
Shall summon my soul     from this sorrowful life,
And bring me to that bourne     where bliss is unending
All join in a banquet,     where joy is eternal.
May He set me where always     in after time
I shall dwell in glory     with God's chosen ones
In delights everlasting.     May the Lord be my friend,
Suffered and sorrowed     for the sins of men.
He broke there our bonds     and bought for us life
And a heavenly home.     The hearts were now filled
With blessings and bliss,     which once burned with remorse.
And crowned with triumph,     when he came with his troops,
With his gladsome guests     into God's kingdom,
The Almighty Judge's,     and brought joy to the angels,
And the host of the holy     who in heaven before
The Lord Most High,     at his home at last.
Source: Apocryphal book of Judith.]
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     She doubted [not] the gifts
In this wide world.     There worthily she found
Help at the hands of the Lord,     when she had the highest need,
Graciously granted her wish,     for she had given true faith
To the holy Ruler of heaven.
Holofernes then, I am told,
To the powerful prince     came the proud shield-warriors,
Before the chief of the folk.     That was the fourth day
Since the gentle Judith,     just in her thoughts,
Of fairy-like beauty,     was brought to the king.
Proud to the wine-pouring,     all his partners in woe,
Bold burnie-warriors.     Bowls large and deep
Were borne along the benches;     beakers also and flagons
Full to the feasters.     Fated they drank it,
Howled and hurled forth     a hideous din
That the folk of the earth     from afar might hear
That the brave bench-sitters     should bear themselves well.
So the hellish demon     through the whole of the day
Drenched with drink     his dear companions,
All drunk his doughty ones,     as if in death they were slain,
Every good gone from them.
He gave then commands
To serve the hall-sitters     till descending upon them
Dark night came near.     The ignoble one ordered
Freighted with rings,     to be fetched in all haste
To his hated bedside.     His behest they performed,
His corps of retainers     --the commands of their lord,
Chief of the champions.     Cheerfully they stepped
The queenly Judith,     and quickly then
The goodly knights     began to lead
The holy maiden     to the high tent,
Where the rich ruler     rested always,
Holofernes.     There hung an all-golden
Radiant fly-net     around the folk-chief's
Bed embroidered;     so that the baleful one,
The loathed leader,     might look unhindered
Who entered in,     and on him none
Of the sons of men,     unless some of his nobles,
Contrivers of crime,     he called to his presence:
His barons to bring him advice.     Then they bore to his rest
To make known to their master     that the maiden of God
Was brought to his bower.     Then blithe was the chief in his
heart,
The builder of burg-steads;     the bright maiden he planned
With loathsome filth to defile,     but the Father of heaven knew
restrained him,
God, the Wielder of Glory.     Glad then the hateful one
Went with his riotous     rout of retainers
Baleful to his bedside,     where his blood should be spilled
Suddenly in a single night.     Full surely his end approached
Stern striver for evil,     while still in this world
He dwelt under the roof of the clouds.     Drunken with wine then
The wine-sated warriors     who went with the false one,
And the evil enemy of man     ushered to bed
For the last time.
Then the Lord's servant
The mighty hand-maiden,     was mindful in all things
His life might snatch     ere the lecherous deceiver,
The creature crime-laden awoke.     The curly-locked maiden
Of God then seized     the sword well ground,
Sharp from the hammers,     and from its sheath drew it
To call by name,     Creator of all
The dwellers in the world,     and these words she spoke:
Son of the Almighty,     I will seek from Thee
Full sore is my soul     and sorrowful my heart,
Tormented with griefs.     Grant me, Lord of the skies,
Success and soundness of faith,     that with this sword I may
More need of thy mercy;     mighty Lord, avenge now
Bright-minded Bringer of glory,     that I am thus baffled in
spirit,
Heated in heart."     Her then the greatest of Judges
The sons of the Spirit     who seek him for help,
Holy hope renewed;     the heathen man then she took,
And held by his hair;     with her hands she drew him
Laid as she listed,     most loathsome of men,
In order that easily     the enemy's body
She might wield at her will.     The wicked one she slew,
The curly-locked maiden     with her keen-edged sword,
Drunken and death-wounded.     Not dead was he yet,
Nor lifeless entirely:     the triumphant lady
More earnestly smote     the second time
Forth on the floor;     foul lay the carcass,
Bereft of a soul;     the spirit went elsewhere
Under the burning abyss     where abandoned it lay,
Tied down in torment     till time shall cease,
All firmly fixed     in the flames of hell,
When death came upon him.     He durst not hope,
Enveloped in blackness,     to venture forth ever
From that dreary hole,     but dwell there he shall
In that hideous home     without hope of joy.
Great was the glory     then gained in the fight
By Judith at war,     through the will of God,
The mighty Master,     who permitted her victory.
The heathen warrior's     head so bloody,
Concealed it in the sack     that her servant had brought--
The pale-faced woman,     polished in manners--
Which before she had filled     with food for them both.
To bear to their home,     to her helper she gave it,
To her junior companion.     Then they journeyed together,
Both of the women,     bold in their daring,
The mighty in mind,     the maidens exultant,
Of their sacred city     and see the walls
Of bright Bethulia.     Then the bracelet-adorned ones,
Traveling on foot,     went forth in haste,
To the wall-gate.
The warriors sat
Unwearied in watching,     the wardens on duty,
Fast in the fortress,     as the folk erstwhile,
The grieved ones of mind,     by the maiden were counselled,
The keen-witted woman.     She had come once more,
Dear to her people,     the prudent in counsel.
She straightway summoned     certain of the heroes
From the spacious city     speedily to meet her
Through the gate of the wall,     and these words she spoke
To the victor-tribe:
"I may tell to you now
Noteworthy news,     that you need no longer
Mourn in your mind,     for the Master is kind to you,
Around the wide world     that you have won glory;
Very great victory     is vouchsafed in return
For all the evils     and ills you have suffered."
Blithe then became     the burghers within,
Over the high wall.     The warriors rejoiced;
To the gate of the fortress     the folk then hastened,
Wives with their husbands,     in hordes and in bands,
In crowds and in companies;     they crushed and thronged
Old ones and young ones.     All of the men
In the goodly city     were glad in their hearts
At the joyous news     that Judith was come
Again to her home,     and hastily then
Then gave the gold-adorned,     sagacious in mind,
Command to her comrade,     her co-worker faithful
The heathen chief's head     to hold forth to the people,
To the assembly to show     as a sign and a token,
To the famed victory-folk     the fair maiden spoke:
"O proudest of peoples,     princely protectors,
Gladly now gaze     on the gory face,
On the hated head     of the heathen warrior,
Who most of all men     contrived murder against us,
The sorest of sorrows,     and sought even yet
With greater to grind us,     but God would not suffer him
Longer to live,     that with loathsomest evils
To you citizens bold,     you soldiers brave-hearted,
Protectors of the people,     to prepare one and all
Forthwith for the fight.     When first from the east
Sends the first beams of light,     bring forth your
linden-shields,
Boards for your breasts     and your burnie-corselets,
Your bright-hammered helmets     to the hosts of the scathers,
To fell the folk-leaders,     the fated chieftains,
Doomed to the death,     and dearly-won glory
Shall be yours in battle,     as the blessed Creator
The mighty Master,     through me has made known."
Then a band of bold knights     busily gathered,
And fared to the fight,     forth in right order,
Heroes under helmets     from the holy city
At the dawning of day;     dinned forth their shields
The lank wolf in the wood     and the wan raven,
Battle-hungry bird,     both knowing well
That the gallant people     would give to them soon
A feast on the fated;     now flew on their track
Singing his war-song,     the swart-coated bird,
The horned of beak.     Then hurried the warriors,
Keen for the conflict,     covered with shields,
With hollow lindens--     they who long had endured
To all the Assyrians,     every insult revenged,
At the shock of the shields,     when the shining-armed Hebrews
Bravely to battle marched     under banners of war
Sharply shot forth     showers of arrows,
Bitter battle-adders     from their bows of horn,
Hurled straight from the string;     stormed and raged loudly
The dauntless avengers;     darts were sent whizzing
Strong-hearted they stepped,     stern in their mood;
On their enemies of old     took awful revenge,
On their mead-weary foes.     With the might of their hands
Furiously felled     the folk of Assyria,
The spiteful despoilers.     They spared not a one
Of the hated host,     neither high nor low
So the kinsmen-companions     at the coming of morning
Followed the foemen,     fiercely attacking them,
Till, pressed and in panic,     the proud ones perceived
That the chief and the champions     of the chosen people
The wise Hebrew warriors.     Then word they carried
To the eldest officers     over the camp,
Ran with the wretched news,     arousing the leaders,
Fully informed them     of the fearful disaster,
Of the horrible edge-play.     I heard then suddenly
The slaughter-fated men     from sleep awakened
And toward the bower-tent     of the baleful chief,
Holofernes, they hastened:     in hosts they crowded,
Their lasting loyalty     to their lord to show,
Before in their fury     they fell upon him,
The host of the Hebrews.     The whole crowd imagined
That the lord of despoilers     and the spotless lady
The virtuous virgin     and the vicious deceiver,
Dreadful and direful;     they dared not, however,
Awaken the warrior,     not one of the earls,
Nor be first to find     how had fared through the night
Now approached in their strength
The folk of the Hebrews.     They fought remorselessly
With hard-hammered weapons,     with their hilts requited
Their strife of long standing,     with stained swords repaid
Was subdued and doomed     that day by their work,
Its pride bowed low.     In panic and fright,
In terror they stood     around the tent of their chief,
Moody in mind.     Then the men all together
Ungracious to God,     and gritted their teeth,
Grinding them in their grief.     Then was their glory at an end,
To summon their lord from his sleep,     but success was denied
them.
Desperately dared     the door to enter,
Ventured into the pavilion;     violent need drove him.
On the bed then he found,     in frightful state lying,
His gold-giver ghastly;     gone was his spirit,
Trembling with terror,     he tore at his hair,
He clawed at his clothes;     he clamored despairing,
And to the waiting warriors     these words he said,
As they stood outside     in sadness and fear:
Is clearly betokened     that the time is near,
Pressing upon us     with perils and woes,
When we lose our lives,     and lie defeated
By the hostile host;     here hewn by the sword,
They threw their weapons away,     and weary in heart,
Scattered in flight.
Then their foemen pursued them,
Their grim power growing,     until the greatest part
Of the cowardly band     they conquered in battle
From the shields of their foemen.     Sharp on their trail came
The crowd of the Hebrews,     covered with victory,
Graciously granted them,     God, Lord Almighty.
They then daringly,     with dripping swords,
The corps of brave kinsmen,     cut them a war-path
Through the host of the hated ones;     they hewed with their
swords,
The thanes, at that time,     thirsting exceedingly,
Fain for the spear-fight.     Then fell in the dust
The chiefest part     of the chosen warriors,
Of the fated race of the foe.     Few of them came back
Alive to their own land.
The leaders returned
Over perilous paths     through the piles of the slaughtered,
Of reeking corpses;     good occasion there was
Their ancient enemies     in their armor laid low,
Of battle spoils bloody,     of beautiful trappings,
Of bucklers and broad-swords,     of brown war-helmets,
By home-defenders,     their hated oppressors
Put to sleep by the sword.     Senseless on the path
Lay those who in life,     the loathsomest were
Of the tribes of the living.
Then the landsmen all,
The proud curly-locked ones,     carried and led
To their glorious city,     gleaming Bethulia,
Helms and hip-knives,     hoary burnies,
Men's garments of war,     with gold adorned,
Keen in cunning     might count or estimate;
So much success     the soldier-troop won,
Bold under banners     and in battle-strife
Through the counsel     of the clever Judith,
From the field of battle,     the bold-hearted earls
Brought in as her earnings     the arms of Holofernes,
His broad sword and bloody helmet,     likewise his breast-armor
large,
Chased with choice red gold,     all that the chief of the
warriors,
As a gift to her, ready in judgment.
For all this Judith now rendered
Thanks to the Heavenly Host,     from whom came all her success,
Greatness and glory on earth     and likewise grace in heaven,
Of the prize she had prayed for long.     For this be praise to
Glory in ages to come,     who shaped the clouds and the winds,
Source: First part, Lactantius, _De Ave Phoenice_; second part,
application of the myth to Christ based on Ambrose and Bede.
The first part of the poem is among the most pleasing pieces of
description in Anglo-Saxon.]
I have heard that there lies     a land far hence
A noble realm     well-known unto men,
In the eastern kingdoms.     That corner of the world
Is not easy of access     to every tribe
By the might of the Maker     from men of sin.
The plain is beautiful,     a place of blessings,
And filled with the fairest     fragrance of earth;
Matchless is that island,     its maker unequalled,
The happiness of the holy     through heaven's door.
That is a winsome plain;     the woods are green,
Nor fall of hail     nor hoary frost,
Nor burning sun     nor bitter cold,
Nor warm weather     nor winter showers
Shall work any woe,     but that winsome plain
Blossoms are blown.     No bold hills nor mountains
There stand up steep;     no stony cliffs
Lift high their heads     as here with us,
Nor dales nor glens     nor darksome gorges,
Anything rough;     but under radiant skies
Flourish the fields     in flowers and blossoms.
This lovely land     lieth higher
By twelve full fathoms,     as famous writers,
Than any of the hills     that here with us
Rise bright and high     under heaven's stars.
Peaceful is that plain,     pleasant its sunny grove,
Winsome its woodland glades;     never wanes its increase
Ever green as God     had given command;
In winter and summer     the woodlands cease not
To be filled with fruit,     and there fades not a leaf;
Not a blossom is blighted     nor burned by the fire
Till the world shall fail.     When the fury of waters
Over all the earth     in olden times
Covered the world,     then the wondrous plain,
Unharmed and unhurt     by the heaving flood,
Blest and uninjured     through the aid of God:
Thus blooming it abides     till the burning fire
Of the day of doom     when the death-chambers open
And the ghastly graves     shall give up their dead.
No sign of distress,     no strife, no weeping,
Neither age, nor misery,     nor the menace of death,
Nor failing of life,     nor foemen's approach,
No sin nor trial     nor tribulation,
No sorrow nor sleep,     nor sick-bed's pain,
Nor wintry winds,     nor weather's raging,
Fierce under the heavens;     nor the hard frost
Causeth discomfort     with cold icicles.
Nor wintry cloud     nor water descendeth
Stirred by the storms;     but streams there flow,
Wondrously welling     and watering the earth,
Pouring forth     in pleasant fountains;
Each month of the year     from the mould of earth,
Cold as the sea,     coursing through the woods,
Breaketh abundantly.     It is the bidding of the Lord
That twelve times yearly     that teeming land
The groves are green     with gorgeous bloom,
And fairest of fruits;     there fail not at all
The holy treasures     of the trees under heaven,
Nor falleth from the forests     the fallow blossoms,
The boughs are hanging     heavy with fruit
That is always new     in every season.
In the grassy plain     all green appear,
Gorgeously garnished     by God in his might,
In its pleasing prospect;     a perfume holy
Enchanteth the land.     No change shall it know
Forever till he ends     his ancient plan,
His work of wisdom     as he willed it at first.
Fearless in flight,     the Phoenix its name.
Lonely it liveth     its life in this place,
Doughty of soul;     death never seeks him
In that well-loved wood     while the world shall endure.
And to go to meet     God's bright candle,
That gleaming gem,     and gladly to note
When rises in radiance     the most royal of stars
Up from the east     over the ocean's waves,
The bright sign of God.     Buried are the stars,
Wandering 'neath the waters     to the western realms;
They grow dim at dawn,     and the dark night
Creepeth wanly away.     Then on wings of strength,
Eagerly on the streams,     and stares over the water
Where the gleam of heaven     gliding shall come
O'er the broad ocean     from the bright east.
So the wondrous bird     at the water's spring
Twelve times there     the triumphant bird
Bathes in the brook     ere the beacon appears,
The candle of heaven,     and the cold stream
Of the joy-inspiring     springs he tasteth
Then after his sport     in the springs at dawn,
Filled full of pride     he flies to a tree
Where most easily he may     in the eastern realm
Gleameth in glory.     Garnished is the land,
The world made beautiful,     when the blessed gem
Illumines the land,     the largest of stars
In the circle of the seas     sends forth its rays.
Rises in glory,     then the gray-feathered bird
Blithely rises     from the beam where he rested;
Fleet-winged he fareth     and flieth on high;
Singing and caroling     he soareth to heaven.
With joy in his breast,     in bliss exulting;
He warbles his song     more wondrously sweet
And choicer of note     than ever child of man
Heard beneath the heavens     since the High King,
Heaven and earth.     His hymn is more beautiful
And fairer by far     than all forms of song-craft;
Its singing surpasseth     the sweetest of music.
To the song can compare     not the sound of trumpet,
On all the earth,     nor of organ's sound,
Nor singing song     nor swan's fair feathers,
Nor of any good thing     that God created
As a joy to men     in this mournful world!
Until the bright sun     in a southern sky
Sinks to its setting;     then silent he is
And listeneth and boweth     and bendeth his head,
Sage in his thoughts,     and thrice he shaketh
Twelve equal times     he telleth the hours
Of day and night.     'Tis ordained in this way,
And willed that the dweller     of the woods should have joy,
Pleasure in that plain     and its peaceful bliss,
Till he waiteth a thousand     winters of life,
The aged warden     of the ancient wood.
Then the gray-feathered fowl     in the fullness of years
Is grievously stricken.     From the green earth he fleeth,
And beareth his flight     to a far-off realm,
To a distant domain     where dwelleth no man,
As his native land.     Then the noble fowl
Becometh ruler     over the race of birds,
He flieth to the west,     full of winters,
Swift on his wing;     in swarms then press,
The birds about their lord;     all long to serve him
Until he seeketh out     the Syrian land
With mighty train.     Then turneth the pure one
Sharply away,     and in the shade of the forest
He dwells, in the grove,     in the desert place,
There high on a bough     he abides alone,
Under heaven's roof,     hard by the roots
Of a far stretching tree,     which the Phoenix is called
By the nations of earth     from the name of that bird.
The Holy One of heaven,     as I have heard said,
That it among all     the other trees
That grow in the glorious     groves of the world
Bloometh most brightly.     No blight may hurt it,
It shall be shielded     from the shafts of evil.
When the wind is at rest     and the weather is fair,
And the holy gem     of heaven is shining,
And clouds have flown     and the forces of water
Assuaged and soothed:     from the south there gleameth
The warm weather-candle,     welcomed by men.
In the boughs the bird     then buildeth its home,
Beginneth its nest;     great is its need
That his old age he may give     to gain new life,
A fair young spirit.     Then far and near,
He gathers together     to his goodly home
The winsomest herbs     and the wood's sweet blossoms,
Which were placed in the world     by the wondrous Lord,
By the Father of all,     on the face of the earth,
As a pleasure forever     to the proud race of men--
The beauty of blossoms.     There he beareth away
There the wild fowl     in the waste land
On the highest beams     buildeth his house,
On the loftiest limbs,     and he liveth there
In that upper room;     on all sides he surrounds
With blessed fragrance     and fairest of blooms,
The most gorgeous of green things     that grow on the earth.
He awaiteth his journey     when the gem of heaven
In the summer season,     the sun at its hottest,
Gazeth over the world.     Then it groweth warm,
His house becomes heated     by the heavenly gleam;
The herbs wax hot;     the house steameth
With the sweetest of savors;     in the sweltering heat,
Is embraced by the bale-fire;     then burning seizeth
The disheartened one's house;     in hot haste riseth
The fallow flame,     and the Phoenix it reacheth,
In fullness of age.     Then the fire eateth,
The fated one's spirit,     where flesh and bone
Shall burn in the blaze.     But it is born anew,
Attaineth new life     at the time allotted.
When the ashes again     begin to assemble,
To cling in a mass,     then clean becometh
That bright abode--     burnt by the fire
The home of the bird.     When the body is cold
And its frame is shattered     and the fire slumbers
Of an apple that newly     in the ashes appeareth,
And waxeth into a worm     wondrously fair,
As if out from an egg     it had opened its way,
Shining from the shell.     In the shade it groweth,
A fair young fowl;     then further still
It increaseth in stature,     till in strength it is like
To a full-grown eagle,     and after that
With feathers fair     as at first it was,
Regains its brightness     and is born again,
Sundered from sin,     somewhat as if
One should fetch in food,     the fruits of the earth,
Should haul it home     at harvest time,
At the time of reaping,     lest the rain in showers
Strike down and destroy it;     a stay they have ready
A feast of food,     when frost and snow
With their mighty coursing     cover the earth
From those fair fruits     shall flourish again
Through the nature of grain,     which now in the ground
Is sown as clear seed;     then the sun's warm rays
In time of spring     sprouts the life germ,
The treasures of earth,     by their own kind
Are brought forth again:     that bird changeth likewise,
Old in his years,     to youth again,
With fair new flesh;     no food nor meat
Of fine honey-dew     which falleth often
In the middle of night;     the noble fowl
Thus feedeth and groweth     till he flieth again
To his own domain,     to his ancient dwelling.
Proud of pinion,     pleased with new life,
Young and full of grace,     from the ground he then
Skillfully piles up     the scattered parts
Of the graceful body,     gathers the bones,
Then brings altogether     the bones and the ashes,
The remnant of the flames     he arranges anew,
And carefully covers     that carrion spoil
With fairest flowers.     Then he fares away,
With his feet he fastens     to the fire's grim leavings,
Clasps them in his claws     and his country again,
The sun-bright seat,     he seeks in joy,
His own native-land.     All is renewed--
When placed in the pleasant     plain by his Maker,
By gracious God.     Together he bringeth
The bones of his body     which were burned on the pyre,
Which the funeral flames     before had enveloped,
This bird then burieth     the bones and embers,
His ashes on the island.     Then his eyes for the first time
Catch sight of the sun,     see in the heaven
That flaming gem,     the joy of the firmament
Before is that fowl     fair in its plumage,
Bright colors glow     on its gorgeous breast,
Behind its head     is a hue of green,
With brilliant crimson     cunningly blended.
Some brown, some flaming,     some beautifully flecked
With brilliant spots.     At the back, his feathers
Are gleaming white;     green is his neck
Both beneath and above,     and the bill shines
Within and without.     The eye ball pierces,
And strongly stares     with a stone-like gaze,
Like a clear-wrought gem     that is carefully set
Into a golden goblet     by a goodly smith.
Is the brightest of rings     braided with feathers;
Its belly is wondrous     with wealth of color,
Sheer and shining.     A shield extends
Brilliantly fair     above the back of the fowl.
The feet are bright yellow.     The fowl is in beauty
Peerless, alone,     though like the peacock
Delightfully wrought,     as the writings relate.
It is neither slow in movement,     nor sluggish in mien,
Who flap their wings     in weary flight,
But he is fast and fleet,     and floats through the air,
Marvelous, winsome,     and wondrously marked.
Blessed is the God     who gave him that bliss!
To hunt the fields     of its former home,
As the fowl flieth     many folk view it.
It pleases in passing     the people of earth,
Who are seen assembling     from south and north;
Faring from afar;     the folk throng to see
The grace that is given     by God in his mercy
To this fairest fowl,     which at first received
From gracious God     the greatest of natures
Then over the earth     all men marvel
At the freshness and fairness     and make it famous in writings;
Which through time and tide     tells the multitudes
Surge in the paths,     praise it in song,
Magnify the stern-hearted one     in mighty strains;
And so the holy one     they hem in in circles
Pressed by their hosts.     The people behold
And watch with wonder     how the willing bands
Worship the wanderer,     one after the other,
Mightily proclaim     and magnify their King,
The noble one home;     but now the wild one
Flies away fast;     no followers may come
From the happy host,     when their head takes wing
Far from this land     to find his home.
Happily hastens     to his home again,
To his beauteous abode.     The birds return,
Leaving their leader,     with lonely hearts,
Again to their land;     then their gracious lord
God alone knows     its nature by sex,
Male or female;     no man can tell,
No living being     save the Lord only
How wise and wondrous     are the ways of the bird,
There the happy one     his home may enjoy,
With its welling waters     and woodland groves,
May live in peace     through the passing of winters
A thousand in number;     then he knows again
The funeral fire:     yet he finds life again,
And wondrously awakened     he waxes in strength.
He droops not nor dreads     his death therefore,
The awful agony,     since always he knows
Peace after death,     when undaunted once more
Fully feathered     and formed as a bird
Out of the ashes     up he can spring,
Safe under the heavens.     To himself he is both
Ever the heir     to his olden life.
The Almighty Maker     of man has granted
That though the fire shall fasten     its fetters upon him,
He is given new life,     and lives again
So each living man     the life eternal
Seeks for himself     after sorest cares;
That through the darksome door     of death he may find
The goodly grace     of God and enjoy
As reward for his work--     the wonders of heaven.
The nature of this fowl     is not unlike
That of those chosen     as children of God,
And it shows men a sign     of how sacred joys
Hold beneath the heavens     through his holy grace,
And abide in rapture     in the realms above.
We have found that the faithful     Father created
Man and woman     through his wondrous might.
He set these sons     on a soil unblemished,
In a pleasant place,     Paradise named,
Since they lacked no delight     as long as the pair
Wisely heeded     the Holy word
The old foe's envy,     who offered them food,
The fruit of the tree,     which in folly they tried;
Both ate of the apple     against the order of God,
Tasted the forbidden.     Then bitter became
For sons and daughters     a sorrowful feast.
Grievously were punished     their greedy teeth
For that greatest of guilt;     God's wrath they knew
And bitter remorse;     hence bearing their crimes,
Against God's commands.     Hence, grieved in soul
They shall lose the delights     of the land of bliss
Through envy of the serpent     who deceived our elders
In direful wise     in days of yore
To the dale of death     to doleful life
In a sorrowful home.     Hidden from them
Was the blessed life;     and the blissful plain,
By the fiend's cunning,     was fastened close
The King of mankind,     Comforter of the weary,
Our only Hope,     hither came down
To the godly band     and again held it open.
His advent is likened     by learned writers
To the flight of that fowl,     when forth he goes
From his own country     and becometh old,
Weighed with winters,     weary in mind,
And finds in wandering     the forest wood
With rarest of twigs,     he raises his dwelling,
His nest in the wood.     Great need he hath
That he gain again     his gladsome youth
In the flame of fire     that he may find new life,
His sunbright seat,     he may seek again
After his bath of fire.     So abandoned before us
The first of our parents     their fairest plain,
Their happy home,     their hope of glory,
Where hostile hands     harshly beset them;
Evil ones often     injured them sorely.
Yet many men     marked well the Lord,
Heeded his behests     in holy customs,
The high Heaven-King     hearkened to them.
That is the high tree     wherein holy men
Hide their home     from the harm of their foe
And know no peril,     neither with poison
There God's warrior     works him a nest,
With doughty deeds     dangers avoids,
He distributes alms     to the stricken and needy,
He tells graceless men     of the mercy of God,
Lessening the perils     of this passing life,
Its darksome deeds,     and does God's will
With bravery in his breast.     His bidding he seeks
In prayer, with pure heart     and pliant knee
All grim offences     by his fear of God;
Happy in heart     he hopes full well
To do good deeds:     the Redeemer is his shield
In his varied walks,     the Wielder of victory,
The flowers of fruit,     which the fowl of wildness
Finds in this world     from far and wide
And brings to his abode,     where it builds a nest
With firmness of heart     against fear and hatred.
With courage and might     the Creator's commands.
Then they gain them glory:     they are given rewards
By the gracious God     for their goodness of heart.
From those is made     a pleasant dwelling
Since they held in their hearts     the holy teachings,
Serving their Lord     with loving souls
By day and by night     --and never ceasing--
With fervent faith     preferring their Lord
That long they will live     in this life that is fleeting.
A blessed earl     earns by his virtue
A home in heaven     with the highest King,
And comfort forever,--     this he earns ere the close
Greedy for warfare,     girded with weapons,
Seeketh each life     and sendeth quickly
Into the bosom of the earth     those deserted bodies
Lorn of their souls,     where long they shall bide
Many of the sons     of men into the assembly
Are led by the leaders;     the Lord of angels,
The Father Almighty,     the Master of hosts,
Will judge with justice     the joyful and the sad.
As the righteous King,     the Ruler of angels,
The Savior of souls     said it must be,
Gave command by the trumpet     to the tribes of the world.
Then ends darkest death     for those dear to the Lord;
In clamoring crowds     when this cruel world
Shall burst into flames,     into baleful fire;
The earth shall end.     Then all shall have
Most frightful fear,     when the fire crashes over
Its olden treasures,     eagerly graspeth
On goodly gold     and greedily consumes
The land's adornments.     Then dawns in light
In that awesome hour     for all of men,
When the mighty Ruler     shall arouse all men,
Shall gather together     from the grave the bones,
The limbs of the body,     those left from the flame,
Before the knee of Christ:     the King in splendor
The gem of glory.     It will be joyous and gladsome
To the servers of Truth     in that sad time.
There the bodies,     bathed of their sins,
Shall go in gladness;     again shall their spirits
Mounting high to heaven.     Hot shall be to many
That awful flame,     when every man,
Unblemished or sinful,     his soul in his body,
From the depths of his grave     seeks the doom of God,
Burning all sin.     So shall the blessed
After weary wandering,     with their works be clothed,
With the fruit of their deeds:     fair are these roots,
These winsome flowers     that the wild fowl
In order that easily     his own fair home
May burn in the sun,     and himself along with it,
And so after the fire     he finds him new life;
So every man     in all the world
And always young,     if his own choice leads him
To work God's will;     then the world's high King
Mighty at the meeting     mercy will grant him.
Then the hymns shall rise high     from the holy band,
In praise of the powerful     Prince of men,
Strain upon strain,     and strengthened and fragrant
Of their godly works     they shall wend to glory.
Then are men's spirits     made spotless and bright
In all the earth     let not anyone ween
That I wrought this lay     with lying speech,
With hated word-craft!     Hear ye the wisdom
Of the hymns of Job!     With heart of joy
With wondrous sanctity     that word he said:
"I feel it a fact     in the fastness of my soul
That one day in my nest     death I shall know,
And weary of heart     woefully go hence,
Mournful of mind,     in the moldy earth.
And through the gift of God     I shall gain once more
Like the Phoenix fowl,     a fair new life,
On the day of arising     from ruinous death,
Are exalting their Lord.     I look not at all
Ever to come     to the end of that life
Of light and bliss,     though my body shall lie
In its gruesome grave     and grow decayed,
Shall save my soul,     and send it to glory
After the time of death.     I shall trust forever
With steadfast breast,     in the Strength of angels;
Firm is my faith     in the Father of all."
Herald to God,     with gladsome heart:
How he was lifted     to life eternal.
Then we may truly interpret     the token clearly
Which the glorious bird     gave through its burning.
The ashes and embers     all into one place
After the surge of the fire;     the fowl then seizes it
With its feet and flies     to the Father's garden
Towards the sun;     for a time there he sojourns,
All of him young;     nor may any there yearn
To do him menace     with deeds of malice.
So may after death     by the Redeemer's might
Souls go with bodies,     bound together,
In rich array,     with rare perfumes,
Where the steadfast sun     streams its light
O'er the sacred hosts     in the happy city.
Then high over the roofs     the holy Ruler
Radiant fowls     follow around him
Brightest of birds,     in bliss exulting,
The chosen and joyous ones     join him at home,
Forever and ever,     where no evil is wrought
But they shall live in lasting     light and beauty,
As the Phoenix fowl,     in the faith of God.
Every one of men's works     in that wondrous home,
In that blissful abode,     brightly shines forth
Who resembles the sun.     A sacred crown
Most richly wrought     with radiant gems,
High over the head     of each holy soul
Glitters refulgent;     their foreheads gleam,
Embellishes beautifully     the blessed host
With light in that life,     where lasting joy
Is fresh and young     and fades not away,
But they dwell in bliss,     adorned in beauty,
They see no sorrow     in those sacred courts,
No sin nor suffering     nor sad work-days,
No burning hunger,     nor bitter thirst,
No evil nor age:     but ever their King
That loves its Lord     and everlasting King,
That glorifies and praises     the power of God.
That host round the holy     high-set throne
Makes then melody     in mighty strains;
In unison with angels,     orisons to the Lord:
"Peace to thee, O God,     thou proud Monarch,
Thou Ruler reigning     with righteousness and skill;
Thanks for thy goodly     gifts to us all;
High and holy!     The heavens, O Lord,
Are fairly filled,     O Father Almighty,
Glory of glories,     in greatness ruling
Among angels above     and on earth beneath!
So shall the saints     sing his praises,
Those free from sin,     in that fairest of cities,
Proclaim his power,     the righteous people,
Honor without end     is only for him,
Not ever at all     had he any birth,
Any beginning of bliss,     though he was born in the world,
On this earth in the image     of an innocent child;
High above the heavens     in holiness he dwelt!
Though he must endure     the death of the cross,
Bear the bitter     burden of men,
When three days have passed     after the death of his body,
Through the aid of the Father.     So the Phoenix betokens
In his youthful state,     the strength of Christ,
Who in a wondrous wise     awakes from the ashes
Unto the life of life,     with limbs begirded;
Through the loss of his body,     life without end.
Likewise that fowl     filleth his wings,
Loads them with sweet     and scented roots,
With winsome flowers     and flies away;
The songs of the holy ones     whose souls go to heaven,
With the loving Lord     to live for aye,
In bliss of bliss,     where they bring to God
Their words and their works,     wondrous in savor,
In that life of light.
Lasting be the praise
Through the world of worlds     and wondrous honor,
And royal power     in the princely realm,
The kingdom of heaven.     He is King indeed
Encircled with honor     in that city of beauty.
He has given us leave     _lucis auctor_,
That here we may     _merueri_
As reward for good     _gaudia in celo_,
Seek and sit on     _sedibus altis_,
Shall live a life     _lucis et pacis_,
Shall own a home     _almae letitiae_,
Know blessings and bliss;     _blandem and mitem_
And lift up a song     _lauda perenne_
Forever with the angels.     _Alleluia!_
Before thou wast born,     there was built thee a house;
For thee was a mould meant     ere thy mother bore thee;
They have not made it ready     nor reckoned its depth;
No one has yet learned     how long it shall be.
Now I shall measure thee,     and the mould afterwards.
Thy house is not     highly timbered.
It is unhigh and low;     when thou lyest therein,
The bottom and side boards     shall bind thee near:
Thou shalt dwell full cold     in the clammy earth.
Full dim and dismal     that den is to live in.
Doorless is that house,     and is dark within;
Down art thou held there     and death hath the key.
There thou shalt tarry     and be torn by worms.
Thus thou art laid,     and leavest thy friends;
Thou hast never a comrade     who will come to thee,
Who will hasten to look     how thou likest thy house.
.  . . . . . . .     and after thee descend;
For soon thou art loathsome     and unlovely to see:
From the crown of thy head     shall the hair be lost;
Thy locks shall fall     and lose their freshness;
Date: It appears in the Chronicle under the year 937.
Here Aethelstan the king,     of earls the lord,
Bracelet-giver of barons     and his brother as well,
Edmund the Aetheling,     honor eternal
Won at warfare     by the wielding of swords
Struck down the shields     with the sharp work of hammers,
The heirs of Edward,     as of old had been taught
By their kinsmen who clashed     in conflict often
Defending their firesides     against foemen invaders,
Soldiers of Scotland     and seamen-warriors--
Fated they fell.     The field was wet
With the blood of the brave,     after the bright sun
Had mounted at morning,     the master of planets
The Lord's everlasting,     till the lamp of heaven
Sank to its setting.     Soldiers full many
Lay mangled by spears,     men of the Northland,
Shamefully shot     o'er their shields, and Scotchmen,
All during the day     with their daring men
Followed the tracks     of their foemen's troops.
From behind they hewed     and harried the fleeing,
With sharp-ground swords.     Never shunned the Mercians
Who over the oar-path     with Anlaf did come,
Who sailed on a ship     and sought the land,
Fated in fight.
Five chieftains lay
Killed in the conflict,     kings full youthful,
Of the earls of Anlaf,     and others unnumbered,
Of sailors and Scotchmen.     Sent forth in flight then
Was the prince of the Northmen,     pressed hard by need,
To the stem of his ship;     with a staunch little band
Over the fallow flood,     fled for his life.
Also the sage one     sorrowfully northward
Crept to his kinsmen,     Constantinus,
The hoary war-hero;     for him was small need
And friends had fallen     on the field of battle,
Slain at the strife,     and his son left behind
On the field of fight,     felled and wounded,
Young at the battle.     No boast dared he make
Full of age and of evil,     nor had Anlaf the more.
With their vanquished survivors     no vaunt could they make
That in works of war     their worth was unequalled,
In the fearful field,     in the flashing of standards,
And the war-play of weapons,     when they had waged their battle
Now departed the Northmen     in their nailed ships,
Dreary from dart-play     on Dyngesmere.
Broken and baffled     back to Ireland.
So, too, the brothers     both went together,
The King and the Aetheling;     to their kinsmen's home,
To the wide land of Wessex     --warrior's exultant.
The sallow-hued spoiler,     the swarthy raven,
Horned of beak,     and the hoary-backed
White-tailed eagle     to eat of the carrion,
And the greedy goshawk,     and that gray beast,
Ever on this island     at any time,
Or more folk felled     before this strife
With the edge of the sword,     as is said in old books,
In ancient authors,     since from the east hither
Over the salt sea     in search of Britain,--
Since the crafty warriors     conquered the Welshmen
And, greedy for glory,     gained them the land.
Date: It appears in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for 991.
He bade the young barons     abandon their horses,
To drive them afar     and dash quickly forth,
In their hands and brave heart     to put all hope of success.
That the earl would not brook     dishonorable bearing.
He held in his hand     the hawk that he loved,
Let him fly to the fields;     to the fight then he stepped;
By this one could know     that the knight was unwilling
Edric wished also     to aid his chief,
His folk-lord in fight;     forward he bore
His brand to the battle;     a brave heart he had
So long as he held     locked in his hand
Fearless to fight     before his lord.
Then Byrhtnoth began     to embolden the warriors;
He rode and counseled them,     his comrades he taught
How they should stand     in the stronghold's defence,
Fast by their hands     without fear in their hearts.
When the folk by fair words     he had fired with zeal,
He alighted in a crowd     of his loyal comrades,
Where he felt that his friends     were most faithful and true.
Of the Vikings called     in vaunting words,
Brought him the boast     of the bloody seamen,
The errand to the earl,     at the edge of the water:
"I am sent to thee     by seamen bold;
Rings for a ransom,     and rather than fight
It is better for you     to bargain with gold
Than that we should fiercely     fight you in battle.
It is futile to fight     if you fill our demands;
If commands thou wilt make,     who art mightiest of warriors,
That thy folk shall be free     from the foemen's attack,
Shall give of their wealth     at the will of the seamen,
A treasure for tribute,     with a truce in return,
We will sail to the sea     and vouchsafe to you peace."
Byrhtnoth burst forth,     his buckler he grasped,
His spear he seized,     and spoke in words
Full of anger and ire,     and answer he gave:
Spears they will send     to the sailors as tribute,
Poisoned points and     powerful swords,
And such weapons of war     as shall win you no battles.
Envoy of Vikings,     your vauntings return,
That here staunchly stands     with his steadfast troops,
The lord that will fight     for the land of his fathers,
For the realm of Aethelred,     my royal chief,
For his folk and his fold;     fallen shall lie
With our treasure as tribute     that you take to your ships,
Without facing a fight,     since thus far hither
You have come and encroached     on our king's domain.
You shall not so easily     earn our treasure;
With grim war grip     ere we grant you tribute."
He bade then his band     to bear forth their shields,
Until they arrived     at the river bank.
The waters prevented     the warriors' encounter;
Locked up the land;     too long it seemed
Until they could meet     and mingle their spears.
By Panta's stream     they stood in array,
The East Saxon army     and the eager shield-warriors;
Save the few who were felled     by a flight of arrows.
The flood receded;     the sailors stood ready,
All of the Vikings     eager for victory.
Byrhtnoth bade the     bridge to be defended,
With his crowd of kinsmen;     he was Ceola's son,
And he felled the first     of the foemen who stepped
On the bridge, the boldest     of the band of men.
There waited with Wulfstan     the warriors undaunted,
At the ford not a foot     would they flee the encounter,
But close in conflict     they clashed with the foe,
As long as they wielded     their weapons with strength.
As soon as they saw     and perceived it clearly,
The treacherous tribe     in trickery asked
That they be allowed     to lead their hosts
For a closer conflict,     to cross over the ford.
Then the earl, too eager     to enter the fight,
Clearly then called     over the cold water
Byrhthelm's son;     the soldiers listened:
"Room is now made for you;     rush quickly here
Forward to the fray;     fate will decide
Went then the battle-wolves--     of water they recked not--
The pirate warriors     west over Panta;
Over the bright waves     they bore their shields;
The seamen stepped     to the strand with their lindens.
Stood Byrhtnoth's band;     he bade them with shields
To form a phalanx,     and to defend themselves stoutly,
Fast holding the foe.     The fight was near,
The triumph at conflict;     the time had come
Then arose an alarm;     the ravens soared,
The eagle eager for prey;     on earth was commotion.
Then sped from their hands     the hardened spears,
Flew in fury     file-sharpened darts;
Cruel was the conflict;     in companies they fell;
On every hand     lay heaps of youths.
Wulfmere was woefully     wounded to death,
Slaughtered the sister's     son of Byrhtnoth;
To the vikings quickly     requital was given;
I learned that Edward     alone attacked
Stoutly with his sword,     not stinting his blows,
So that fell at his feet     many fated invaders;
To his chamberlain brave,     when chance would permit.
So firm of purpose     they fought in their turn,
Young men in battle;     they yearned especially
To lead their line     with the least delay
Warriors with weapons.     The world seethed with slaughter.
Steadfast they stood,     stirred up by Byrhtnoth;
He bade his thanes     to think on battle,
And fight for fame     with the foemen Danes.
His shield for a shelter;     to the soldier he came;
The chief to the churl     a challenge addressed;
Each to the other     had evil intent.
The seamen then sent     from the south a spear,
He shoved with his shield     till the shaft was broken,
And burst the spear     till back it sprang.
Enraged was the daring one;     he rushed with his dart
On the wicked warrior     who had wounded him sore.
Through the grim youth's neck;     he guided his hand
And furiously felled     his foeman dead.
Straightway another     he strongly attacked,
And burst his burnie;     in his breast he wounded him.
Loudly he laughed,     to the Lord he gave thanks
For the deeds of the day     the Redeemer had granted.
A hostile youth hurled     from his hand a dart;
And the honorable earl     of Aethelred fell.
By his side there stood     a stripling youth,
A boy in battle     who boldly drew
The bloody brand     from the breast of his chief.
Gave back again     the gory war-lance;
The point pierced home,     so that prostrate lay
The Viking whose valor     had vanquished the earl.
To the earl then went     an armed warrior;
His booty and bracelets,     his bright shining sword.
Byrhtnoth snatched forth     the brown-edged weapon
From his sheath, and sharply     shook the attacker;
Certain of the seamen     too soon joined against him,
Now sank to the ground     his golden brand;
He might not hold     the hilt of his mace,
Nor wield his weapons.     These words still he spoke,
To embolden the youths;     the battle-scarred hero
He no longer had strength     to stand on his feet,
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     he looked to heaven:
"Ruler of realms,     I render thee thanks
For all of the honors     that on earth I have had;
That thou save my soul     through thy sovereign mercy,
That my spirit speed     to its splendid home
And pass into thy power,     O Prince of angels,
And depart in peace;     this prayer I make,
Then the heathen dogs     hewed down the noble one,
And both the barons     that by him stood--
Aelfnoth and Wulfmaer     each lay slaughtered;
They lost their lives     in their lord's defence.
First in the frantic     flight was Godric,
The son of Odda;     he forsook his chief
Who had granted him gifts     of goodly horses;
Lightly he leapt     on his lord's own steed,
His brothers also     the battle forsook.
Godwin and Godwy     made good their escape,
And went to the wood,     for the war they disliked;
They fled to the fastnesses     in fear of their lives,
Had they freshly in mind     remembered the favors,
The good deeds he had done them     in days of old.
Wise were the words     spoken once by Offa
As he sat with his comrades     assembled in council:
The chief of the folk     now fell to his death,
Aethelred's earl;     all his companions
Looked on their lord     as he lay on the field.
The hardy heroes     hastened madly,
All of them eager     either to die
Or valiantly avenge     their vanquished lord.
They were eagerly urged     by Aelfric's son,
Aelfwine then spoke,     an honorable speech:
"Remember how we made     in the mead-hall our vaunts,
From the benches our boasts     of bravery we raised,
Heroes in the hall,     of hard-fought battles;
Now I make known     my noble descent;
I come from Mercia,     of mighty kinsmen;
My noble grandsire's     name was Ealdhelm,
Wise in the ways     of the world this elder.
That in fear I fled     afar from the battle,
To leave for home     with my leader hewn down,
Broken in battle;     that brings me most grief;
He was not only my earl     but also my kinsman."
And with the point of spear     he pierced and slew
A seaman grim     who sank to the ground
Under weight of the weapon.     To war he incited
His friends and fellows,     in the fray to join.
"Thou exhortest, O Aelfwine,     in the hour of need,
When our lord is lying     full low before us,
The earl on the earth;     we all have a duty
That each one of us     should urge on the rest
He may have and hold,     his hard-wrought mace,
His dart and good sword.     The deed of Godric,
The wicked son of Offa,     has weakened us all;
Many of the men thought     when he mounted the steed,
The shield-wall was shattered.     May shame curse the man
Who deceived our folk     and sent them in flight."
Leofsunu spoke     and his linden-shield raised,
"I promise you now     from this place I will never
Flee a foot-space,     but forward will rush,
Where I vow to revenge     my vanquished lord.
The stalwart warriors     round Sturmere shall never
That lordless I fled     when my leader had fallen,
Ran from the war;     rather may weapons,
The iron points slay me."     Full ireful he went;
Fiercely he fought;     flight he disdained.
Over them all;     the aged churl cried,
Called the brave ones to battle     in Bryhtnoth's avenging:
"Let no hero now hesitate     who hopes to avenge
His lord on the foemen,     nor fear for his life."
Grasped their spears grimly,     to God made their prayer
That they might dearly repay     the death of their lord,
The son of Ecglaf,     Aescferth his name;
He paused not a whit     at the play of weapons,
But unerringly aimed     his arrows uncounted;
With the point of his arrow     he pierced to the marrow
While he wielded his weapons     of war unsubdued.
Still in the front     stood the stalwart Edward,
Burning for battle;     his boasts he spoke:
Or leave his lord     where he lay on the field;
He shattered the shield-wall;     with the shipmen he fought,
Till on the treacherous tribesmen     his treasure-giver's death
He valiantly avenged     ere his violent end.
Brother of Sibyrht     and bravest of soldiers;
He eagerly fought     and the others followed;
They cleft the curved shields;     keenly they battled;
Then burst the buckler's rim,     and the burnies sang
The seaman by Offa;     and the earth received him;
Soon Offa himself     was slain in battle;
He had laid down his life     for his lord as he promised
That they both alive     from battle should come,
Hale to their homes     or lie hewn down in battle,
Fallen on the field     with their fatal wounds;
He lay by his lord     like a loyal thane.
Raving with rage;     they ran their spears
Through their fated foes.     Forth went Wistan,
Thurstan's son then,     to the thick of the conflict.
In the throng he slew     three of the sailors,
The fight was stiff;     and fast they stood;
In the cruel conflict     they were killed by scores,
Weary with wounds;     woeful was the slaughter.
Oswald and Eadwold     all of the while,
Encouraged their comrades     with keen spoken words,
Besought them to strive     in their sore distress,
To wield their weapons     and not weaken in battle.
Byrhtwold then spoke;     his buckler he lifted,
And boldly encouraged     his comrades to battle:
"Your courage be the harder,     your hearts be the keener,
And sterner the strife     as your strength grows less.
Here lies our leader     low on the earth,
Be the traitor who tries     to turn from the war-play.
I am old of years,     but yet I flee not;
Staunch and steadfast     I stand by my lord,
And I long to be     by my loved chief."
Godric emboldened them;     oft he brandished his lance,
Violently threw     at the Vikings his war-spear,
So that first among the folk     he fought to the end;
Hewed down and hacked,     till the hated ones killed him--
Now shall we praise     the Prince of heaven,
The might of the Maker     and his manifold thought,
The Lord everlasting     when he laid out the worlds.
He first raised up     for the race of men
The heaven as a roof,     the holy Ruler.
Then the world below,     the Ward of mankind,
As a home for man,     the Almighty Lord.
Ohthere's Voyages
Wulfstan's Voyage
Alfred's Preface to His Translation of Gregory's "Pastoral Care"
Bede's Death Song
Caedmon's Hymn
Christ, Selections from the
Deor's Lament
Elene, Selections from the
Exodus, Selections from
Genesis, Selections from
Gregory's "Pastoral Care," Preface to
Husband's Message, The
XLV. Dough
XLVII. Bookworm, A
Wife's Lament, The