of earthly bliss, and all had fled 2710 2715 2730 2790 he found all bleeding, famous chief, at the lapse of life. The liegeman again plashed him with water, till point of word broke through the breast-hoard. Beowulf spake, sage and sad, as he stared at the gold:"For the gold and treasure, to God my thanks, to the Wielder-of-Wonders, with words I say, 2795 for what I behold, to Heaven's Lord, for the grace that I give such gifts to my folk or ever the day of my death be run! Now I've bartered here for booty of treasure the last of my life, so look ye well 2800 to the needs of my land! No longer I tarry. A barrow bid ye the battle-famed raise for my ashes. Twill shine by the shore of the flood to folk of mine memorial fair 2805 2810 on Hronës Headland high uplifted, that ocean-wanderers oft may hail Beowulf's Barrow, as back from far they drive their keels o'er the darkling wave." From his neck he unclasped the collar of gold, valorous king, to his vassal gave it with bright-gold helmet, breastplate, and ring, to the youthful thane: bade him use them in joy. "Thou art end and remnant of all our race, the Wægmunding name. For Wyrd hath swept them, all my line, to the land of doom, of his file of days, and death was near: who war would wage me with 'warriors'-friends' 1 2740 2815 From the Ruler-of-Man no wrath shall seize me, when life from my frame must flee away, for killing of kinsmen! Now quickly go and gaze on that hoard 'neath the hoary rock, Wiglaf loved, now the worm lies low, sleeps, heart-sore, of his spoil bereaved. And fare in haste. I would fain behold the gorgeous heirlooms, golden store, have joy in the jewels and gems, lay down softlier for sight of this splendid hoard my life and the lordship I long have held." Then fashioned for him the folk of Geats firm on the earth a funeral-pile, 2745 2750 XXXVIII Then, I heard, the hill of its hoard was reft, old work of giants, by one alone; he burdened his bosom with beakers and plate 2775 at his own good will, and the ensign took, That is, swords. and hung it with helmets and harness of war and breastplates bright, as the boon he asked; 3140 and they laid amid it the mighty chieftain, heroes mourning their master dear. Then on the hill that hugest of balefires the warriors wakened. Wood-smoke rose black over blaze, and blent was the roar of flame with weeping (the wind was still), till the fire had broken the frames of bones, hot at the heart. In heavy mood their misery moaned they, their master's death. Wailing her woe, the widow old, VI -Sitteth one sorrowful, severed from joys; Yet let him think that through this world I was happy with clansmen; till Heorrenda now 30 35 40 From the ANGLO-SAXON TRANSLATION OF BEDE'S ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY [Bede finished his Latin history in 731. The Anglo-Saxon translation, ascribed in MSS. and by tradition to King Alfred, has been edited for the E. E. T. S. by Thos. Miller (Vol. 95, 1898), whose modern English rendering is here reproduced.] THE PARABLE OF THE SWALLOW When the King heard these words, he answered and said that it was both his desire and duty to receive the faith which the bishop taught. Yet he said he would speak and take counsel with his friends and counsellors, and if they agreed with him all together would be consecrated to Christ in the fount of life. Then did the King as he said and the bishop assented. Then he conferred and took counsel with his advisers, and asked all of them separately their opinion about this new [10 doctrine and worship of the Deity which was taught therein. Then his chief bishop, called Caefi, answered: "Consider for your part, O king, what this doctrine is, that is now preached to us. I truly confess to you what I have learnt for certain, that the religion we have held and maintained hitherto is absolutely without use or excellence. For none of your followers devoted himself more closely or cheerfully to the worship of our gods than I did; but nevertheless many have re- [20 ceived more gifts and promotion from you than I, and in all things have prospered more. Well, I am sure if our gods had any power they would help me more, for I more zealously served and obeyed them. Therefore if you consider the religion to be fairer and stronger which is newly preached to us, it seems wise to me that we should receive it." Another of the King's counsellors, one of his chief men, assented to his words, and taking [30 up the discussion, thus spoke: “O king, the present life of man on earth, in comparison with the time unknown to us, seems to me as if you sat at 1 That is, any person who has, lost his situation and has fallen on evil times. If the strict dramatic-lyric scheme be assumed, this could pass as interpolation. 2 The king. 3 Who? Is the refrain here a kind of echo? Is this Deor who surmounted his troubles, as also may the hearer or reader who repeats the poem? Was the whole a general poem of consolation? table with your chief men and followers in winter time, and a fire was kindled and your hall warmed, while it rained, snowed, and stormed without; and there came a sparrow and swiftly flew through the house, entering at one door and passing out through the other. Now as long as he is inside he is not pelted with the winter's storm; but [40 that is the twinkling of an eye and a moment of time, and at once he passes back from winter into winter. So then this life of man appears for but a little while; what goes before, or what comes after, we know not. So, if this new doctrine reports anything more certain or apt, it deserves to be followed." The other elders and the King's counsellors expressed themselves in similar terms. (Book ii, ch. 10.) [50 THE POET CAEDMON In the monastery of this abbess there was a brother specially remarkable and distinguished by the divine grace. For he was wont to compose suitable songs tending to religion and piety, so that whatever he had learnt through scholars of the divine writings he presently embellished in poetic compositions of the greatest sweetness and fervor, well expressed in the English language. And by his songs many men's minds were often fired to disregard the world and attach them- [10 selves to the heavenly life. And also many others after him in England began to compose pious songs; none, however, could do that like him. For he had not been taught of men or through man to acquire the art of song, but he had divine aid and received the art of song through God's grace. And for this reason he never could compose anything frivolous, nor any idle poetry, but just that only which tended to piety, and which it became his pious tongue to sing. [20 The man had lived in the world till the time that he was of advanced age, and never had learnt any poetry. And as he was often at a beerdrinking when it was arranged, to promote mirth, that they should all in turn sing to the harp, whenever he saw the harp come near him he arose out of shame from the feast and went home to his house. Having done so on one occasion, he left the house of entertainment and went out to the fold of the cattle, the charge of which had [30 been committed to him for that night. When in due time he stretched his limbs on the bed there and fell asleep, there stood by him in a dream a man who saluted and greeted him, calling on him by name: "Caedmon, sing me something." Then he answered and said: "I cannot sing anything, and therefore I came out from this entertainment and retired here, as I know not how to sing." Again he who spoke to him said: "Yet you could sing." Then said he: "What shall I sing?" [40 He said: "Sing to me the beginning of all things." On receiving this answer, he at once began to sing in praise of the Creator verses and words which he had never heard, the order of which is as follows: "Now should we praise the guardian of the heavenly kingdom, the power of the Creator and the counsel of his mind, the works of the Father of glory, how he, the eternal Lord, Then he arose from his sleep, and he had firmly in his memory all that he sang while asleep. And to the words he soon added on many others in the same style of song worthy of God. Then he came in the morning to the steward of the manor, who was his superior, and told him what gift he had received; and he at once brought him to [60 the abbess and made the matter known to her. Then she ordered all the best scholars and the students to be assembled, and in their presence bade him relate the dream and sing the song, that by the judgment of all it might be determined what or whence this gift was. Then it seemed to all, as indeed it was, that a heavenly grace had been vouchsafed him by the Lord himself. Then they set forth and stated to him a holy narrative and some word of divine doctrine, and directed [70 him, if he could, to turn it into the harmony of Having undertaken the task, he went home to his house; and returning in the morning, recited and presented to them what had been delivered to him composed in excellent verse. verse. Then the abbess began to welcome and find a pleasure in God's grace in the man; and she admonished and enjoined him to leave the world and become a monk, and he readily assented. And she admitted him with his property into [8ɔ the monastery, and attached him to the congregation of God's servants; and she directed that he should be taught the whole round of sacred history and narrative. And he retained in his memory whatever he learnt by hearing; and like a clean animal, he ruminated and converted all into the sweetest music. And his song and his music were so delightful to hear that even his teachers wrote down the words from his lips and learnt them. He sang first of the earth's crea- [90 tion and the beginning of man and all the story of Genesis, which is the first book of Moses; and afterwards about the departure of the people of Israel from the land of Egypt and their entry into the land of promise; and about many other narratives in the books of the canon of Scripture; and about Christ's incarnation, and about his passion, and about his ascension into heaven; and about the coming of the Holy Ghost, and the teaching of the apostles; and again about the [100 day of judgment to come, and about the terror of hell torment, and about the sweetness of the kingdom of heaven, he composed many a song. And he also composed many others about the divine blessings and judgments. In all these he earnestly strove to draw men from the love of sin and transgression, and to rouse them to love and zeal for good deeds. For the man was very pious and humbly submissive to regular discipline. And towards those who would act otherwise, he [110 was inflamed with a zeal of great fervor. And he accordingly concluded and ended his life by a fair close. For when it grew near the time of his departure and decease, fourteen days previously he was op pressed and afflicted with bodily infirmity, yet to such a moderate extent that he could all the time speak and move about. There was there close at hand a house for the sick, into which it was their custom to bring those who were more [120 infirm and those who were at the point of death, and tend them there together. Then he directed his attendant on the evening of the night on which he was to depart from the world to prepare a place for him in the house, that he might rest. Then the attendant wondered why he asked for this, for it seemed to him his death was not so ncar; however he did as he said and directed. And when he went to bed there, and cheerfully spoke and jested along with those in the house, [130 then after midnight he asked them whether they had the Eucharist in the house. Then they answered and said: "What need have you of the Eucharist? It is not so near your death, seeing that you are speaking so cheerfully and brightly to us." He repeated, "Bring me the Eucharist." When he had it in his hand, he asked whether they all felt peaceably and cheerfully disposed towards him, without any rancor. Then all answered and said they had no rancorous feeling [140 towards him, but all were most friendly disposed to him; and they in turn prayed him to feel kindly to them. Then he answered and said: "Dear brethren, I feel very friendly towards you and all God's servants." And so he fortified himself with the heavenly viaticum, and prepared his entry into another life. Then once more he asked how near it was to the hour that the brothers should get up, and raise the song of praise to God and chant lauds. Then they answered: "It is [150 not far to that." He said, "Good; let us indeed await the hour." And he prayed and signed himself with the token of God's cross, and laid down his head on the pillow and fell asleep for a while; and so in quiet ended his life. And so it came to pass, that as with pure and simple heart and with tranquil devotion he served the Lord, so he also by a tranquil death left the earth, and appeared before God's face. And the tongue which composed so many saving words in praise of the [100 Creator concluded its last words to his glory, as he crossed himself and commended his spirit into his hands. We see also that he was conscious of his own decease, from what we have just now heard related. (Bk. iv, ch. 25.) EARLY MIDDLE ENGLISH PROSE AND VERSE From THE PETERBOROUGH CHRONICLE pa 1137. pa þe King Stephne to Englaland com, pa makod he his gadering at Oxeneford and þar he nam be biscop Roger of Sereberi, and Alexander Biscop of Lincol and te Canceler Roger, hise neves, and dide ælle in prisun til hi iafen up here castles. pa the swikes undergæton dat he milde man was and softe and god, and na justice ne dide, pa diden hi alle wunder. Hi hadden him manred maked and athes sworen, oc hi nan treuthe ne heolden; alle hi wæron forsworen [10 and here treothes forloren, for æoric rice man his castles makede, and agænes him heolden, and fylden pe land ful of castles. Hi swencten swyde be wrecce men of þe land mid castelweorces. be castles waren maked, þa fylden hi mid deovles and yvele men. pa namen hi pa men þe hi wenden dat ani god hefden, bathe be nihtes and be dæies, carlmen and wimmen, and diden heom in prisun æfter gold and sylver, and pined heom untellendlice pining. For ne wæren nævre [20 nan martyrs swa pined alse hi wæron; me henged up bi the fet and smoked heom mid ful smoke; me henged bi the pumbes other bi the hefed, and hengen bryniges on her fet; me dide cnotted strenges abuton here hæved and wrythen to dat it gæde to be hærnes. Hi diden heom in quarterne þar nadres and snakes and pades wæron inne, and drapen heom swa. Sume hi diden in crucethus, dat is in an cæste þat was scort and nareu and undep, and dide scarpe stanes perinne and [30 þrengde pe men bærinne dat him bræcon alle be limes. In mani of pe castles wæron lof and grin, dat wæron rachenteges dat twa oper thre men hadden onoh to bæron onne; þat was swa maced, dat is fæstned to an beom, and diden an scærp iren abuton þe mannes throte and his hals, dat 1137. When King Stephen came to England, he made his assembly at Oxford; and there he took Roger the bishop of Salisbury, and Alexander, bishop of Lincoln, and the Chancellor Roger, his nephews, and put them all in prison till they gave up their castles. When the traitors understood that he was a mild man, and soft and good, and did no justice, then they all did wonders. They had done him homage, and sworn oaths, but they kept no troth; they were all forsworn and their [10 troths broken, for every rich man built his castles, and they held them against him, and filled the land full of castles. They sorely afflicted the wretched men of the land with castle-building. When the castles were built, then they filled them with devils and evil men. Then they took the men who they thought had any property, both by night and by day, men and women, and put them in prison in order to get their gold and silver, and tortured them with unspeakable tortures. [20 For never were any martyrs so tortured as these were. They hanged them up by the feet and smoked them with foul smoke; they hanged them by the thumbs or by the head, and hung coats of mail on their feet; they put knotted cords about their heads and twisted till they cut to the brains. They put them in dungeons wherein were adders and snakes and toads, and killed them thus. Some they put in the torture-house; that is, in a chest that was short and narrow and shallow, [ and they put sharp stones therein and pressed the men therein so that they broke all their limbs. In many of the castles were "lof" and "grin," which were fetters that two or three men had work enough to carry. They were thus made; that is, fastened to a beam, and they held a sharp he ne myhte nowiderwardes, ne sitten ne lien ne slepen, oc baron al dat iren. Mani þusend hi drapen mid hunger. I ne can ne I ne mai tellen alle þe wunder, ne [40 alle be pines dat hi diden wrecce men on þis land; and dat lastede pa nigentene wintre wile Stephne was king, and ævre it was werse and werse. wradest kinge, Cornwale iron about the man's throat and his neck, so that he could not move in any direction, neither to sit nor to lie nor to sleep, but he had to bear all that iron. Many thousand they killed with hunger. [40 I cannot and I may not tell all the wonders, nor all the tortures that they did to wretched men in this land; and that lasted the nineteen winters while Stephen was king, and ever it was worse and worse. LAYAMON'S BRUT ARTHUR'S LAST BATTLE mid muchele þat Arður come riden. zeond al his kinelonde, Arður dat iherde, pat Modred wæs i monweorede, And þer wolde abiden Arður sende sonde And to cumen alle hehte pa to vihte oht weoren, And whaswa hit forsete pe king hine wolde a folden Hit læc toward hirede Ridinde and ganninde Arður for to Cornwale Modred hat iherde, Mid unimete folke,Uppen þere Tambre pa stude hatte Camelford, ilke weorde; þat quic wes on londe, wepnen to beren; þat þe king hete, quic al forbernen. folc unimete, II swa be rein falled adune. mid unimete ferde. and him tozeines heolde þer weore monie væie. heo tuhten togadere; evermare ilast þat 15 And at Camelforde wes isomned sixti þusend, 20 Modred wes heore ælder. Arður þe riche, væie pah hit weore. heo tuhte tosomne; halden togadere; leiden o be helmen; speren brastlien; And ma pusend perto; scaftes tobreken; 25 folc unimete, mid unimete blode; ikennen swa þat wide Mon i þan fihte non per ne mihte nenne kempe, No hwa dude wurse no hwa bet, wes imenged; For ælc sloh adun riht, he cniht. per wes Modred ofslage And alle his cnihtes per weoren ofslaze Arðures hiredmen, weore he swein, weore and idon of lifdaze, 30 And þa Bruttes alle of Ardures borde, Buten Arður þe king ane, Arður wes forwunded Arður him lokede on 40 and of his cnihtes wunder ane swide. þe wes of his cunne; be eorles of Cornwaile; he wes pan kinge 45 þer he lai on folden, mid sorhfulle heorte: Arthur, king most wroth, heard that Modred was in Cornwall with a great force, and there would abide till Arthur came riding. Arthur sent messengers through all his kingdom, and bade all to come that was alive in the land, and that were good at fighting, at bearing weapons; and whoso neglected that which the king bade, the king would burn him all alive in the land. It came toward the host, folk innumerable, riding and marching, as the rain falleth down. Arthur proceeded to [10 Cornwall with an innumerable host. Modred that heard, and advanced against him with innumer able folk, there were many fated to die. Upon the Tambre they came together; the place was called Camelford,—evermore shall last that same word. And at Camelford was gathered sixty thousand, and more thousands thereto; Modred was their chief. Then thitherward went riding Arthur the mighty with a numberless folk, fated though it [20 were. Upon the Tambre they came together, raised their standards, advanced together. They drew long swords, laid on the helmets; fire outsprang; spears splintered, shields began to shiver, shafts to break in pieces. There they fought all together, folk innumerable. Tambre was in flood with blood beyond measure. There in the fight no man might know any champion, nor who did worse nor who better, so confused was that conflict; for each slew downright, were he swain, [30 were he knight. There was Modred slain and done out of his life days, and all his knights slain in the fight. There were slain all the brave, Arthur's followers, high and low, and all the Britons of Arthur's board, and all his vassals of many kingdoms. And Arthur was wounded with a broad war-spear: he had fifteen dreadful wounds; one might in the least thrust two gloves. There was none left in the fight of two hundred thousand men that lay there hewed to pieces but only [40 Arthur the king and two of his knights. Arthur was sorely wounded, wonderfully much. There came to him a lad that was of his kin; he was son of Cador, Earl of Cornwall; the lad was named Constantine, he was dear to the king. Arthur looked at him where he lay on the ground, and said these words with sorrowful heart: "Constantine, thou art welcome, thou wert |