915 The greedy spirit of consuming flame 921 925 many; 15 High the heap of horned gables, of the host a mickle sound, Many were the mead-halls, full of mirth of men, Till the strong-willed Wyrd whirled that all to change! In a slaughter wide they fell, woeful days of bale came on; Famine-death fortook fortitude from men; 20 All their battle bulwarks bare foundations were! Crumbled is the castle-keep; those have cringed to earth Who set up again the shrines! So the halls are dreary, And this courtyard's wide expanse! From the raftered woodwork 1 The Ruin here described is supposed to be that of one of the walled towns of Roman-Britain, probably Bath. The date of the poem is unknown, but its language is later than that of Cynewulf. 2 The Fates. Counsel, judgment. 4 Houses fed by springs of water. This passage, and the reference to the hot baths in lines 34-35 support the view that the city was Bath, where the ruins of Roman baths may still be seen. Here is the passing of riches, here friends are passing away; And men and kinsfolk pass, and nothing and none may stay; And all this earth-stead here shall be empty and void one day." . . THE SEAFARER1 (Translated by HENRY MORLEY) "I may sing of myself now How oft through long seasons How I sailed among sorrows The wild rise of the waves, Knows not he who finds happiest How I lived through long winter 70 In labour and care, And these be the words he taketh, the thoughts of his heart to tell: "Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the giver of gold? Where be the seats at the banquet? Where be the hall-joys of old? Alas for the burnished cup, for the byrnied3 chief to-day! On the icy-cold ocean, Cut off from dear kindred, But the wrath of the waters, At times the swan's song; In the scream of the gannet I sought for my joy, In the moan of the sea-whelp For laughter of men, In the song of the sea-mew For drinking of mead. Starlings answered the storm Beating stones on the cliff, Icy-feathered, and often 80 The eagle would shriek, Wet of wing. Not one home-friend could feel With the desolate soul; 45 The terrible storm that fetters the earth, the winter-bale, When the shadow of night falls wan, and wild is the rush of the hail, The cruel rush from the north, which maketh men to quail. Hardship-full is the earth, o'erturned when the stark Wyrds say: 85 Burnied chief, i. e., chief arrayed in his "byrnie," or war-shirt. For he little believes To whom life's joy belongs In the town, lightly troubled With dangerous tracks, Vain with high spirit 50 1 The date and authorship are unknown. Some scholars think that the Seafarer is a dialogue between an old sailor and a young man who longs to go to sea, but as this is mere conjecture, no attempt has been made in the present version to indicate the respective parts. So proud in his mind, Nor so good in his gifts, Groves bud with green, 60 65 70 35 00 I believe not that earth-blessings Ever abide. Ever of three things one, To each ere the severing hour: Old age, sickness, or slaughter, Will force the doomed soul to depart. Therefore for each of the earls, Of those who shall afterwards name them, This is best laud from the living 125 130 In last words spoken about him:He worked ere he went his way, 70 When on earth, against wiles of the foe, With brave deeds overcoming the devil. His memory cherished 135 By children of men, His glory grows ever 75 With angels of God, In life everlasting Of bliss with the bold. 140 85 90 None count out, As once they did, their gifts of gold, That fame is all fallen, 145 150 Athelstan King, Slew with the sword-edge This poem appears originally in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle under the year 937. It celebrates a battle fought at Brunanburh, between the West Saxons led by King Athelstan, grandson of Alfred the Great, and Edmund the Athling (or prince), and a combined force of Danes, Scots, and Britons led by Constantinus and Anlaf. The site of Brunanburh has never been satisfactorily established. The most likely place seems to be the old Brunne, now Bourne, in Lincolnshire. Ramsay's Foundations of England, I. 285.) Tennyson based his version of the poem upon his son's prose translation from the original Old English. (See Long as the daylight Troubled the track of the host that we hated; Grimly with swords that were sharp from the grindstone, Fiercely we hack'd at the flyers before us. VI Mighty the Mercian, Borne in the bark's-bosom, Doom'd to the death. VII |