The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose Now First Collected with a Prefatory Memoir by his Nephews W. E. and Sir Bartle Frere |
 | I. |
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METRICAL VERSION OF AN ODE ON
ATHELSTAN'S VICTORY. |
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| II. |
 | The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose |  |
38
METRICAL VERSION OF AN ODE ON ATHELSTAN'S VICTORY.
The mightiest of alle manne,
Was the gude kinge Athelstan,
Alle his knytis to hir medis
Weren riche and ryal wedis.
Edmond his brother, was a Knyt
Comelich, brave, and fair to syht.
At Brunenbruc in stour they faught;
Fiercer fray was never wraught.
Maille was split, and helmis roven,
The wall of shieldis down they cloven:
The Thanis which cold with Edmond fare
To meet the fomen well were yare.
For it was comen to hem of kynde
Hir londis and tresoúrs to fend.
Was the gude kinge Athelstan,
Alle his knytis to hir medis
Weren riche and ryal wedis.
Edmond his brother, was a Knyt
Comelich, brave, and fair to syht.
At Brunenbruc in stour they faught;
Fiercer fray was never wraught.
Maille was split, and helmis roven,
The wall of shieldis down they cloven:
The Thanis which cold with Edmond fare
To meet the fomen well were yare.
For it was comen to hem of kynde
Hir londis and tresoúrs to fend.
The kempis, whych was of Irlond,
On ilka daie, on ilka strond,
Weted with blude, and wounded, fell
Rapely smatin with the stell.
Grislich on the grund they groned;
Aboven, alle the hyls resounéd.
What for laboúr, and what for hete,
The kempis swate til they wer wete.
From morrow til the close of day,
Was the tyme of that journée.
On ilka daie, on ilka strond,
Weted with blude, and wounded, fell
Rapely smatin with the stell.
Grislich on the grund they groned;
Aboven, alle the hyls resounéd.
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The kempis swate til they wer wete.
From morrow til the close of day,
Was the tyme of that journée.
Monie mon from Dacie sprong
The deth tholid, I underfong.
The Scottis fell in that bataille,
Whyche wer forwerid of travaille.
The West Saxonis wer ware,
When their foen away wold fare;
As they fled they did hem sewe
Wyth ghazand swerdis, that wel couth hew.
The cokins they n' olden staie,
For thir douten of that fraye.
The deth tholid, I underfong.
The Scottis fell in that bataille,
Whyche wer forwerid of travaille.
The West Saxonis wer ware,
When their foen away wold fare;
As they fled they did hem sewe
Wyth ghazand swerdis, that wel couth hew.
The cokins they n' olden staie,
For thir douten of that fraye.
The Mercians fought, I understond;
There was gamen of the hond.
Alle that with Anlaff hir way nom,
Over the seas in the shippes wome,
And the five sonnes of the kynge,
Fel mid dint of swerd-fightinge,
His seven erlis died alswo;
Many Scottes wer killed tho.
The Normannes, for their migty bost,
Went hame with a lytyl host.
The Kynge and frode syked sore
For hir kempis whyche wer forlore:
The Kynge and frode to schyppe gan flee,
Wyth mickel haste, but hir meguie.
Constantine gude, and Anlaff,
Lytyl bost hadde of the laif.
Maie he nat glosen, ne saie
But he was right wel appaie.
In Dacie of that gaming
Monie wemen hir hondis wring.
The Normannes passed that rivere,
Mid hevy hart, and sory chere.
The brothers to Wessex yode;
Leving the crowen, and the tode,
Hawkes, doggis, and wolves tho;
Egles, and monie other mo,
With the ded men for their mede
On hir corses for to fede.
There was gamen of the hond.
Alle that with Anlaff hir way nom,
Over the seas in the shippes wome,
And the five sonnes of the kynge,
Fel mid dint of swerd-fightinge,
His seven erlis died alswo;
Many Scottes wer killed tho.
The Normannes, for their migty bost,
Went hame with a lytyl host.
The Kynge and frode syked sore
For hir kempis whyche wer forlore:
The Kynge and frode to schyppe gan flee,
Wyth mickel haste, but hir meguie.
Constantine gude, and Anlaff,
Lytyl bost hadde of the laif.
Maie he nat glosen, ne saie
But he was right wel appaie.
In Dacie of that gaming
Monie wemen hir hondis wring.
The Normannes passed that rivere,
Mid hevy hart, and sory chere.
The brothers to Wessex yode;
Leving the crowen, and the tode,
Hawkes, doggis, and wolves tho;
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With the ded men for their mede
On hir corses for to fede.
Sen the Saxonis first come
In schippes over the sea-fome,
Of the yeres that ben forgone,
Greater bataile was never none.
In schippes over the sea-fome,
Of the yeres that ben forgone,
Greater bataile was never none.
| The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose | |