King Alfred's Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

A short metre, and one full of echoes, is that which is best fitted to the genius of Anglo-Saxon verse, so as to represent it fairly. The writer in the first instance wrote another version of this opening rhyme; but saw cause to reject it, as not being literal enough, and because for the metre's sake he was obliged to interpolate two lines. The reason why it is here below inserted is, (not by way of proof of extraordinary pains-taking, for the same sort of labour has occurred in other portions of this version, but) because it is considered by a learned friend as on the whole the best of the two. To the writer's mind, a sin against faithful rendering was fatal, and he prefers the more literal rhyme just already given to the reader. Here then is the rejected one:

Ælfred told to us
A tale of olden time;
The King of the West-Saxons thus
Shewed forth his skill in rhyme.

For long he longed to teach
His people pleasant things,
In mingled changes of sweet speech,
And many counsellings,—

The dear delight of men;
Lest weariness forsooth
Should drive away unfairly then
The selfsame word of truth.

He thereby little sought
For any selfish praise;
[But of these people only thought
To give them good always.]

I thus will speak and say
What all the folk shall read;
List ye that may, and like my lay,
Let all the good give heed.

I. Of Rome and Boethius.

Hit wæs geara iu
Thætte Gotan eastan
Of Sciththia
Sceldas læddon, &c.

It was long of yore
That the Gothic rout,
Forth from Scythia's eastern shore,
Led their shieldmen out,

Thronged with swarms of war
The lands of many a clan,
And in the South set firm and far
Two tribes to trouble man.

Yearly waxed and grew
Those Gothic kingdoms twain,
And Alaric and Rædgast too
Right royally did reign.

Then down the Alps the Goth
Made haste to force his way,
In haughty pride all fiercely wroth,
And lusting for the fray.

Their banner fluttered bright,
While all Italia through
Shot ruthless in their linden might
The shielded warrior crew,

Forth from the Alpine drifts
To great Sicilia's coast,
Where in the seastream it uplifts
Its lofty island boast.

Then Rome's old rule was crush'd,
Her costliness despoil'd,
And by that host, with battle flush'd,
The city's beauty soil'd.

Alaric and Rædgast
The fastness first they seek,
While Cæsar with his chiefs fled fast
For safety to the Greek.

Then could the wretched band,
Left mournfully behind,
No more the warring Goth withstand,
Nor much of mercy find.

Unwillingly their trust
The warders then gave up,
None to his oath was true and just;
And full was sorrow's cup.

Yet to the Greek outyearn'd
The people, as at first,
And for some daring leader burn'd,
To follow whom they durst.

The people wore their woes
Many a wintry year,
Till weird-ordain'd Theodric rose,
Whom thane and earl should hear.

To Christ the chief was born,
And water wash'd the king,
While all Rome's children blest the morn,
That peace with it should bring.

To Rome he vowed full fast
Her old-time rights to yield,
While God should grant his life to last,
The Gothic power to wield.

He did forswear all that:
The Atheling he lied,
To please Arius God forgat,
And falsely slipp'd aside.

He broke his plighted oath,
And, without right or ruth,
Good John the pope against all troth
Beheaded for the truth.

A shameful deed was there;
And heaps of other ill
Against the good this Goth did dare
In wickedness of will.

A man there was just set
For heretoch in Rome,
Loved by the lord whose bread he ate,
And dear to all at home:

Dear also to the Greek,
When he the town did save;
A righteous man, whom all would seek,
For many gifts he gave.

Long since was he full wise,
In worldly wit and lore,
Eager in worth and wealth to rise,
And skill'd on books to pore.

Boethius was he hight;
He ate shame's bitter bread,
And ever kept the scorn in sight
Outlandish kings had said.

He to the Greek was true,
And oft the old-rights told,
Which he and his forefathers too
From those had won of old.

Carefully then he plann'd
To bring the Greek to Rome,
That Cæsar in his rightful land
Again might reign at home.

In hidden haste he plied
With letters all the lords,
And prayed them by the Lord who died
To heed his ernest words.

Greece should give laws to Rome,
And Rome should Greece obey;
The people longed to let them come
To drive the Goth away.

But lo! the Amuling
Theodric found out all,
And bade his fellows seize and bring
This highborn chief in thrall.

He feared that good earl well,
And straightly bade them bind
Boethius in the prison-cell,
Sore troubled in his mind.

Ah! he had basked so long
Beneath a summer sky,
Ill could he bear such load of wrong,
So heavy did it lie.

Then was he full of woe,
Nor heeded honour more;
Reckless he flung himself below
Upon the dungeon floor;

Much mourning, there he lay,
Nor thought to break his chains,
But to the Lord by night and day
Sang thus in sighing strains.

II. A Sorrowful Fytte.

Carmina qui quondam studio florente peregi,
Flebilis, heu! mœstos cogor inire modos, &c.

Hwæt ic liotha fela,
Lustlice geo,
Sanc on sælum, &c.

Lo! I sang cheerily
In my bright days,
But now all wearily
Chaunt I my lays;
Sorrowing tearfully,
Saddest of men,
Can I sing cheerfully,
As I could then?

Many a verity
In those glad times
Of my prosperity
Taught I in rhymes;
Now from forgetfulness
Wanders my tongue,
Wasting in fretfulness
Metres unsung.

Worldliness brought me here
Foolishly blind,
Riches have wrought me here
Sadness of mind;
When I rely on them
Lo! they depart,—
Bitterly, fie on them!
Rend they my heart.

Why did your songs to me,
World-loving men,
Say joy belongs to me
Ever as then?
Why did ye lyingly
Think such a thing,
Seeing how flyingly
Wealth may take wing?

III. A Fytte of Despair.

Heu quam præcipiti mersa profundo
Mens hebet et propria luce relicta, &c.

Æala on hu grimmum,
And hu grundleasum
Seathe swinceth &c.

Alas! in how grim
A gulf of despair,
Dreary and dim
For sorrow and care,
My mind toils along
When the waves of the world
Stormy and strong
Against it are hurl'd.

When in such strife
My mind will forget
Its light and its life
In worldly regret,

And through the night
Of this world doth grope
Lost to the light
Of heavenly hope.

Thus it hath now
Befallen my mind
I know no more how
God's goodness to find,
But groan in my grief
Troubled and tost,
Needing relief
For the world I have lost.

IV. A Psalm to God.

O stelliferi conditor orbis,
Qui perpetuo nixus solio,
Rapido cœlum turbine versas.

Æala thu scippend
Scirra tungla
Hefones and eorthan, &c.

O Thou, that art Maker of heaven and earth,
Who steerest the stars and hast given them birth,
For ever Thou reignest upon Thy high throne,
And turnest all swiftly the heavenly zone.

Thou, by Thy strong holiness, drivest from far
In the way that Thou willest each worshipping star;
And, through thy great power, the sun from the night
Drags darkness away by the might of her light.

The moon, at Thy word, with his pale-shining rays
Softens and shadows the stars as they blaze,
And even the Sun of her brightness bereaves
Whenever upon her too closely he cleaves.

So also the Morning and Evening Star
Thou makest to follow the Sun from afar,
To keep in her pathway each year evermore,
And go as she goeth in guidance before.

Behold too, O Father, Thou workest aright
To summer hot day-times of long-living light,
To winter all wondrously orderest wise
Short seasons of sunshine with frost on the skies.

Thou givest the trees a south-westerly breeze,
Whose leaves the swart storm in its fury did seize
By winds flying forth from the east and the north
And scattered and shattered all over the earth.

On earth and in heaven each creature and kind
Hears Thy behest with might and with mind,
But Man, and Man only, who oftenest still
Wickedly worketh against Thy wise will.

For ever Almighty One, Maker and Lord,
On us, wretched earthworms, Thy pity be pour'd;
Why wilt Thou that welfare to sinners should wend,
But lettest weird ill the unguilty ones rend?

Evil men sit, each on earth's highest seat,
Trampling the holy ones under their feet;
Why good should go crookedly no man can say,
And bright deeds in crowds should lie hidden away.

The sinner at all times is scorning the just,
The wiser in right, and the worthier of trust;
Their leasing for long while with fraud is beclad;
And oaths that are lies do no harm to the bad.

O Guide, if Thou wilt not steer fortune amain
But lettest her rush so self-will'd and so vain,
I know that the worldly will doubt of Thy might,
And few among men in Thy rule will delight.

My Lord, overseeing all things from on high
Look down on mankind with mercy's mild eye,
In wild waves of trouble they struggle and strive,
Then spare the poor earthworms, and save them alive!

V. Of Trouble and its Cure.

Nubibus atris
Condita nullum
Fundere possunt
Sidera lumen. &c.

Thu meaht be thære sunnan
Sweotole gethencean, &c.

Ye may learn by the stars and the sun
Shining on cities so bright,
If the welkin hangs dreary and dun,
To wait in the mist for the light.

So too, the calm sea, glassy-grey,
The southwind all grimly makes riot,
And whirlpools in strife stir away
The whale-pool that once was so quiet.

So also, outwelleth a spring,
All clear from the cliff and all cool,
Till midway some mountain may fling
A rock to roll into the pool.

Then broken asunder will seem
The rill so clear-running before,
That brook is turn'd out of its stream,
And flows in its channel no more.

So now, in thy darkness of mind,
Thou willest my wisdom to spurn,
Withstanding, by trouble made blind,
The lessons thou never wilt learn.

Yet now, if ye will, as ye may,
The true and pure light clearly know,
Let go the vain joys of to-day,
The weal that brings nothing but woe.

And drive away bad unbelief,
The fears of the world and its care,
And be not thou given to grief,
Nor yield up thy mind to despair.

Nor suffer thou glad going things
To puff thee with over-much pride,
Nor worldliness lifting thy wings
To lure thee from meekness aside:

And let not, too weakly again,
Ills make thee despair of the good,
When hunted by peril and pain,
And haunted by misery's brood.

For always the mind of a man
Is bound up with trouble below,
If riches or poverty can
Engraft it with sin or with woe.

Because the twin evils make dun
The mind in a misty swart shroud,
That on it eternity's sun
Is dim till it scatters the cloud.

VI. Of Change.

Quum polo Phœbus roseis quadrigis
Lucem spargere cœperit, &c.

Tha se wisdom eft
Word-hord onleac. &c.

Then did Wisdom again
Unlock his word-hoard well,
And sang in soothful strain
The truths he had to tell.

When with clearest blaze
The bright sun shines in the sky,
The stars must quench their rays
Over the earth so high;

For that, set in the light
Of her that rules by day,
Their brightness is not bright,
But dimly dies away.

When the wind south-west
Under the cloud blows low,
Field-flowers wax their best
Fain to be glad and grow.

But when East and by North
The stark storm strongly blows,
Speedily drives he forth
All beauty from the rose.

So, with a stern needs-be
The northern blast doth dash
And beat the wide waste sea
That it the land may lash.

Alas, that ever on earth
Nothing is fast and sure;
No work is found so worth
That it for ever endure.

VII. Of Content, and Humbleness.

Quisquis volet perennem
Cautus ponere sedem, &c.

Tha ongon se Wisdom
His gewunan fylgan, &c.

Again, as his wont, began Wisdom a song,
And spoke out his spells as he wander'd along
He said, On a mountain no man can be skill'd
With a roof weather proof a high hall to upbuild

Moreover, let no man think ever to win
By mixing pure wisdom with over-proud sin.
Heard ye that any built firmly on sand,
Or caught hold of wisdom with gain-getting hand?

The light soil is greedy to swallow the rain;
So now doth the rich, in his measureless gain
Of honours and havings, drink deep of such weal,
Yea, down to the dregs, and still thirsty will feel.

A house on a hill-top may never long stay,
For quickly the swift wind shall sweep it away,
And a house on the sand is no better at all;
In spite of the house-herd, in rain it shall fall.

So, failing and fickle is every mind
When rack'd by the rage of this world-trouble wind
And measureless cares, as a quick-dropping rain
Unstopping, stir up the mind's welkin with pain.

But he who would have everlasting true bliss,
Must fly from the glare of a world such as this:
And then let him make a strong home for his mind
Wherever true Lowliness' rock he can find;

A settled ground-anchor that never shall slide,
Though trouble attack it by tempest and tide;
For that, in Lowliness' valley so fair
The Lord, and mind-wisdom for ever live there.

Therefore leads always a quiet-like life
The wise in the world without changes or strife,
When heedless alike of earth's good and earth's ill,
He watches in hope of an after-world still.

Such an one evermore God ever kind
Happily keeps in the calm of his mind;
Though wild winds of sorrow against him are hurl'd
Though always annoyed by the cares of the world

Though wrathful and grim are these trouble-dark gales,
And Care in its anguish and anger assails.

VIII. Of Primal Innocence &c.

Felix nimium prior ætas
Contenta fidelibus arvis
Nec inerti perdita luxu: &c.

Sona swa se Wisdom
Thas word hæfde
Swetole areahte. &c.

Soon as Wisdom thus had sung,
He began, with plainer tongue,
Sooth to sing his sayings thus,
And himself to speak to us.

O how full of blessing then
Was the first glad age to men!
When earth's fruitful plenty came
(Not as now,) to all the same;
When through all the world were there
No great halls of costly care;
No rich feasts of meat or drink;
Neither did they heed or think

Of such jewels, then unknown,
As our lordlings long to own;
Nor did seamen aye behold
Nor had heard of gems or gold.
More; with frugal mind they fared;
And for pleasures only cared,
As at Christ's and kindred's voice
They were bidden to rejoice.
Once in the day, at eventide,
They ate earth's fruits, and nought beside;
No wine they drank, their stoup was clear;
No cunning slave was mingling near
Meats and drinks, to glut their greed,
Or make the heated honeymead;
No silk-sewn weeds wish'd they to wear;
No good-webs dyed with crafty care;
Nor set on high with skilful power
The mighty dome, or lofty tower.
But, under the sweet shade of trees
They slept at all times well at ease,
And, when thirsting, gladly took
Water from the running brook;
Never trader wandered o'er
Seas to seek a foreign shore,

Never had one heard indeed
Of ships to till the briny mead;
Nowhere yet with blood of men
Was the earth besmitten then,
Nowhere had the sun beheld
Steel that struck, or wound that well'd.
Those who work'd an evil will
Won not worship for their ill;
All would then have loathed them sore:
O that this could be once more!
O that God would now on earth
Make us all so purely worth!
But alas, men now are worse;
Lust of getting sets a curse
As a clog upon each mind,
Reckless other good to find.
Lust of gain unfathomed glows
In the heart with bubbling throes;
Swart it lies, and sweltering deep,
Like old Etna's boiling heap,
Which, in Sicily's broad isle,
Burns with brimstone many a mile,
So that men around it tell,
Of its fires as fires of hell,

For that ever still it burns
Bitter everywhere by turns.

Woe! that ever should have been
In this world the sinner seen,
Who was first so basely bold
As to dig for gems and gold:
Cares for many then he found
Darkly hidden in the ground,
Dangerous wealth and deadly worth
In the deeps of sea and earth.

IX. Nero.

Novimus quantas dederit ruinas
Urbe flammata, patribusque cæsis, &c.

Hwæt we ealle witon,
Hwelce ærleste
Ge neah ge feor
[Ne]ron worhte. &c.

All know too well, abroad or near at home,
What evils Nero wrought, that king of Rome,
When, highest under heav'n, his rule was then
The dread and overthrow of many men.
The madness of this savage bred betimes
Lust, murder, vile misdeeds, a bad man's crimes;
He gave the word of old to wrap in flame
Rome's self, his kingdom's seat, to make him game;
Wishing in wicked wantonness to know
Whether the fire so long and red would glow
As erst in Troy, he heard that Romans said,
The mounting fire burn'd longest and most red.

Base deed, in such fierce frolic to delight,
Aimless and vain, unless to mark his might.

And, once it happened, at a certain hour,
He would again show forth his frantic power,
And bade the richest men of Rome be slain,
Each earl of highest birth, each wisest thane:
With swords and bills he hewed until they died
His mother, brother, yea, and his own bride,—
Ever the blither in his own bad breast
When he had done such murders cruellest.
Nothing reck'd he that soon the mighty Lord
Would mete out wrath to sinners so abhorr'd,
But in his mind, that fed on wicked wiles,
Remain'd a savage, wreath'd in cunning smiles.

Still, even he so ruled this middle earth,
Far as the land hath air and sea for girth,
Far as the sea surrounds all men and things,
The seats of warriors and the thrones of kings,
That from the South and East and furthest West
And Earth's high head-land reaching northernest,
All to this Nero willing worship gave,
And every chief by force became his slave,
Till 'twas his game, when pride had puff'd his mind,
To hunt and kill the kings of human-kind.

But thinkest thou that God's all holy might
Could not with ease this haughty sinner smite,
And scathe his pride, and drive him from the helm,
Or quench his guilt, and so berid the realm?
O that he would, as well he might with ease,
Ever forbid such wrongful works as these!
Woe, that this lord should cast so heavy a yoke
On all men's necks, both thanes and serving folk,
Who, for the harmful season of his power,
Lived in this world their quickly passing hour:
Woe, that his sword was often weltering then
With blood of highborn earls and guiltless men.

Clearly in this, our saying shone out bright,
That power can do no good, as well it might,
If he who rules, wills not to rule aright.

X. Of Fame, and Death.

Quicunque solam mente præcipiti petit
Summamque eredit gloriam, &c.

Gif nu hæletha hwone
Hlisan lyste
Unnytre gelp. &c.

If any man will be so vain
As now for fame to lust,
The empty praise of men to gain
And in such folly trust,

Him would I bid to gaze around
The circle of the sky,
And think how far above the ground
The heav'n is wide and high.

How small this world to wisdom's ken
Set against that so vast,
Though ours may seem to witless men
Huge, wide, and sure to last.

Yet may the wise in heart feel shame
That once his thirst was strong
For silly greediness of fame
That never lasteth long.

Such lust of praise he may not spread
Over this narrow earth,
'Tis folly all, and of the dead,
A glory nothing worth.

And you, O proud, why wish ye still
And strive with all your care
The heavy yoke of your own will
Upon your necks to bear?

Why will ye toil yet more and more
For glory's useless prize,
And reach your rule from shore to shore
Unneeded and unwise?

Though now ye reign from South to North
And, with an ernest will,
The furthest dwellers on the earth
Your dread behests fulfil?

The greatest earl of wealthiest praise
However rich or high,
Death cares not for him, but obeys
The Ruler of the sky,

With even hand right swift to strike,
At His allowing word,
The rich man and the poor alike
The lowborn and his lord.

Where are the bones of Weland now,
So shrewd to work in gold?
Weland, though wise, to death must bow
That greatest man of old:

Though wise, I say; for what Christ gives
Of wisdom to a man,
That craft with him for ever lives
Which once on earth began:

And sooner shall a man's hand fetch
The sun from her due course,
Than steal from any dying wretch
His cunning skill by force.

Who then can tell, wise Weland's bones
Where now they rest so long?
Beneath what heap of earth and stones
Their prison is made strong?

Rome's wisest son, be-known so well,
Who strove her rights to save,
That mighty master, who can tell
Where Brutus has a grave?

So too, the man of sternest mould,
The good, the brave, the wise,
His people's shepherd, who hath told
Of Cato, where he lies?

Long are they dead: and none can know
More of them than their name:
Such teachers have too little now
Of all their worthy fame.

Now too, forgotten everywhere,
The like to them have found
But little kindly speech or care
From all the world around;

So that, however wise in worth
Such foremost men may stand,
No home-felt praises bring them forth
For fame throughout the land.

Though now ye wish long time to live,
And pine to have it so,
What better blessing can it give
Than now ye find below?

As Death lets none go free at last
When God allows his power,
If Death For-ever follows fast,
How short is this world's hour!

XI. Of God's Wise Government.

Quod mundus stabili fide
Concordes variat vices, &c.

An scippend is
Butan ælcum tweon, &c.

One, only One, made all the heavens and earth;
Doubtless, to Him all beings owe their birth;
And, guided by His care,
Are all, who therein dwell unseen of us,
And these whom we can look at, living thus
In land and sea and air.

He is Almighty: Him all things obey,
That in such bondage know how blest are they;
Who have so good a king;
Those also serve, who thereof know not aught
Dutiful work, however little thought,
As bondslaves they must bring.

He hath set out in kindred kindness still
Duties and laws to work his changeless will,
And, after his own mind,
That which he will'd, so long as will he would,
He will'd that everything for ever should
Thenceforward keep its kind.

Never may restless things to rest attain,
And from that settled circle turn in vain
Which order's God hath given,
He hath set fast, and check'd them each and all
By the strong measured bridle of his call
To rest, or to be driven,

As he, great Word, the leathern reins of might
Holds loose in his right hand, or draws them tight;
For he hath stretch'd along
His bridle over earth, air, sea, and beach,
That all things, leaning fastly each on each,
By double strife stand strong.

For, ever as at first the Father bade,
In the same ways of running that he made
Still changing though unchanged,
By strife most steady keeping peace most true
Our Free-Lord's handicraft, so old yet new,
Is evermore arranged.

Thus earth and seastream, fire and water thus
And all great things about or far from us,
Betwixt themselves hold strife,
Yet so good fellowship all fastly keep,
And render bondage true, and duty deep
To him who lent their life.

Nor only thus, that, each the rest to please,
Whitherward things together dwell at ease,
But, far more strange than so,
Nor one, but on its thwarter still depends
And lives on that which while it harms befriends,
Lest it too great should grow.

Wisely the mighty Framer of the world
Hath set this turn-about for ever twirl'd,
Yet ever still to stay;
The sprouting wort shoots greenly from root,
And dying, then, in harvest yields its fruit
To live another day.

Winter brings weather cold, swift winds and snow;
Summer comes afterward with warming glow;
By night outshines the moon;
Till o'er this wide-seen world the day up-springs,
And to all men the sun returning brings
Her welcome brightness soon.

So also, God hath bounded sea and land:
The fishy kind, except at his command,
On earth may never swim:
Nor can the sea earth's threshold overleap,
Nor can the earth, beyond the tide at neap,
O'erstep the sea's wide rim.

These things the Source and Spring of life and light,
The Lord of wielded might, by his will's right,
Biddeth their bounds to keep,
Until the Everliving one makes burst
The curbing bridle set on all at first,
And so unreins the deep.

By rein and bridle in a hint I teach
The waywardness of all things each on each;
For, if the Ruler will'd
The thongs to slacken, things would soon forsake
All love and peace, and wilful evil make
Instead of good fulfill'd.

Each after its own selfish will would strive,
Till none of things on earth were left alive
In such bewrestling stern;
And in like manner other things unseen
Would be as if they never then had been,
All brought to nought in turn.

But the same God, who meteth all things thus,
Makes folk to be at peace with all and us,
In friendship true and fast:
He knits together in a love most fond
Unending wedlock, and the kindred bond
For evermore to last.

So too, the skill'd All-worker well unites
The fellowship of men in friendly rights,
That they may live at peace
In simple truthfulness and single strength
Thenceforth for ever of one mind at length
To make all evil cease.

O God All-conquering! this lower earth
Would be for men the blest abode of mirth
If they were strong in Thee,
As other things of this world well are seen;
O then, far other than they yet have been
How happy would men be!

XII. Uses of Adversity.

Qui serere ingenuum volet agrum
Liberat arva prius fruticibus, &c.

Se the wille wyrcan
Wæstmbære lond, &c.

Whoso wills to till a field,
Well to bear a fruitful yield,
Let him first pluck up and burn
Thorns and thistles, furze and fern,
Which are wont clean wheat to hurt
Lying lifeless in the dirt.

And this other likeness too
Well behoves us all to view,
Namely, that to those who eat
Honeycomb, it seems more sweet
If a man, before the tear
Of honey, taste of bitter cheer.

So, it falls that all men are
With fine weather happier far
If a little while before
Storms were spread the welkin o'er,
And the stark wind East by North
Lately rush'd in anger forth.

None would think the daylight dear
If dim night they did not fear;
So, to every one of us,
On the broad earth dwelling thus,
Joy more joyous still is seen
After troubles once have been.

Also, thine own mind to please,
Thou shalt gain the greater ease,
And shalt go where true joys grow
If all false joys thou forego,
As ill weeds are pull'd with toil
By the landchurl from the soil.

And hereafter, thee I tell,
True joys there await thee well;
Aye and here, if these be first,
Thou for nought beside wilt thirst,
But all else shall fail to please
If thou truly knowest these.

XIII. Of Inward Likings.

Quantum rerum flectat habenas
Natura potens, &c.

Ic wille mid giddum
Get gecythan,
Hu se Ælmihtiga &c.

I will with songs make known
How the Almighty still
Bridles all things from his throne
And bends them to his will,
By His wielded might
Set wonderfully right.

The Ruler of the skies
Hath well girt all things so,
Binding them in such strong ties
Aside they cannot go,
And may not find the way
Whereby to slip astray.

And each living thing
On this crowded earth
Firmly to the bent doth cling
Which it had at birth
From the Father's hand
King of angel-land:

Thus each one we find
Of beings in their turn,
Save some bad angels and mankind,
Thitherward doth yearn;
But those too often force
Against their nature's course.

A lioness may be such
A tame and winsome beast,
That she may love her master much
Or fear him at the least;
But if she taste of gore
She will be tame no more:

Let it not be thought
That she will then be mild,
But back to her old likings brought
Be as her elders wild,
In ernest break her chain
And rave and roar amain;

Will first her keeper bite,
And then all else beside,
Cattle or men, each living wight,
Will seize, whate'er betide,
All she can find will seize,
Her ravening to appease.

So the wood finches too
Though timely tamed they be,
If to the woods escaped anew
Again they flutter free,
However train'd and taught
Their teachers then are nought:

But wilder evermore
They will not leave the wood,
Though by their trainers, as of yore,
Enticed by tempting food;
So merry seem the trees
That meats no more may please.

All winsome then is found
The wide weald sounding strong
With other birds that sing around,
And so, these find their song,
Stunning one's ears with noise
Of their woodland joys.

Thus too, every tree,
Grown high in its own soil,
Though thou shalt bend its boughs to be
Bow'd to the earth with toil,
Let go, it upward flies
At its free will to rise.

Thus also, when the sun,
Great candle of the world,
After the mid-day down doth run
To unknown darkness hurl'd,
Again she brings to earth
Bright morn's North Eastern birth.

Upward, she ever goes,
Up, to her highest place:
So, every creature kindly grows
According to its race,
And strives with all its might
To take its nature's right.

There is not now one thing
Over this wide earth
That doth not all its longings fling
About its place of birth,
And safely there find rest
In God Almighty blest.

There is not one thing found
Over this wide world
But on itself with endless round
It, like a wheel, is twirl'd,
So turning to be seen
As it before hath been:

For, when at first it moves,
Right round it turns amain;
And, where it once has gone, behoves
To go that way again;
And, as it was before,
To be so evermore.

XIV. The Emptiness of Wealth.

Quamvis fluente dives auri gurgite
Non expleturas cogat avarus opes.

Hwæt bith thæm welegan
Woruld-gitsere &c.

What is a man the better
A man of worldly mould—
Though he be gainful getter
Of richest gems and gold,
With every kind well filléd
Of goods in ripe array,
And though for him be tilléd
A thousand fields a day?

Though all this middle earth be
Beneath his wealdom thrown,
And men and all their worth be
South East and West his own,

He cannot of such treasure
Away with him take aught,
Nor gain a greater measure
Than in his mind he brought.

Wisdom having sung this lay,
Again began his spell to say.

XV. Nero's Baseness.

Quamvis se Tyrio superbus ostro
Comeret, et niveis lapillis,
Invisus tamen omnibus vigebat
Luxuriæ Nero sævientis.

Theah hine nu
Se yfela unrihtwisa
Neron cynincg, &c.

Though Nero now himself, that evil king
Unrighteous, in his new and glittering robe
Deck'd wonderfully for apparelling
With gold and gems and many a brightsome thing,
Seem'd to be greatest of this earthly globe,
Yet to the wise man was he full of crime
Loathly and worthless in his life's daytime:

And though this fiend his darlings would reward
With gifts of rank, my mind I cannot bring
To see why he to such should grace afford:
Yet if some whiles a foolish king or lord
Will choose the simple all the wise above,
A fool himself to be by fools ador'd,
How should a wise man reckon on his love?

XVI. Of Self-rule.

Qui se volet esse potentem,
Animos domet ille feroces; &c.

Se the wille anwald agon
Thonne sceal he ærest tilian, &c.

He that wishes power to win,
First must toil to rule his mind,
That himself the slave to sin
Selfish lust may never bind:

Let him haste to put away
All that fruitless heap of care:
Cease awhile thy sighs to day,
And thyself from sorrow spare.

Though to him this middle earth
For a garden all be given,
With the seastream round its girth,
East and west the width of heaven;

From that isle which lies outright
Furthest in the Western spray,
Where no summer sees a night,
And no winter knows a day;

Though from this, far Thule's isle,
Even to the Indian East,
One should rule the world awhile
With all might and power increas'd,

How shall he seem great or strong
If himself he cannot save,
Word and deed against all wrong,
But to sin is still a slave?

XVII. True Greatness.

Omne hominum genus in terris
Simili surgit ab ortu, &c

Thæt eorthwaran
Ealle hæfden
Fold-buende
Fruman gelicne. &c.

All men and all women on earth
Had first their beginning the same,
Into this world of their birth
All of one couple they came:

Alike are the great and the small;
No wonder that this should be thus;
For God is the Father of all,
The lord and the maker of us.

He giveth light to the sun,
To the moon and the stars as they stand;
The soul and the flesh He made one,
When first he made man in the land.

Wellborn alike are all folk
Whom He hath made under the sky;
Why then on others a yoke
Now will ye be lifting on high?

And why be so causelessly proud,
As thus ye find none are illborn?
Or why, for your rank, from the crowd
Raise yourselves up in such scorn?

In the mind of a man, not his make,
In the earth-dweller's heart, not his rank,
Is the nobleness whereof I spake,
The true, and the free, and the frank.

But he that to sin was in thrall,
Illdoing wherever he can,
Hath left the first lifespring of all,
His God, and his rank as a man:

And so the Almighty down-hurl'd
The noble disgraced by his sin,
Thenceforth to be mean in the world,
And never more glory to win.

XVIII. Of Sinful Pleasure.

Habet omnis hoc voluptas,
Stimulis agit furentes.

Eala thæt se yfla
Unrihta gedeth
Wratha willa &c.

Alas! that the evil unrighteous hot will
Of lawlessly wanton desire should still
Be a plague in the mind of each one!
The wild bee shall die in her stinging, tho' shrewd,
So the soul will be lost if the body be lewd,
Unless, ere it wend hence, the heart be imbued
With grief for the deed it hath done.

XIX. Where to find true joys.

Eheu! quam miseros tramite devio
Abducit ignorantia! &c.

Eala thæt is hefig dysig,
Hygeth ymbe se the wile &c.

Oh! it is a fault of weight,
Let him think it out who will,
And a danger passing great
Which can thus allure to ill
Careworn men from the right way,
Swiftly ever led astray.

Will ye seek within the wood
Red gold on the green-trees tall?
None, I wot, is wise that could,
For it grows not there at all:
Neither in winegardens green
Seek they gems of glittering sheen.

Would ye on some hill-top set,
When ye list to catch a trout
Or a carp, your fishing-net?
Men, methinks, have long found out
That it would be foolish fare,
For they know they are not there.

In the salt sea can ye find,
When ye list to start and hunt
With your hounds, the hart or hind?
It will sooner be your wont
In the woods to look, I wot,
Than in seas where they are not.

Is it wonderful to know
That for crystals red or white
One must to the sea-beach go,
Or for other colours bright,
Seeking by the riverside
Or the shore at ebb of tide?

Likewise, men are well aware
Where to look for river-fish,
And all other worldly ware
Where to seek them when they wish;
Wisely careful men will know
Year by year to find them so.

But of all things 'tis most sad
That the foolish are so blind,
So besotted and so mad
That they cannot surely find
Where the ever-good is nigh
And true pleasures hidden lie.

Therefore, never is their strife
After those true joys to spur;
In this lean and little life
They half witted deeply err,
Seeking here their bliss to gain,
That is, God Himself, in vain.

Ah! I know not in my thought
How enough to blame their sin,
Nor so clearly as I ought
Can I show their fault within;
For, more bad and vain are they
And more sad than I can say.

All their hope is to acquire
Worship, goods, and worldly weal;
When they have their mind's desire
Then such witless Joy they feel,
That in folly they believe
Those True joys they then receive.

XX. Of God and His Creatures.

O qui perpetua mundum ratione gubernas,
Terrarum cœlique Sator, qui tempus ab ævo &c.

Eala min Drihten! thæt thu eart
Ælmihtig, micel modilic
Mærthum gefræge and wundorlic, &c.

O thou, my Lord Almighty, great and wise,
Wellseen for mighty works, and marvellous
To every mind that knows thee, Ever Good!
Wondrously well all creatures Thou hast made,
Unseen of us or seen; with softest band
Of skilful strength thy brighter beings leading.
Thou from its birth forth onward to its end
This middle earth by times hast measured out
As was most fit; that orderly they go
And eftsoon come again. Thou wisely stirrest
To thine own will thy changing unstill creatures,
Unchangeable and still thyself for ever!
No one is mightier, greater than Thou art,

No one was made thine equal: need was none,
Of all these works which thou hast wrought, to Thee;
But, at the willing of thy power, the world
And everything within it didst thou make,
Without all need to Thee of such great works.
Great is thy goodness,—think it out who will;
For it is all of one, in everything,
Thou and Thy good; thine own; not from without;
Neither did any goodness come to Thee:
But, well I know, thy goodness is Most Good
All with thyself: unlike to us in kind;
To us, from outwardly, from God himself,
Came all we have of good in this low earth.
Thou canst not envy any; since to Thee
Nothing is like, nor any higher skilled;
For thou, All good, of thine own thought didst think,
And then that thought didst work. Before Thee none
Was born, to make or unmake anything,
But Thou without a model madest all,
Lord God of men, Almighty, very good,
Being thyself of all the Highest good!
Thou, Holy Father, thou, the Lord of hosts,
After thy will, and by thy power alone,
The world, this midway garden, didst create;
And by thy will, as now thy wisdom would,

Wieldest it all! For thou, O God of truth,
Long time of old didst deal out all good things,
Making thy creatures mainly well alike,
Yet not alike in all ways; and didst name
With one name all together all things here,
“The World under the clouds.” Yet, God of glory,
That one name, Father, thou didst turn to four:
The first, this Earth-field; and the second, water;
Shares of the world: third, fire, and fourth, air:
This is again the whole world all together.
Yet have these four each one his stead and stool,
Each hath its place; tho' much with other mixt;
Fast by thy might, Almighty Father, bound,
Biding at peace, and softly well together,
By thy behest, kind Father! so that none
Durst overstep its mark, for fear of Thee,
But willing thanes and warriors of their King
Live well together, howsoever strive
The wet with dry, the chilly with the hot.
Water and Earth, both cold in kind, breed fruits:
Water lies wet and cold around the field.
With the green earth is mingled the cold air,
Dwelling in middle place: it is no wonder
That it be warm and cold, blent by the winds,
This wide wet tier of clouds; for, in my judgment,

Air hath a midway place, twixt earth and fire:
All know that fire is uppermost of all
Over this earth, and ground is nethermost.
Yet is this wonderful, O Lord of Hosts,
Which by thy thought thou workest, that distinctly
Thou to thy creatures settest mark and bound
And dost not mingle them: the wet cold water
Thou fixest it the fast earth for a floor;
For that itself, unstill and weak and soft
Alone would widely wander everywhere,
Nor (well I wot it sooth) could ever stand.
But the earth holds, and swills it in some sort,
That through such sipping it may afterward
Moisten the aery-lift: then leaves and grass
Yond oer the breadth of Britain blow and grow,
Its praise of old. The cold earth bringeth fruits
More marvellously forth, when it is thawed
And wetted by the water: if not so,
Then were it dried to dust, and driven away
Wide by the winds; as often ashes now
Over the earth are blown: nor might on earth
Aught live, nor any wight by any craft
Brook the cold water, neither dwell therein,
If thou, O King of Angels, otherwhile
Mingledst not soil and stream with fire together;

And didst not craftwise mete out cold and heat
So that the fire may never fiercely burn
Earth and the sea stream, though fast linked with both,
The Father's work of old. Nor is methinks
This wonder aught the less, that earth and sea
Cold creatures both, can by no skill put out
The fire that in them sticks, fixt by the Lord.
Such is the proper use of the salt seas
Of earth and water and the welkin eke,
And even of the upper skies above.
There, is of right the primal place of fire;
Its birth-right over all things else we see
Throughout the varied deep, tho' mixt with all
Things of this world, it cannot over one
Rise to such height as to destroy it quite,
But by His leave who shaped out life to us
The Everliving and Almighty One.

Earth is more heavy and more thickly pack'd
Than other things; for that it long hath stood
Of all the nethermost: saving the sky
Which daily wafteth round this roomy world,
Yet never whirleth it away, nor can
Get nearer anywhere than everywhere,
Striking it round-about, above, below,
With even nearness wheresoe'er it be.

Each creature that we speak of hath his place
Own and asunder, yet is mixt with all.
No one of them may be without the rest,
Though dwelling all together mixedly:
As now the earth and water dwell in fire,
A thing to the unlearned hard to teach,
But to the wise right clear: and in same sort,
Fire is fast fixt in water, and in stones
Still hidden away and fixt, tho' hard to find.
Yet thitherward the Father of angels hath
So fastly bound up fire, that it may
Never again get back to its own home
Where over all this earth sure dwells the fire.
Soon would it leave this lean world, overcome
Of cold, if to its kith on high it went;
Yet everything is yearning thitherward
Where its own kindred bide the most together.

Thou hast established, thro' thy strong might,
O glorious king of hosts, right wondrously
The earth so fast, that it on either half
Heeleth not over, nor can stronger lean
Hither or thither, than it ever did.
Since nothing earthly holds it, to this globe
'Twere easy up or down to fall aside,
Likest to this, that in an egg the yolk

Bides in the middle, tho' the egg glides round.
So all the world still standeth on its stead
Among the streams, the meeting of the floods:
The lift and stars and the clear shell of heaven
Sail daily round it, as they long have done.

Moreover, God of people, thou hast set
A threefold soul in us, and afterward
Stirrest and quick'nest it with thy strong might
So that there bideth not the less thereof
In a little finger than in all the body.
Therefore a little before I clearly said
That the soul is a threefold workmanship
In every man: because the wise all say
That ire is one whole part in every soul;
Another, lust; another and the third
Far better than these twain, wise-mindedness:
This is no sorry craft; for only man
Hath this, and not the cattle: the other two
Things out of number have as well as we;
For ire and lust each beast hath of itself.
Therefore have men, thro'out this middle sphere
Surpassed Earth's creatures all; for that they have
What these have not, the one good craft we named.
Wisemindedness in each should govern lust
And ire, and its own self; in every man

With thought and understanding ruling him.
This is the mightiest mainstay of man's soul
The one best mark to sunder it from beasts.

Thou, mighty king of peoples, glorious Lord,
Didst fashion thus the soul, that it should turn
Itself around itself, as in swift race
Doth all the firmament, which quickly twirls
Every day around this middle sphere,
By the Lord's might: so doth the soul of man
Likest a wheel whirl round about itself,
Oft-times keen searching out by day and night
About these earthly creatures of the Lord:
Somewhile herself she probes with prying eye:
Somewhile again she asks about her God
The Ever One, her Maker; going round
Likest a wheel, whirling around herself.
When she about her Maker heedful asks,
She is upheaved above her lower self:
She altogether in herself abides
When, seeking round, she pries about herself:
But furthest falls beneath herself, when she
With love and wonder searcheth out this earth
With its lean lusts, above the lore for ever!

Yea, more; Thou, Evergood! to souls in heaven
Givest an heritage, Almighty God,

And worthiest lasting gifts, as each hath earned.
They, thro' the moonlit night, shine calm in heaven
Yet are not all of even brightness there,
So oft we see the stars of heaven by night
They shine not ever all of even brightness.

Moreover, Ever-Good! thou minglest here
Heavenly things with Earthly, soul with flesh:
Afterwards soul and flesh both live together,
Earthly with heavenly: ever hence they strive
Upward to thee, because they came from thee,
And yet again they all shall go to thee!
This living body yet once more on earth
Shall keep its ward, for-that it theretofore
Wax'd in the world: they dwelt (this body and soul)
So long together as to them gave leave
The Almighty, who had made them one before
That is in sooth the King! who made this world
And fill'd it mixedly with kinds of cattle,
Our saviour and near helper, as I trow.
Thence he with many seeds of woods and worts
Stock'd it in all the corners of the world.
Forgive now, Ever Good! and give to us
That in our minds we may upsoar to thee,
Maker of all things, thro' these troublous ways;
And from amidst these busy things of life,

O tender Father, Wielder of the world,
Come unto Thee, and then thro' thy good speed
With the mind's eyes well opened well may see
The welling spring of Good, that Good, Thyself,
O Lord, the God of Glory!—Then make whole
The eyes of our understandings, so that we,
Father of angels, fasten them on Thee!
Drive away this thick mist, which long while now
Hath hung before our mind's eyes, heavy and dark.
Enlighten now these mind's eyes with thy light
Master of life; for thou, O tender Father,
Art very brightness of true light thyself;
Thyself Almighty Father, the sure rest
Of all thy fast and true ones; winningly
Thou orderest it that they may see Thyself.
Thou art of all things origin and end,
O Lord of all men; Father of angels, thou
Easily bearest all things without toil,
Thou art thyself the way, and leader too,
Of every one that lives, and the pure place
That the way leads to: all men from this soil
Thoughout the breadth of being, yearn to Thee.

XXI. Of inward light.

Huc omnes pariter venite capti,
Quos fallax ligat improbis catenis, &c.

Wel la monna bearn
Geond middan geard &c.

Well,—O ye children of men in mid earth!
Every freeman should seek till he find
That, which I spake of, good endless in worth;
These, which I sing of, the joys of the mind.

Let him who is narrow'd and prison'd away
By love of this mid earth empty and vain,
Seek out for himself full freedom today,
That-soul feeding joys he may quickly attain.

For, such of all toil is the only one goal,
For sea-weary keels hythe-haven from woes,
The great quiet dwelling that harbours the soul
Still calm in the storm, and from strife a repose.

That is the peace-place, and comfort alone
Of all that are harm'd by the troubles of life,
A place very pleasant and winsome to own
After this turmoil of sorrow and strife.

But right well I wot that no treasure of gold
Nor borders of gemstones, nor silvery store,
Nor all of earth's wealth the mind's sight can unfold,
Or better its sharpness true joys to explore:

But rather, make blind in the breast of each man
The eyes of his mind than make ever more bright,
For, sorry and fleeting as fast as they can
Are all who in this flitting earth can delight.

Yet wondrous the beauty and brightness is seen
Of that which hath brighten'd and beautified all
So long as on this middle earth they have been,
And afterward happily holds them in thrall.

For the Ruler he wills not that soul should be nought,
Himself will enlighten it, Lord of life given!
If any man then with the eyes of his thought
May see the clear brightness of light from high heaven,

Then will he say that the blaze of the sun
Is darkness itself to the glory so bright
Which Great God Almighty shines out on each one
Of souls of the happy for ever in light.

XXII. Of the inner mind, and the outer sin.

Quisquis profunda mente vestigat verum,
Cupitque nullis ille deviis falli, &c.

Se the æfter rihte
Mid gerece wille
In weardlice æfter Spyrian, &c.

The man that after right with care
Will inwardly and deeply dive
So that none earthly thing may scare
Nor him from such good seeking drive,

First in himself he shall find out
That which beyond he somewhile sought,
Within his mind must search about
And leave behind each troublous thought;

This at the soonest, as he may,
Such care were harm to him and sin;
Then let him haste and hide away
To this alone, his Mind within.

Say to this mind, that it may find
What oftest now it seeks around
All in, and to, itself assign'd
Every good that can be found:

He then will see that all he had
In his mind's chamber thought and done
Was evil long afore and bad,
Clearly as he can see the sun:

But his own mind he shall see there
Lighter and brighter than the ray
Of heaven's star, the gem of air,
The sun in clearest summer day.

For that the body's lusts and crimes
And all its heaviness in kind
Utterly may not any times
Wipe out right wisdom from man's mind:

Though now in every man such wrong,
Those lusts and crimes and fleshly weight,
Worry the mind both loud and strong
And make it half forget its state.

And though the mist of lies may shade
Man's dreary thought that it be dull
And be no more so bright array'd
An if 'twere pure and powerful,

Yet always is some seed-corn held
Of sturdy truth within the soul,
While flesh and ghost together weld,
And make one fixt and gather'd whole.

This seed-corn waxes evermore,
By much asking quickened so,
As well as by good wholesome lore,
That it quickly learns to grow.

How may a man right answer find
To anything ask'd well and fit,
Unless he keenly store his mind
That it have much or little wit?

Yet is there no man so bereaved
Of knowledge, that he cannot bring
Some answer well to be received
If he be ask'd of anything.

Wherefore it is a spell of right
Which our own Plato, long of old,
That ancient wise and worthy wight,
To all of us most truly told;

He said, that each who wisdom sought,
Forgetful, should to Memory turn,
And in the coffer of his thought
Right-wisdom hidden would discern,

Through all the drift of trouble there,
And all this body's heavy clay,
And busy toil, and daily care
Which stir the breasts of men alway.

XXIII. True Happiness.

Felix qui pot uit boni
Fontem visere lucidum.

Sie thæt la on eorthan
Ælces thinges, &c.

Look! for on earth a happy man
In everything is he,
Who Heaven's shining river can
Good's highborn well-spring see;
And of himself may scatter back
His mind's own mist of swarthy black.

By God's good help, we will as yet
With spells of olden leaven
Inform thy mind that thou mayst get
To read the way to heaven;
The right way to that happy shore
Our soul's own country evermore.

XXIV. The Soul's Heritage.

Sunt etenim pennæ volucres mihi
Quæ celsa conscendant poli! &c.

Ic hæbbe fithru
Fugle swiftran &c.

I have wings like a bird, and more swiftly can fly
Far over this earth to the roof of the sky,
And now must I feather thy fancies, O mind,
To leave the mid earth and its earthlings behind.

Stretch'd over the heavens, thou mayst with thy wings
Sport in the clouds and look down on all things,
Yea, far above Fire, that lieth betwixt
The air and the sky, as the Father hath mixt.

Thence with the sun to the stars thou shalt fly,
Thereafter full quickly to float thro' the sky
To the lonely cold planet, which sea-dwellers call
Saturn, on heaven the highest of all.

He is the icy cold star in the highest
That wanders the farthest, and yet as thou fliest
Higher, and farther, and up shalt thou rise
Yea, to the top of the swift rushing skies!

If thou dost rightly, e'en these shalt thou leave:
And then of the true light thy share shalt receive,
Where up over heaven, the Only King reigns,
And under it all the world's being sustains.

This the Wise King, this is He who is found
To rule o'er the kings of all peoples around;
With his bridle hath bitted the heaven and earth,
And guides the swift wain by his might driven forth.

He is the One Judge unswervingly right,
Unchanging in might and unsullied in light;
When to his dwelling place back thou dost roam,
However forgotten, it still is thy home.

If ever again thou shalt thitherward go,
Soon wilt thou say, and be sure it is so,
“This is mine own country in every way,
“The earth of my birth, and my heirdom for aye:

“Hence was I born, and came forth in my time
“Thro' the might of my Maker, the Artist sublime,
“Nor will I go out evermore but stand fast,
“At the will of my Father come hither at last.

And if it should aye be again that thou wilt
Come back to the world in its darkness and guilt,
Thou shalt easily see of these kings and these proud
Who worst have down-trodden this woeridden crowd,

That they too are wretched and woefully poor
Unmighty to do anything anymore,
These, ay even these, beneath whose dread yoke
Now somewhile are trembling this woeridden folk,

XXV. Of Evil Kings.

Quos vides sedere celso
Solii culmine reges, &c.

Geher nu an spell,
Be thæm ofermodum
Unrihtwisum
Eorthan cyningum, &c.

Hear now a spell of the proud overbearing
Kings of the earth, when unrighteous in mind:
Wondrously bright tho' the weeds they are wearing,
High tho' the seats where their pomp is enshrin'd,

Goldclad and gemm'd and with hundreds roundstanding
Thanes and great earls with their chain and their sword
All of them chieftains in battle commanding,
Each in his rank doing suit to his lord:

While in such splendour each rules like a savage,
Every where threatning the people with strife,
So, this lord heeds not, but leaves them to ravage
Friends for their riches and foes for their life!

Ay, and himself, like a hound that is madden'd,
Flies at and tears his poor people for sport,
In his fierce mind too loftily gladden'd
With the proud power his chieftains support.

But, from his robes if a man should unwind him,
Stripp'd of such coverings kingly and gay,
Drive all his following thanes from behind him,
And let his glory be taken away;
Then should ye see that he likens most truly
Any of these who so slavishly throng
Round him with homage demurely and duly,
Neither more right than the rest, nor more wrong.

If then to him it should chance in an hour
All his bright weeds from his back be offstripped,
All that we speak of, his pomp and his power,
Glories unravell'd and garments unripp'd,—
If these were shredded away, I am thinking,
That it would seem to him surely as though
He to a prison had crept, and was linking
All that he had to the fetters of woe.

Rightly I reckon that measureless pleasure
Eating and drinking and sweetmeats and clothes,
Breed the mad waxing of lust by bad leisure
Wrecking the mind where such wickedness grows:
Thence cometh evil, and proud overbearing;
Quarrels and troubles arise from such sin,
When in the breast hotheartness is tearing
With its fierce lashes the soul that's within.

Afterward, sorrow imprisons and chains him;
Then does he hope, but his hope is a lie:
Then again, wrath against somebody pains him,
Till he has recklessly doom'd him to die.
In this same book before I was speaking,
Everything living is wishing some good
But the bad kings of the earth, who are wreaking
Nothing but ill, as is fitting they should.

That is no wonder, for slaves very willing
Are they to sins,—as I told thee before,—
And to those lords whose chains they are filling
Straitly and strictly must bend evermore:
This is yet worse, they will not be winning
Standing-room even against such ill might;
Still, if they will, they struggle unsinning,
Tho' they should seem overthrown in the fight.

XXVI. Of Circe and her company.

Vela Neritii ducis,
Et vagas pelago rates
Eurus appulit insulas, &c.

Ic the mæg eathe,
Ealdum and leasum
Spellum andreccan, &c.

From old and leasing spells right easily
Can I to thee tell out a tale like that
Whereof we lately spake.—It chanced of yore
That, on a time, Ulysses held two kingdoms
Under his Cæsar: he was prince of Thrace,
And ruled Neritia as its shepherd king.
His head-lord's folk-known name was Agamemnon
Who wielded all the greatness of the Greeks.
At that time did betide the Trojan war
Under the clouds well known: the warrior chief,
Lord of the Greeks, went forth to seek the battle.
Ulysses with him led an hundred ships
Over the sea, and sat ten winters there.
When the time happen'd that this Grecian lord

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With his brave peers had overthrown that kingdom
The dear-bought burgh of Troy,—Ulysses then
The king of Thracia, when his lord gave leave
That he might hie him thence, he left behind
Of all his horn'd sea-keels ninety and nine.
Thence, none of those sea horses, saving one,
Travell'd with foamy sides the fearful sea;
Save one, a keel with threefold banks of oars,
Greatest of Grecian ships. Then was cold weather,
A gathering of stark storms; against each other
Stunn'd the brown billows, and out-drove afar
On the Mid-winding sea the shoal of warriors,
Up to that island, where, unnumbered days,
The daughter of Apollo wont to dwell.

This same Apollo was of highborn kin,
Offspring of Jove, who was a king of yore.
He schemed so, as to seem to every one,
Little and great, that he must be a God,
Highest and holiest! So the silly folk
This lord did lead thro' lying ways, until
An untold flock of men believed in him:
For that he was with right the kingdom's chief
And of their kingly kin. Well is it known
That in those times each people held its lord
As for the God most high, and worshipp'd him

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For King of Glory,—if with right of rule
He to the kingdom of his rule was born.
The father of this Jove was also a God,
Even as he: him the sea-dwellers call
Saturn: the sons of men counted these kin
One after other as the Ever Good!
Thus also would Apollo's highborn daughter
Be held a goddess by the senseless folk,
Known for her druid-craft, and witcheries.
Most of all other men she followed lies.
And this king's-daughter, Circe was she hight,
Circe for Church, as having many with her.
She ruled this isle, whereto the Thracian king
Ulysses, with one ship, happened to sail.
Soon was it known, to all the many there
That dwelt with her, the coming of the prince;
She without measure loved this sailor-chief,
And he alike with all his soul loved her,
So that he knew not any love more deep
Even of home, than as he loved this maiden;
But lived with her for wife long afterward;
Until not one of all his thanes would stay,
But, full of anguish for their country's love,
They meant to leave behind their well loved lord.
Then on the men she 'gan to work her spells;

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They said, she should by those her sorceries
Make the men prone like beasts: and savagely
Into the bodies of wild beasts she warp'd
By baleful craft the followers of the King.
Then did she tie them up, and bind with chains.
Some were as wolves; and might not then bring forth
A word of speech; but now and then would howl.
Some were as boars; and grunted ever and aye,
When they should sigh a whit for sorest grief.
They that were lions, loathly would begin
To roar with rage when they would call their comrades.
The knights, both old and young, into some beast
Were chang'd as each aforetime was most like
In his life's day: but only not the king,
Whom the queen loved: the others, none would bite
The meat of men, but loved the haunt of beasts,
As was ill fitting; they to men earth-dwellers
Had no more likeness left than their own thought.
Each still had his own mind, tho' straitly bound
With sorrow for the toils that him beset.
For e'en the foolish men who long believed
Thro' leasing spells in all this druidcraft,
Knew natheless that no man might change the wit,
Or mind, by such bad craft: tho' they might make
That for long while the bodies should be changed.

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Wonderful is that great and mighty art
Of every mind above the mean dull body.
By such and such things thou mayest clearly know
That from the mind come one by one to each
And every man his body's lusts and powers.
Easily mayst thou see that every man
Is by his wickedness of mind more harm'd
Than by the weakness of his failing hody.
Nor need a man ween ever such weird-chance,
As that the wearisome and wicked flesh
Could change to it the mind of any man,
But the bad lusts of each mind, and the thought
Of each man, lead his body where they will.

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XXVII. Of Tolerance.

Quid tantos juvat excitare motus,
Et propria fatum sollicitare manu?

Hwy ge æfre scylen
Unriht-fioungum
Eower mod drefan, &c.

Why ever your mind will ye trouble with hate,
As the icy-cold sea when it rears
Its billows waked-up by the wind?
Why make such an out-cry against your weird fate,
That she cannot keep you from fears,
Nor save you from sorrows assign'd?

Why cannot ye now the due bitterness bide
Of death, (as the Lord hath decreed,)
That hurries to-you-ward each day?
Now can ye not see him still tracking beside
Each thing that is born of earth's breed,
The birds and the beasts, as ye may?

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Death also for man in like manner tracks out
Dread hunter! this middle earth through,
And bites as he runs evermore;
He will not forsake, when he searches about,
His prey, till he catches it too
And finds what he sought for before.

A sad thing it is, if we cannot await
His bidding, poor burghers of earth,
But wilfully strive with him still;
Like birds or wild beasts, when they haste in their hate
To rage with each other in wrath
And wrestle to quell and to kill.

But he that would hate in the deep of his heart
Another, unrighteous is he,
And worse then a bird or a beast;
But best is the man who would freely impart
To a brother, whoever he be,
Full worth for his work at the least:

That is, he should love all the good at his best,
And tenderly think of the bad,
As we have spoken before;
The Man he should love with his soul—for the rest
His sins he should hate, and be glad
To see them cut off evermore.

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XXVIII. Of Heavenly Wonders.

Si quis Arcturi sidera nescit
Propinqua summo cardine labi, &c.

Hwa is on eorthan nu
Unleardra.

Who now is so unlearned among people of the world,
As not to wonder at the clouds upon the skies unfurl'd,
The swiftly rolling heavens and the racing of the stars,
How day by day they run around this mid earth in their cars:

Who then of men doth wonder not these glittering stars to see,
How some of them round wafted in shorter circles be,
And some are wanderers away and far beyond them all,
And one there is which worldly men the Wain with shafts do call.

These travel shorter than the rest, with less of sweep and swerve
They turn about the axle, and near the north-end curve,
On that same axle quickly round turns all the roomy sky,
And swiftly bending to the south untiring doth it fly.

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(Then who is there in all the world that is not well amazed
Leave those alone who knew before the stars on which they gazed)
That many some-whiles on the heavens make a longer bend,
And some-whiles less, and sport about the axle of the End:

Or else much more they wander quickly round the midway spheres
Whereof is one, hight Saturn, who revolves in thirty years,
Böotes also, shining bright, another star that takes
His place again in thirty years of circle that he makes.

Who is there then of worldly men, to whom it doth not seem
A thing most strange that many stars go under the sea-stream,
As likewise some may falsely ween that also doth the sun,
But neither is this likeness true, nor yet that other one.

The sun is not at eventide, nor morning's early light
Nearer to the sea-stream than in the mid-day bright,
And yet it seems to men she goes her wandering sphere to lave
Then to her setting down she glides beneath the watery wave.

Who is there in the world will wonder not to gaze
Upon the full-moon on his way, bereft of all his rays,
When suddenly beneath the clouds he is beclad with black?
And who of men can marvel not at every planet's track?

Why shine they not before the sun in weather clear and bright,
As ever on the stilly sky before the moon at night?
And how is it that many men much wondering at such
Yet wonder not that men and beasts each other hate so much?

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Right strange it is they marvel not how in the welkin oft
It thunders terribly, and then eftsoons is calm aloft,
So also stoutly dashes the wave against the shore
And fierce against the wave the wind uprises with a roar!

Who thinks of this? or yet again, how ice of water grows,
And how in beauty on the sky the bright sun hotly glows,
Then soon to water, its own kin, the pure ice runs away;
But men think that no wonder, when they see it every day.

This senseless folk is far more struck at things it seldom sees,
Though every wise man in his mind will wonder less at these;
Unstalworth minds will always think that what they seldom see
Never of old was made before, and hardly now can be.

But further yet, the worldly men by chance will think it came,
A new thing, if to none of them had ever happ'd the same;
Silly enough!—yet if of them a man begins to thirst
For learning many lists and lores that he had scorn'd at first,

And if for him the Word of life uncovers from his wit
The cloke of that much foolishness which overshadow'd it,
Then well of old I wot he would not wonder at things so
Which now to men most worthily and wonderfully show.

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XXIX. Of the Stars and Seasons.

Si quis celsi jura tonantis.
Pura sollers cernere mente,
Adspice summi culmina cœli, &c.

Gif thu nu wilnige
Weoruld-Drihtnes, &c.

If now thou art willing the Lord of the world
His highness and greatness clearsighted to see,
Behold the huge host of the heavens unfurl'd
How calmly at peace with each other they be!

At the first forming the Glorified Prince
Order'd it so that the sun should not turn
Nigh to the bounds of the moon ever since
Nor the cold path of the snowcircle burn.

Nay, the high stars never cross on the skies
Ere that another has hurried away;
Nor to the westward will ever uprise
Ursa the star,—so witting men say.

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All of the stars set after the sun
Under the ground of the earth with the sky:
That is no wonder; for only this one,
The axle, stands fastly and firmly on high.

Again, there's a star more bright than them all,
He comes from the east, before the sun's birth,
The star of the morning,—thus him ever call
Under the heavens the children of earth.

For that he bodes day's-dawn to men's homes
After him bringing the sun in his train,
Fair from the east this forerunner comes
And glides to the west all shining again.

People rename him at night in the west
Star of the evening then is he hight,
And when the setting sun goes to her rest,
He races her down more swift than the light.

Still he outruns her, until he appears
Again in the east, forerunning the sun,
A glorious star, that equally clears
The day and the night, ere his racing be run.

Thro' the Lord's power, the sun and the moon
Rule as at first by the Father's decree;
And think not thou these bright shiners will soon
Weary of serfdom till domesday shall be:

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Then shall the Maker of man at his will
Do with them all that is right by and bye:
Meanwhile the Good and Almighty one still
Setteth not both on one half of the sky,

Lest they should other brave beings unmake;
But, evergood, He still suffers it not;
Somewhiles the dry with the water will slake,
Somewhiles will mingle the cold with the hot.

Yea, by His skill, otherwhiles will upsoar
Into the sky fire airily-form'd,
Leaving behind it the cold heavy ore
Which by the Holy One's might it had warm'd.

By the King's bidding it cometh each year
Earth in the summertime bringeth forth fruit,
Ripens and dries for the soildwellers here
The seed, and the sheaf, and the blade, and the root.

Afterward rain cometh, hailing and snow,
Wintertide weather that wetteth the world,
Hence the earth quickens the seeds that they grow
And in the lententide leaves are uncurl'd.

So the Mild Maker for children of men
Feeds in the earth each fruit to increase,
Wielder of heaven! he brings it forth then;
Nourishing God!—or makes it to cease.

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He, Highest Good, sits on his high seat
Self king of all, and reins evermore
This his wide handiwork, made (as is meet)
His thane and his theow to serve and adore.

That is no wonder, for he is The King,
Lord God of hosts, each living soul's awe,
The source and the spring of each being and thing
All the world's maker and wisdom and law.

Everything made,—on His errands they go,
None that He sendeth may ever turn back;
Had he not stablished and settled it so
All had been ruin and fallen to rack;

Even to nought would have come at the last:
All that is made would have melted away:
But in both heaven and earth, true and fast,
All have one love such a lord to obey,

And are full fain that their Father should reign;
That is no wonder, for else should each thing
Never have life, if they did not remain
True to their Maker, man's glorious King.

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XXX. Of the True Sun.

Puro clarum lumine Phœbum
Melliflui canit oris Homerus; &c.

Omerus wæs
East mid Græcum
On thæm leodscipe. &c.

Homer, among the Eastern Greeks, was erst
The best of bards in all that country-side;
And he was Virgil's friend and teacher first,
To that great minstrel master well allied.

And Homer often greatly praised the sun,
Her highborn worth, her skilfulness most true;
Often by song and story many a one
He to the people sang her praises due.

Yet can she not shine out, tho' clear and bright,
Everywhere near to everything allways,
Nor further, can she shed an equal light
Inside and out on all that meet her rays.

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But the Almighty Lord of worldly things,
Wielder and Worker, brightly shines above
His own good workmanship, and round all flings
An equal blaze of skilfulness and love!

That is the true Sun, whom we rightly may
Sing without leasing as the Lord of Day.

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XXXI. Of Man's Uprightness.

Quam variis terras animalia permeant flguris!
Nempe alia extento sunt corpore, pulveremque verrunt.

Hwæt thu meaht ongitan
Gif his the geman list
Thæt te mislice. &c.

Yet more, thou mayst know,
If it list thee to mind,
That many things go
Over earth in their kind,
Unlike to the view
In shape as in hue.

Known or unknown
Some forms of them all
On earth lying prone
Must creep and must crawl;
By feathers help'd not,
Nor walking with feet,
As it is their lot
Earth they must eat.

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Twofooted these,
Fourfooted those,
Each one with ease
Its going wellknows,
Some flying high
Under the sky.

Yet to this earth
Is everything bound,
Bowed from its birth
Down to the ground,
Looking on clay
And leaning to dust,
Some as they may
And some as they must.

Man alone goes
Of all things upright,—
Whereby he shows
That his mind and his might
Ever should rise
Up to the skies.

Unless like the beast
His mind is intent
Downwards to feast,—
It cannot be meant

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That any man
So far should sink
Upwards to scan
Yet—downwards to think!

121

KING ALFRED'S PARLIAMENT AT SHIFFORD,

A METRICAL FRAGMENT FROM THE ANGLO-Saxon.

123

At Shifford many thanes were set;
There book-learned bishops met,
Earls and knights, all awsome men,
And Alfric, wise in lawsome ken:
There too England's own darlíng,
England's shepherd, England's king,
Alfred! them he truly taught
To live in duty as they ought.

Alfred, England's king and clerk,
Well he loved God's holy work:
Wise was he and choice in speech,
First of England skill'd to teach.

Thus quoth Alfred, England's love,
“Would ye live for God above?
“Would ye long that He may show
“Wiselike things for you to know,

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“That you may world's worship gain,
“And your souls to Christ attain?”

Wise the sayings Alfred said;
“Christ the Lord I bid thee dread
“Meekly, O mine own dear friend,
“Love and like him without end;
“He is Lord of life and love,
“Blest all other bliss above,
“He is Man, our Father true,
“And a meek mild Master too;
“Yea, our brother; yea our king;
“Wise and rich in every thing,
“So that nought of His good will
“Shall be aught but pleasure still
“To the man who Him with fear
“In the world doth worship here.”

Thus quoth Alfred, our delight;
“He may be no king of right
“Under Christ, who is not fill'd
“With book lore, in law wellskill'd,
“Letters he must understand,
“And know by what he holds his land.”

Thus quoth Alfred, England's praise,”
England's pride and joy always:

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“Earl and atheling
“Both be under the king,
“The land to lead
“With duteous deed;

“Both the clerk and the knight
“Equally hold by right:
“For as a man soweth
“Thereafter he moweth,
“And every man's doom
“Shall come to his home.”

Thus quoth Alfred; “To the knight;
“'Tis his wisdom and his right
“To lighten the land
“By the mower's hand
“Of harvest and of heregongs;
“To him it well belongs
“That the Church have peace,
“And the churl be at ease
“His seeds to sow,
“His meads to mow,
“His ploughs to drive afield
“In our behoof to yield;
“This is the good knight's care
“To look that these well fare.”

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Thus quoth Alfred: “Wealth is but a curse,
“If wisdom be not added to the purse.
“Though a man hold an hundred and threescore
“Acres of tilth, with gold all covered o'er
“Like growing corn,—it all is nothing worth,
“Unless it prove his Friend, not Foe, on earth.
“For wherein, saving for good use alone,
“Does gold-ore differ from a simple stone?”

Thus quoth Alfred: “Never let the young
“Despair of good, nor give himself to wrong,
“Though to his mind right come not as it should,
“And though he take no joy in what he would.
“For Christ when he will
“Gives good after ill,
“And wealth by his grace
“In trouble's hard place,
“And happy the mind
“That to Him is resign'd.”

Thus quoth Alfred:—“When a child is wise”
“That is indeed a father's blessed prize.
“Hast thou a child?—while yet a little one,
“In man's whole duty timely teach thy son;
“When he is grown, he still shall keep the track
“And for all cares and troubles pay thee back.

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“But, if thou leave him to his evil will,
“When grown, such duties will be galling still,
“For thy bad teaching he shall curse thee sore,
“And shall transgress thy counsels more and more;
“Better for thee an unborn son, I wot,
“Than one whom thou the father chastenest not.”

Thus quoth Alfred:—“If thou growest old,
“And hast no pleasure, spite of weal and gold,
“And goest weak;—then, thank thy Lord for this
“That he hath sent thee hitherto much bliss,
“For life, and light and pleasures past away;
“And say thou, come and welcome come, what may!

Thus quoth Alfred:—“Worldly wealth and strength
“Come to the worms, and dust, and death at length,
“Though one be king of earth and all its power,
“He can but hold it for life's little hour.
“Thy glorious state will work thee grievous fate,
“Unless thou purchase Christ, before too late.
“Therefore in living well, at God's behest,
“By serving Him we serve ourselves the best.
“So, rest thou well that He will send thee aid,
“As Salomon the King right wisely said,
“He that does worthy good on earth has wit,
“At last he goeth where he findeth it.”

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Thus quoth Alfred:—“My dear son, come near,
“Sit thou beside, and I will teach thee here.
“I feel mine hour is well-nigh come, my son;
“My face is white; my days are almost done:
“Soon must we part; I to another throne,
“And thou in all my state shalt stand alone:
“I pray thee,—for mine own dear child thou art,
“Lord of this people, play their father's part,
“Be thou the orphan's sire, the widow's friend,
“Comfort the poor man, and the weak defend,
“With all thy might
“Succour the right,
“And be strong
“Against the wrong:
“And thou, my son, by law thyself restrain,
“So God shall be thy Guide, and glorious Gain;
“Call thou for help on Him in every need,
“And He shall give thee greatly to succeed.