915 The greedy spirit of consuming flame 921 925 When tempest and whirlwind o'erwhelm the earth, High the heap of hornèd 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. 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 Can tell of wide travel, 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 On the icy-cold ocean, Cut off from dear kindred, Hail flew in hard showers, But the wrath of the waters, Alas for the strength of the prince! for the time hath passed away The icy-cold way; 75 At times the swan's song; Is hid 'neath the shadow of night, as it never In the scream of the gannet had been at all. I sought for my joy, 35 Behind the dear and doughty there standeth now a wall, In the moan of the sea-whelp A wall that is wondrous high, and with wondrous snake-work wrought. The strength of the spears hath fordone the earls and hath made them naught, The weapons greedy of slaughter, and she, the mighty Wyrd; 80 And the tempests beat on the rocks, and the storm-wind that maketh afeard 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 Byrnied chief, i. e., chief arrayed in his "byrnie," or war-shirt. For laughter of men, In the song of the sea-mew Not one home-friend could feel For he little believes Vain with high spirit 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. Held my sea-way. The night shadows darkened, Therefore now is high heaving The whirl of salt spray. My soul to depart, That the home of the strangers Far hence I may seek. There is no man among us So proud in his mind, Groves bud with green, 35 65 70 By children of men, His glory grows ever With angels of God, In life everlasting Of bliss with the bold. 140 90 95 Each man from the world: Old age is upon him With woeful note And bleaches his face; The cuckoo warns, He is grey-haired and grieves, 160 The summer's warden sings, Knows he now must give up And sorrow rules 100 The old friends he cherished, The heart-store bitterly. Chief children of earth. No man can know, The husk of flesh, Nursed in soft ease, When life is fled, 165 The burden borne Shall taste no sweetness, Feel no sore; The farthest from their friends. Is in its hand no touch; 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. (See 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. |