Chapter 5

Full often through the grace of God it happens That man and wife to the world bring forth A babe by birth; they brightly adorn it, And tend it and teach it till the time comes on 5 With the passing of years when the young child's limbs Have grown in strength and sturdy grace. It is fondled and fed by father and mother And gladdened with gifts. God alone knows What fate shall be his in the fast-moving years. 10 To one it chances in his childhood days To be snatched away by sudden death In woeful wise. The wolf shall devour him, The hoary heath-dweller. Heart-sick with grief, His mother shall mourn him; but man cannot change it. 15 One of hunger shall starve; one the storm shall drown. One the spear shall pierce; one shall perish in war. One shall lead his life without light in his eyes, Shall feel his way fearing. Infirm in his step, One his wounds shall bewail, his woeful pains-- 20 Mournful in mind shall lament his fate. One from the top of a tree in the woods Without feathers shall fall, but he flies none the less, Swoops in descent till he seems no longer The forest tree's fruit: at its foot on the ground 25 He sinks in silence, his soul departed-- On the roots now lies his lifeless body. One shall fare afoot on far-away paths, Shall bear on his back his burdensome load, Tread the dewy track among tribes unfriendly 30 Amid foreign foemen. Few are alive To welcome the wanderer. The woeful face Of the hapless outcast is hateful to men. One shall end life on the lofty gallows; Dead shall he hang till the house of his soul, 35 His bloody body is broken and mangled: His eyes shall be plucked by the plundering raven, The sallow-hued spoiler, while soulless he lies, And helpless to fight with his hands in defense Against the grim thief. Gone is his life. 40 With his skin plucked off and his soul departed, The body all bleached shall abide its fate; The death-mist shall drown him-- doomed to disgrace. The body of one shall burn on the fire; The flame shall feed on the fated man, 45 And death shall descend full sudden upon him In the lurid glow. Loud weeps the mother As her boy in the brands is burned to ashes. One the sword shall slay as he sits in the mead-hall Angry with ale; it shall end his life, 50 Wine-sated warrior: his words were too reckless! One shall meet his death through the drinking of beer, Maddened with mead, when no measure he sets To the words of his mouth through wisdom of mind; He shall lose his life in loathsome wise, 55 Shall shamefully suffer, shut off from joy, And men shall know him by the name of self-slayer, Shall deplore with their mouths the mead-drinker's fall. One his hardships of youth through the help of God Overcomes and brings his burdens to naught, 60 And his age when it comes shall be crowned with joy; He shall prosper in pleasure, in plenty and wealth, With flourishing family and flowing mead-- For such worthy rewards may one well wish to live! Thus many the fortunes the mighty Lord 65 All over the earth to everyone grants, Dispenses powers as his pleasure shall lead him. One is favored with fortune; one failure in life; One pleasure in youth; one prowess in war, The sternest of strife; one in striking and shooting 70 Earns his honors. And often in games One is crafty and cunning. A clerk shall one be, Weighted with wisdom. Wonderful skill Is one granted to gain in the goldsmith's art; Full often he decks and adorns in glory 75 A great king's noble, who gives him rewards, Grants him broad lands, which he gladly receives. One shall give pleasure to people assembled On the benches at beer, shall bring to them mirth, Where drinkers are draining their draughts of joy. 80 One holding his harp in his hands, at the feet Of his lord shall sit and receive a reward; Fast shall his fingers fly o'er the strings; Daringly dancing and darting across, With his nails he shall pluck them. His need is great. 85 One shall make tame the towering falcon, The hawk on his hand, till the haughty bird Grows quiet and gentle; jesses he makes him, Feeds in fetters the feather-proud hawk, The daring air-treader with daintiest morsels, 90 Till the falcon performs the feeder's will: Hooded and belled, he obeys his master, Tamed and trained as his teacher desires. Thus in wondrous wise the Warden of Glory Through every land has allotted to men 95 Cunning and craft; his decrees go forth To all men on earth of every race. For the graces granted let us give him thanks-- For his manifold mercies to the men of earth.

3. ELEGIAC GROUP

THE WANDERER

[Text used: Kluge, _Angelsächsisches Lesebuch_. It is also given in Bright's _Anglo-Saxon Reader_.

Alliterative translations: Edward Fulton, _Publications of the Modern Language Association of America_, vol. xii (1898); Pancoast and Spaeth, _Early English Poems_, p. 65.

Lines 77 ff. and 101 ff. have been compared to a passage in Keats's _Hyperion_ (book ii, 34-38).]

Often the lonely one longs for honors, The grace of God, though, grieved in his soul, Over the waste of the waters far and wide he shall Row with his hands through the rime-cold sea, 5 Travel the exile tracks: full determined is fate! So the wanderer spake, his woes remembering, His misfortunes in fighting and the fall of his kinsmen: "Often alone at early dawn I make my moan! Not a man now lives 10 To whom I can speak forth my heart and soul And tell of its trials. In truth I know well That there belongs to a lord an illustrious trait, To fetter his feelings fast in his breast, To keep his own counsel though cares oppress him. 15 The weary in heart against Wyrd has no help Nor may the troubled in thought attempt to get aid. Therefore the thane who is thinking of glory Binds in his breast his bitterest thoughts. So I fasten with fetters, confine in my breast 20 My sorrows of soul, though sick oft at heart, In a foreign country far from my kinsmen. I long ago laid my loyal patron In sorrow under the sod; since then I have gone Weary with winter-care over the wave's foamy track, 25 In sadness have sought a solace to find In the home and the hall of a host and ring-giver, Who, mindful of mercy in the mead-hall free, In kindness would comfort and care for me friendless, Would treat me with tenderness. The tried man knows 30 How stern is sorrow, how distressing a comrade For him who has few of friends and loved ones: He trails the track of the exile; no treasure he has, But heart-chilling frost-- no fame upon earth. He recalls his comrades and the costly hall-gifts 35 Of his gracious gold-friend, which he gave him in youth To expend as he pleased: his pleasure has vanished! He who lacks for long his lord's advice, His love and his wisdom, learns full well How sorrow and slumber soothe together 40 The way-worn wanderer to welcome peace. He seems in his sleep to see his lord; He kisses and clasps him, and inclines on his knee His hands and his head as in happier days When he experienced the pleasure of his prince's favors. 45 From his sleep then awakens the sorrowful wanderer; He sees full before him the fallow waves, The sea-birds bathing and beating their wings, Frost and snow falling with freezing hail. Then heavier grows the grief of his heart, 50 Sad after his dream; he sorrows anew. His kinsmen's memory he calls to his mind, And eagerly greets it; in gladness he sees His valiant comrades. Then they vanish away. In the soul of a sailor no songs burst forth, 55 No familiar refrains. Fresh is his care Who sends his soul o'er the sea full oft, Over the welling waves his wearied heart. Hence I may not marvel, when I am mindful of life, That my sorrowing soul grows sick and dark, 60 When I look at the lives of lords and earls, How they are suddenly snatched from the seats of their power, In their princely pride. So passes this world, And droops and dies each day and hour; And no man is sage who knows not his share 65 Of winter in the world. The wise man is patient, Not too hot in his heart, nor too hasty in words, Nor too weak in war, nor unwise in his rashness, Nor too forward nor fain, nor fearful of death, Nor too eager and arrogant till he equal his boasting. 70 The wise man will wait with his words of boasting Till, restraining his thoughts, he thoroughly knows Where his vain words of vaunting eventually will lead him. The sage man perceives how sorrowful it is When all the wealth of the world lies wasted and scattered. 75 So now over the earth in every land Stormed on by winds the walls are standing Rimy with hoar-frost, and the roofs of the houses; The wine-halls are wasted; far away are the rulers, Deprived of their pleasure. All the proud ones have fallen, 80 The warriors by the wall: some war has borne off, In its bloody embrace; some birds have carried Over the high seas; to some the hoar wolf Has dealt their death; some with dreary faces By earls have been exiled in earth-caves to dwell: 85 So has wasted this world through the wisdom of God, Till the proud one's pleasure has perished utterly, And the old work of the giants stands worthless and joyless. He who the waste of this wall-stead wisely considers, And looks down deep at the darkness of life, 90 Mournful in mind, remembers of old Much struggle and spoil and speaks these words: 'Where are the horses? Where are the heroes? Where are the high treasure-givers? Where are the proud pleasure-seekers? Where are the palace and its joys? Alas the bright wine-cup! Alas the burnie-warriors! 95 Alas the prince's pride! How passes the time Under the shadow of night as it never had been! Over the trusty troop now towers full high A wall adorned with wondrous dragons. The strength of the spear has destroyed the earls, 100 War-greedy weapons, Wyrd inexorable; And the storms strike down on the stony cliffs; The snows descend and seize all the earth In the dread of winter; then darkness comes And dusky night-shade. Down from the north 105 The hated hail-storms beat on heroes with fury. All on earth is irksome to man; Oft changes the work of the fates, the world under the firmament. Here treasure is fleeting; here true friends are fleeting; Here comrades are fleeting; here kinsmen are fleeting. 110 All idle and empty the earth has become.' So says the sage one in mind, as he sits and secretly ponders. Good is the man who is true to his trust; never should he betray anger, Divulge the rage of his heart till the remedy he knows That quickly will quiet his spirit. The quest of honor is a noble pursuit; 115 Glory be to God on high, who grants us our salvation!"

1. These opening lines are typical of the group of poems usually known as the "Elegies"--this and the next four poems in the book. It is probable that the poems of this group have no relation with one another save in general tone--a deep melancholy that, though present in the other old English poems is blackest in these.

15. _Wyrd:_ the "Fate" of the Germanic peoples. The Anglo-Saxon's life was overshadowed by the power of Wyrd, though Beowulf says that "a man may escape his Wyrd--if he be good enough."

87. Ancient fortifications and cities are often referred to in Anglo-Saxon poetry as "the old work of the giants."

THE SEAFARER

[Edition used: Kluge, _Angelsächsisches Lesebuch_.

Up to line 65 this is one of the finest specimens of Anglo-Saxon poetry. It expresses as few poems in English have done the spirit of adventure, the _wanderlust_ of springtime. The author was a remarkable painter of the sea and its conditions. From line 65 to the end the poem consists of a very tedious homily that must surely be a later addition.

The use of the first person throughout and the opposing sentiments expressed have caused several scholars to consider the first part of the poem a dialogue between a young man eager to go to sea and an old sailor. The divisions of the speeches suggested have been as follows:

(By Hönncher) (By Kluge) (By Rieger) 1-33a Sailor 1-33 Sailor 1-38a Sailor 33b-38 Youth 34-64 or 66 Youth 33b-38 Youth 39-43 Sailor 39-47 Sailor 44-52 Youth 48-52 Youth 53-57 Sailor 53-57 Sailor 58-64a Youth 58-71 Youth 71-end Sailor

Sweet, in his _Anglo-Saxon Reader_, objects to these theories since there are not only no headings or divisions in the manuscript to indicate such divisions, but there are no breaks or contrasts in the poem itself.

"If we discard these theories," he says, "the simplest view of the poem is that it is the monologue of an old sailor who first describes the hardships of the seafaring life, and then confesses its irresistible attraction, which he justifies, as it were, by drawing a parallel between the seafarer's contempt for the luxuries of the life on land on the one hand and the aspirations of a spiritual nature on the other, of which the sea bird is to him the type. In dwelling on these ideals the poet loses sight of the seafarer and his half-heathen associations, and as inevitably rises to a contemplation of the cheering hopes of a future life afforded by Christianity."

The dullness and obscurity of the last part of the poem, however, and the obvious similarity to the homilies of the time make it very unlikely that the whole poem was written by one author.]

I will sing of myself a song that is true, Tell of my travels and troublesome days, How often I endured days of hardship; Bitter breast-care I have borne as my portion, 5 Have seen from my ship sorrowful shores, Awful welling of waves; oft on watch I have been On the narrow night-wakes at the neck of the ship, When it crashed into cliffs; with cold often pinched Were my freezing feet, by frost bound tight 10 In its blighting clutch; cares then burned me, Hot around my heart. Hunger tore within My sea-weary soul. To conceive this is hard For the landsman who lives on the lonely shore-- How, sorrowful and sad on a sea ice-cold, 15 I eked out my exile through the awful winter . . . . . . . . deprived of my kinsmen, Hung about by icicles; hail flew in showers. There I heard naught but the howl of the sea, The ice-cold surge with a swan-song at times; 20 The note of the gannet for gayety served me, The sea-bird's song for sayings of people, For the mead-drink of men the mew's sad note. Storms beat on the cliffs, 'mid the cry of gulls, Icy of feather; and the eagle screamed, 25 The dewy-winged bird. No dear friend comes With merciful kindness my misery to conquer. Of this little can he judge who has joy in his life, And, settled in the city, is sated with wine, And proud and prosperous-- how painful it is 30 When I wearily wander on the waves full oft! Night shadows descended; it snowed from the north; The world was fettered with frost; hail fell to the earth, The coldest of corns. Yet course now desires Which surge in my heart for the high seas, 35 That I test the terrors of the tossing waves; My soul constantly kindles in keenest impatience To fare itself forth and far off hence To seek the strands of stranger tribes. There is no one in this world so o'erweening in power, 40 So good in his giving, so gallant in his youth, So daring in his deeds, so dear to his lord, But that he leaves the land and longs for the sea. By the grace of God he will gain or lose; Nor hearkens he to harp nor has heart for gift-treasures, 45 Nor in the wiles of a wife nor in the world rejoices. Save in the welling of waves no whit takes he pleasure; But he ever has longing who is lured by the sea. The forests are in flower and fair are the hamlets; The woods are in bloom, the world is astir: 50 Everything urges one eager to travel, Sends the seeker of seas afar To try his fortune on the terrible foam. The cuckoo warns in its woeful call; The summer-ward sings, sorrow foretelling, 55 Heavy to the heart. Hard is it to know For the man of pleasure, what many with patience Endure who dare the dangers of exile! In my bursting breast now burns my heart, My spirit sallies over the sea-floods wide, 60 Sails o'er the waves, wanders afar To the bounds of the world and back at once, Eagerly, longingly; the lone flyer beckons My soul unceasingly to sail o'er the whale-path, Over the waves of the sea.

64. At this point the dull homiletic passage begins. Much of it is quite untranslatable. A free paraphrase may be seen in Cook and Tinker, _Translations from Old English Poetry_, p. 47.

THE WIFE'S LAMENT

[Text used: Kluge, _Angelsächsisches Lesebuch_, p. 146.

The meaning of some parts of this poem is very obscure--especially lines 18-21 and 42-47. No satisfactory explanation of them has been given. There is probably no relation except in general theme between it and _The Husband's Message_.]

Sorrowfully I sing my song of woe, My tale of trials. In truth I may say That the buffets I have borne since my birth in the world Were never more than now, either new or old. 5 Ever the evils of exile I endure! Long since went my lord from the land of his birth, Over the welling waves. Woeful at dawn I asked Where lingers my lord, in what land does he dwell? Then I fared into far lands and faithfully sought him, 10 A weary wanderer in want of comfort. His treacherous tribesmen contrived a plot, Dark and dastardly, to drive us apart The width of a world, where with weary hearts We live in loneliness, and longing consumes me. 15 My master commanded me to make my home here. Alas, in this land my loved ones are few, My faithful friends! Hence I feel great sorrow That the man well-matched with me I have found To be sad in soul and sorrowful in mind, 20 Concealing his thoughts and thinking of murder, Though blithe in his bearing. Oft we bound us by oath That the day of our death should draw us apart, Nothing less end our love. Alas, all is changed! Now is as naught, as if never it were, 25 Our faith and our friendship. Far and near I shall Endure the hate of one dear to my heart! He condemned me to dwell in a darksome wood, Under an oak-tree in an earth-cave drear. Old is the earth-hall. I am anxious with longing. 30 Dim are the dales, dark the hills tower, Bleak the tribe-dwellings, with briars entangled, Unblessed abodes. Here bitterly I have suffered The faring of my lord afar. Friends there are on earth Living in love, in lasting bliss, 35 While, wakeful at dawn, I wander alone Under the oak-tree the earth-cave near. Sadly I sit there the summer-long day, Wearily weeping my woeful exile, My many miseries. Hence I may not ever 40 Cease my sorrowing, my sad bewailing, Nor all the longings of my life of woe. Always may the young man be mournful of spirit, Unhappy of heart, and have as his portion Many sorrows of soul, unceasing breast-cares, 45 Though now blithe of behavior. Unbearable likewise Be his joys in the world. Wide be his exile To far-away folk-lands where my friend sits alone, A stranger under stone-cliffs, by storm made hoary, A weary-souled wanderer, by waters encompassed, 50 In his lonely lodging. My lover endures Unmeasured mind-care: he remembers too oft A happier home. To him is fate cruel Who lingers and longs for the loved one's return!

THE HUSBAND'S MESSAGE

[Text used: Kluge, _Angelsächsisches Lesebuch_.

The piece of wood on which the message is written speaks throughout the poem. It is impossible to tell whether the sender of the message is husband or lover of the woman addressed.

Some scholars consider the riddle on "The Reed," number LX, as the true beginning of this poem. It precedes the "Message" in the manuscript. Hicketeir (_Anglia_, xi, 363) thinks that it does not belong with that riddle, but that it is itself a riddle. He cites the Runes, in lines 51-2, especially as evidence. Trautmann (_Anglia_ xvi, 207) thinks that it is part of a longer poem, in which the puzzling relation would be straightened out.]