Old English Poems Part 8

"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 hards.h.i.+ps 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 a.s.sociations, 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 hards.h.i.+p; Bitter breast-care I have borne as my portion, 5 Have seen from my s.h.i.+p sorrowful sh.o.r.es, Awful welling of waves; oft on watch I have been On the narrow night-wakes at the neck of the s.h.i.+p, 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 sh.o.r.e-- 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sage 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, _Angelsachsisches 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 friends.h.i.+p. 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 h.o.a.ry, A weary-souled wanderer, by waters encompa.s.sed, 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, _Angelsachsisches 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 ma.n.u.script.

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.]

First I shall freely confide to you The tale of this tablet of wood. As a tree I grew up On the coast of Mecealde, close by the sea.

Frequently thence to foreign lands 5 I set forth in travel, the salt streams tried In the keel of the s.h.i.+p at a king's behest.

Full oft on the bosom of a boat I have dwelt, Fared over the foam a friend to see, Wherever my master on a mission sent me, 10 Over the crest of the wave. I am come here to you On the deck of a s.h.i.+p and in duty inquire How now in your heart you hold and cherish The love of my lord. Loyalty unwavering I affirm without fear you will find in his heart.

15 The maker of this message commands me to bid thee, O bracelet-adorned one, to bring to thy mind And impress on thy heart the promises of love That ye two in the old days often exchanged While at home in your halls unharmed you might still 20 Live in the land, love one another, Dwell in the same country. He was driven by feud From the powerful people. He prays now, most earnestly That you learn with delight you may launch on the sea-stream When from the height of the hill you hear from afar 25 The melancholy call of the cuckoo in the wood.

Let not thereafter any living man Prevent thy voyage or prevail against it.

Seek now the sh.o.r.e, the sea-mew's home!

Embark on the boat that bears thee south, 30 Where far over the foam thou shalt find thy lord,-- Where lingers thy lover in longing and hope.

In the width of the world not a wish or desire More strongly stirs him (he instructs me to say) Than that gracious G.o.d should grant you to live 35 Ever after at ease together, To distribute treasures to retainers and friends, To give rings of gold. Of gilded cups And of proud possessions a plenty he has, And holds his home far hence with strangers, 40 His fertile fields, where follow him many High-spirited heroes-- though here my liege-lord, Forced by the fates, took flight on a s.h.i.+p And on the watery waves went forth alone To fare on the flood-way: fain would he escape, 45 Stir up the sea-streams. By strife thy lord hath Won the fight against woe. No wish will he have For horses or jewels or the joys of mead-drinking, Nor any earl's treasures on earth to be found, O gentle lord's daughter, if he have joy in thee, 50 As by solemn vows ye have sworn to each other.

I set as a sign S and R together, E, A, W, and D, as an oath to a.s.sure you That he stays for thee still and stands by his troth; And as long as he lives it shall last unbroken,-- 55 Which often of old with oaths ye have plighted.

1-6. The text here is so corrupt that an almost complete reconstruction has been necessary.

51. In the ma.n.u.script these letters appear as runes. For ill.u.s.trations of the appearance of runes, see the introductory note to "Cynewulf and his School," p. 95, below. What these runes stood for, or whether they were supposed to possess unusual or magic power is purely a matter of conjecture.

THE RUIN

[Text used: Kluge, _Angelsachsisches Lesebuch_.

This description of a ruin with hot baths is generally a.s.sumed to be of the Roman city of Bath. The fact that the poet uses unusual words and unconventional lines seems to indicate that he wrote with his eye on the object.]

Wondrous is its wall-stone laid waste by the fates.

The burg-steads are burst, broken the work of the giants.

The roofs are in ruins, rotted away the towers, The fortress-gate fallen, with frost on the mortar.

5 Broken are the battlements, low bowed and decaying, Eaten under by age. The earth holds fast The master masons: low mouldering they lie In the hard grip of the grave, till shall grow up and perish A hundred generations. h.o.a.ry and stained with red, 10 Through conquest of kingdoms, unconquered this wall endured, Stood up under storm. The high structure has fallen.

Still remains its wall-stone, struck down by weapons.

They have fallen . . . . . . . . .

Ground down by grim fate . . . . . . . .

15 Splendidly it shone . . . . . . . .

The cunning creation . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . from its clay covering is bent; Mind . . . . . . the swift one drawn.

The bold ones in counsel bound in rings 19 The wall-foundations with wires, wondrously together.

20 Bright were the burgher's homes, the bath halls many, Gay with high gables --a great martial sound, Many mead-halls, where men took their pleasure, Till an end came to all, through inexorable fate.

The people all have perished; pestilence came on them: 25 Death stole them all, the staunch band of warriors.