All laud the Lord, his might and majesty,
His prevailing power. The earth itself
Praises God with produce, the green gift
That sustains our living and lets us thrive.
The tribes of men grow powerful and prolific 120
Because of the blessings provided to us
Throughout the ages by our beloved Lord.
We plow and plant and wait for nature’s
Nurture through God’s strength. We hope
For rich rain and heavy harvest fruit. 125
Let the full fields and groves of middle-earth
Praise the power of your generous creation.
Let the oceans and rivers exult and sing.
You carve the course of land-lane
And whale-road, the broad plains 130
And deep waters where beasts roam
And strange sea-creatures dive and swim—
All sustained by your making might.
They know their nature, their place appointed
By their holy Shaper, the Shepherd of light. 135
You are the ruler and well-spring of rivers,
The sovereign source of every stream.
You send the world clear water from cliff-side,
A glorious king’s pure and powerful gift
To sustain his people. The sweet-singing 140
Birds of the air bless you, warbling hymns
To their heavenly king. The fish sing
Silent songs in the thick thrum of water
Only you can hear. The cattle low for their Lord.
The people bless you for their bounty and being. 145
Let the tribes of Israel glorify their God.
Let the priests and disciples, lords and servants,
Be humble before you, O holy Creator.
Now we three—Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah—
Praise your power, your mercy and might. 150
We bless you almighty Father in heaven,
The true Son, and the victorious Spirit,
For sending us here this guardian angel
To shield and protect us from fire and foe,
From the dark heat of our enemies’ hatred, 155
With his sheltering wings, his sustaining embrace.”
Then the heathen hordes exploded in fury,
Rushing madly toward the fiery furnace,
When God’s foes saw that he would not suffer
His faithful young men to be burned to death. 160
Christ shielded them from the fierce flames.
Then the heathen messenger, trembling in terror,
Returned to the hall to report to his lord,
Announcing before the gathered nobles
His terrible truth: the holy ones were untouched 165
By the furnace-flames. Their faith was intact.
The lord and his nobles heard that grim news
As the fierce-minded messenger began to speak:
“I know that we bound the three young men
In a blaze of fire, an oven of agony— 170
But suddenly I saw not three but four,
As something strange came shimmering in the air.
No human counsel could carry any weight
In that moment of wonder. The youths held their place
On the hot hearth-stones, unhurt by the heat, 175
Untouched by the oven’s fierce flames.
There was a radiant angel among them,
Brighter than fire, cooler than ice,
Impervious to the blaze in his robes of glory.”
When the Chaldean prince swallowed those words, 180
The stubborn lord left his hall in a hurry
And went to the fire to see the wonder
With his own eyes. The arrogant lord
Stood before the pyre, commanding the youths
To come out of the flame. The saints emerged, 185
Telling the lord they were untouched, unscathed,
And that faith had saved them from the evil oven.
They walked through fire, wrapped in glory,
And the flame could not find them, burn their bodies,
Or ravage their robes. With their souls’ protection 190
And the Lord’s love, they stood against sin,
Triumphed against terror, exhausted evil.
They were shielded by virtue and an angel’s embrace,
So that no heathen fire or unfaith could reach
Into the sacred spaces of their holy hearts. 195
THE PHOENIX
The OE Phoenix is based on a rich tradition of legendary tales about the wondrous bird that is able to restore its life in old age by suddenly combusting and then arising anew out of its own ashes. The first half of the poem is “a free and creative adaptation and development of Lactantius’s Carmen de ave phoenice, by a poet well-versed in Christian theology” (Muir, 468), while the latter half draws upon a number of sources, such as Ambrose’s Hexameron. N. F. Blake points out in his edition that the first 170 lines of the Carmen correspond to the first 380 lines of the OE poem, noting that “the English poet was by no means a slavish imitator and he adapted the original to suit his own ends” (1990, 25). Garde summarizes the complex allegorical meaning of the poem, noting that the phoenix “is presented as a specifically appointed, exemplary creature of God whose paradisal sun-worship is reminiscent of post-Judgmental Christians glorifying Christ; whose essential nest-building function is peculiarly relevant to the endeavours of the aspiring Christian, and whose descent to earth, passage through death to new life, and return to its paradisal homeland indicate those of Christ and by extension, the righteous Christian” (196).
There are other aspects to this highly developed allegory as well. Greenfield points out that “the bird’s departure from the earthly Paradise is, early in the ‘interpretive’ part, equated with the exile of Adam and Eve for eating the forbidden fruit” (Greenfield and Calder, 244). He also notes that the reference to Job later in the poem portrays the Old Testament figure as one “who, like the Phoenix, is certain in his faith, knowing he will rise again to enjoy happiness with the Lord” (244). N. F. Blake points to a possible connection between the tree of the phoenix and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil in Eden, saying, “It is not too fanciful to think that it was upon this tree, the highest in the garden, that the phoenix perched” (1990, 84). The bird’s miraculous ability to die and be reborn through the cleansing and rejuvenating fire brings together a variety of Christian themes, from the fall of man to the resurrection of Christ, to the Judgment Fire and the redemption of the blessed. As in Advent Lyric II, the sun in this poem probably draws on a wordplay that associates the sun (OE sunne/sunnu) with the Son (OE sunu). The poem ends with a vision of the blessed in heaven in a macaronic passage with each opening half-line in Old English and each closing half-line in Latin (lines 680–88; see Cain for a study of macaronic verses in OE). Because of the complex demands of the poetic translation here, I have not attempted to indicate the OE and Latin half-lines in the macaronic section of the poem. For both text and a literal prose translation with the separate OE and Latin half-lines indicated, see Jones (18–63).
The Phoenix
I have heard of the most glorious homeland
Far to the east, famous among men.
That region is not known by many rulers
Of middle-earth because God guards it
Closely in a far-off corner of creation, 5
Away from the eyes of all evil-doers.
The land is lovely, blessed with blooms
Of the sweetest scent, the pleasant perfumes
Of the rich earth. That land is unmatched,
Its Maker mighty, his power unparalleled. 10
There the doors of heaven are often open,
And the sound of angels and the sight of the blessed
Are a revelation and rapture, ringing with God’s grace.
He created that
country with its broad plains,
Green woodlands, and sweeping space 15
Under beautiful skies. No blustering weather
Beats or batters that peaceful place—
No sleeting rain or freezing snow,
No frosty breath or scorching heat,
No blazing sun or battering hail. 20
Nothing harries or harms that land—
Its blooming beauty abides forever.
That high plateau is a perfect place.
There are no hills or hollows there,
No mountains, cliffs, mounds or crags, 25
As we have here—no deep dales,
No ridges, rock formations, or ravines,
No sudden steeps, no great gaps, no rough ground.
Flowers flourish on the smooth surfaces
Of that fair land, blossoms never fading. 30
Wise sages, word-smiths, say in their writings
That the flat land is twelve fathoms higher
Than any mountain looming brightly above us
Here at home beneath the stars of heaven.
That high paradise is a plain of victory, 35
A place of peace. Its groves are a vibrant,
Green gladness under the shimmering sun,
Summer and winter. Ripe fruit never falls,
Untouched by time in God’s season.
Leaves will not fade or flowers lament 40
Their loss of sweet blush and beauty.
Flames will not waste that wondrous wood,
At least not until the world breathes
Its last breath in a blaze of glory.
Once when the great flood, fierce 45
And fathomless, raged across the earth,
Burying nearly all life beneath the water,
This plain resisted the rough waves,
Strong and secure, a fortress against the flood,
Through God’s grace. So it will remain 50
Forever flowering until the Apocalypse arrives,
The grim fire devouring both breath and bloom,
And the Lord calls all creation to rise up
Out of their death-houses, the old tombs,
To come to judgment on the day of doom. 55
No hatred haunts that land, no evil or enmity,
No suffering or sorrow, old age or agony,
No need of sleep or cause for grief,
No feud or foe, mourning or misery,
Wound or woe, no clutch of pain 60
Or crimp of death, anguish or exile,
Want of wealth, sudden sickness,
Winter aches, drowning waves, icy chills.
No hail harrows the heart; no stormwind
Chills the soul. Yet sweet streams monthly 65
Spring from the soil, watering the wood
At God’s command. These irrigate the earth
With cool water, bless and brace
Each blade and leaf, each stem and stalk,
Each branch and bloom. The beautiful trees 70
Never lose their green gowns, their gems
Of fruit and flower, their holy fragrance.
The fairest groves flourish there.
The woods know no breach of beauty.
The flowers mourn no loss of scent— 75
No dusky blooms descend to dust.
The gathering green never falls or fallows;
The world never knows spring’s planting,
Autumn’s reaping, winter’s waste.
This fragrant paradise will persist through time 80
Until the Creator who crafted its glory
Decides to unmake its bright beauty
In the world’s waning and the wake of doom.
In that loveliest of lands lives a wondrous bird,
Wing-strong, feather-bright, a lone-flier, 85
A beautiful creature called the phoenix.
Brave of heart, bold of purpose,
Perfect and unparalleled, he lives alone.
Death cannot harm him on that plain
Of paradise as long as the world remains. 90
Each day he gazes at God’s bright candle,
The glorious sun traveling the sky-road,
Gathering his wings to ride the wind
To greet heaven’s holy, gleaming gem.
He waits each dawn for the bright day-star 95
To rise like a sea-warrior up from the waves,
Out of the ocean, shining from the east,
God’s radiant sign of the world’s waking,
Renewing the covenant of life and light.
Before dawn the stars dim and descend 100
Into the night-dark waters of the west
Then the flight-proud bird waits and watches
Longingly over the ocean under the azure sky
Until that bright light of heaven rises up
From the edge of the sea on invisible wings, 105
Soaring imperceptibly into God’s heaven.
That fairest bird, bound in beauty,
Gathered in grace in a timeless form,
Flies to the fountain-head, settles in the springs,
Bathes in the brook twelve times over, 110
Before the coming of heaven’s candle,
That bright beacon that rides the air.
And twelve times over at every bathing,
The bird tastes the sacred spring water
Cold as the sea. After each refreshing bath, 115
Each surge and swallow, the proud bird
Swings up into a towering tree, soaring
On sun-bright wings. There he watches time,
Charting the changing hours as the sun glides
Through the eastern sky, God’s bright beam 120
Over the surging sea. The arc-bright candle,
A sustaining star-fire, lights the land,
Radiates the world with grace and grandeur,
God’s gift of life for all of middle-earth.
As soon as the sun rises high in the heavens 125
Over the salt-streams, the gleaming-gray bird
Soars from his tree-perch into the sparkling sky,
Wing-swift, flight-strong, warbling and singing
His song of greeting to the radiant sun.
The bird is so beautiful, the melody so buoyant, 130
The trills so heartfelt, the sound so thrilling—
Beyond the clarity and craft of any sound
Since the beginning of time, when the Creator
Shaped the world with an eternal singing—
That no one on middle-earth has heard such music. 135
The sound of his voice is sweeter and brighter,
More beautiful than the song-craft of any creature.
No trumpet or horn or harp’s melody,
No strains of an organ or strings of a lyre,
Can match that sound—no human voice, 140
No chanted song, no swan’s feathers—
None of the sounds the Lord has shaped
For man’s joy in the sad-hearted world.
He sings his heart’s hymns in living joy,
Till the sun dives down in the southern sky, 145
And the song is stilled. The songbird muses,
Lifts his head, muscles mind-strength
And body-wisdom into wide-spread wings,
Ruffling perfect pinions three times,
Feathers into flight, and heads home, hushed. 150
He marks each hour both day and night
On that high plateau, the plain of paradise.
It is ordained that the bird shall live in bliss
In his bath of beauty, guardian of the grove,
Warden of wings, tracker of sun, 155
In the stretch of time, till a thousand years
Have come and gone, and the gray bird’s
Bone-house waxes with age and his spirit wanes.
Then in the fullness of time, the spread of hours,
Lifts up in flight from the green earth,
Seeking a special homeland in the world,
Where no man dwells, no woman walks,
No child plays. In that secret place,
He rules his realm as the king of birds 165
For a single season, then wings westward
With his feathered friends, each seeking to serve
His glorious lord. Then the flying throng,
A troop of birds, arrives in Syria,
Where the pure phoenix drives them off, 170
So that he may settle in a shady grove,
Concealed from the eyes and minds of men.
In that secluded wood, he sits in a tall tree,
Its branches spread aloft, its blossoms bright,
Its roots fixed in earth under heaven’s roof. 175
Men call this a phoenix tree, a name borrowed
From the bird. I’ve heard that the mighty Maker,
Lord of mankind, has granted to this tree
An unmatched gift—that of all the great trees
Whose branches reach out to embrace the air, 180
This one has the staunchest green, the brightest bloom.
The phoenix bird, like the phoenix tree,
Is under God’s power, protected from evil.
No bitterness can blight him, no bale can break him.
He is shielded so long as the world stands. 185
When the wind rests in fair weather,
And heaven’s holy gem brightens the sky—
When storms are stilled and seas are calmed,
Tempests are tranquil and clouds drift on,
Then the world’s heart is hushed under heaven. 190
The bright sky-candle shines from the south,
Bringing warmth and light to middle-earth,
And the bird begins to build in the branches
A wondrous nest, a woven home.
The phoenix is driven by a deep desire, 195
A fervent need, to trade old age,
A heaviness of years, for fresh youth,
A bright birthing, a new beginning.
From far and near, he gleans and gathers
The sweetest stems, the richest roots, 200
A twist of twigs, some shoots and stuffing,
Fragrant herbs and the fairest flowers,
Spices and scents from every season,
Created by the Lord to sustain life,
Our Father’s gift—both bloom and blessing. 205
This wild bird bears these treasures
In his beak and claw back to the tree
That bears his name, builds in its branches
In that quiet, secret, and secluded land,
The Complete Old English Poems Page 52
