“Hell-ghost, grim spirit, you must confess
More of your evil acts and dark deeds,
Your monstrous makings, your wicked works,
Your dreams and delusions to harry and harm 470
The race of men before I mean to let you go.”
The angry devil answered her back:
“Now I can hear, through your artful eloquence,
That cruelly constrained by your binding words,
I must obey your command, open my mind, 475
Tell you the truth of my endless evil,
Untwist the snare of my subtle craft,
Though I suffer torment in this trail of words.
Often I have stolen the true sight of men,
Blinding them wholly with evil ideas, 480
Mists of delusion, the murk of unmeaning,
The arrows of bitterness, anger and envy—
Lifting the light right out of their eyes.
I have set many traps to wound the unwary,
Shattering their feet with wicked snares. 485
I have lured them into the embrace of flames—
That was the last anyone saw of their tracks!
I have tortured some so their bodies burst,
The blood spewing forth in a deadly spurt—
They slipped out the door of their own veins. 490
Some I sent sailing on the savage seas,
Where the oceans rose, gulping them down.
Some I sent to the gallows-tree, the high cross,
Where they left life—crucified and cold.
Some I taught to gather old grudges, 495
Fixing on feud, drinking discord
From the killing cup. Drunk and debauched,
They seized their swords rashly in the wine-hall,
Slashing each other, slaying only themselves.
Their souls flew from the bone-house. 500
Some I found without God’s token,
The cross of Christ, unblessed and uncaring.
These I dispatched in different ways
With a killing craft and my own hard hands.
Even if I could spin out this savage story 505
For a summer-long day in time without torment,
I could never remember the full range of miseries
I’ve brought to mankind since the world was made,
The stars were raised, and earth established
For the first fair folk, Adam and Eve, 510
Whose lives I stole, whose hearts I turned,
Seducing them away from the Lord’s love,
A perfect grace, a home in paradise.
They traded bliss for bitter knowledge,
Innocence and truth for the taste of sin. 515
That gift of shame was not short-lived—
It lasted forever for the children of men.
Why should I continue to narrate my crimes,
The sins I’ve spawned, the feuds I’ve fired,
My endless evil over eons to mankind? 520
None of my enemies has ever laid hands on me,
Binding me boldly as you’ve done here
With the craft and power of a pure maiden.
No patriarch or prophet, no sinless saint,
Has ever matched your innocent might. 525
Even though God himself, the King of hosts,
Had offered them wisdom, given them grace,
I could still worm my way into their hearts.
No one has ever been able to bind me,
Shackle my strength, fetter my fierceness, 530
Until now. You have unpowered me,
Unpacked the grim force given to me
By my malicious father, mankind’s foe,
When he commanded me to come out
Of hell’s dark haven to make sin sweet 535
To a saintly maiden. Now misery hounds me
At every twist and turn. Your righteous revenge
Will increase my shame. There will be no rejoicing
When I return to that unhappy hell-hall
And render accounts with a handful of nothing 540
To my unholy lord on his throne of doom.”
Then the heathen senator, the gallows-minded man,
Ordered saintly Juliana taken from her cell
And brought before his judgment throne.
Inspired in her heart, exulting in spirit, 545
She dragged along the dreaded devil,
A bold maiden with a bound demon,
A holy saint with a handful of sin.
Twisting in agony, tortured in woe,
Lamenting his loss, he began to grieve: 550
“I beg you, lady Juliana, by God’s grace,
Not to degrade me before all these men
More than you shamed me in the prison cell
When you conquered my crafty and cunning father,
The king of hell, the lord of sin, 555
In the place of peril. You rebuked us both
With a painful stroke. I’ve never met anyone
So resolute and resourceful, bold and blameless,
Strong and sinless, in this wide world.
You’re wise in spirit and pure of heart.” 560
Then the maiden released that soul-slayer
After his time of torment in the dark abyss.
The dread demon was a bearer of bad news,
Bound to tell the revolting truth
To a host of torturers, the tribe of hell. 565
That was not a good journey for him.
* * *
[Then Juliana concluded her rebuke of Heliseus:
“These holy men from throughout history]
Have eagerly praised God, his words and works,
His trials and triumphs. He is the true Lord, 570
Ruler of heaven, Creator and Commander
Of every victory, every bliss and blessing,
The soul’s joy beyond the touch of time.”
Then an angel descended, adorned with light,
Scattered the fire that threatened to scorch 575
The innocent maiden, freed her from flame.
She remained untouched in the twisted blaze,
Safely shielded by the angel’s power.
Then Heliseus suffered the greatest grief
To see the virgin unvanquished, his might unmade, 580
A hard reward for a rich man.
Stained with sin, he sought some way
With dark malice to murder the maiden.
The demon destroyer was not too slow
To suggest building a clay cauldron 585
With killing craft, surrounded by kindling,
A blaze of trees. Into that earthen prison,
They poured hot lead and lit the pyre.
That unholy bath boiled and bubbled.
The senator urged them with savage speed 590
To thrust the maiden into molten lead.
Suddenly the flame was scattered—hot lead burst out,
Exploding death at the fleeing bodies.
Mad horror was everywhere in the liquid fire.
Many men were burned beyond help— 595
Seventy-five heathens suffered and died.
Still the maiden stood in unscathed beauty.
The fire could not singe her hem or robe,
Her locks or limbs, her skin or bone.
She endured untouched in the swirl of flame, 600
Offering prayerful thanks to the Lord of lords.
Then the thwarted senator grew suddenly fierce,
Tearing his clothes and gnashing his teeth,
Raging like a madman, his mind inflamed.
He was beast-wild, blaspheming his gods 605
Who could not conquer this woman’s will.
The maiden of glory was firm and fearless,
Mindful of the Lord’s power and purpose.
Then the wicked senator shouted his orders,
Commanding his warriors to cut off her head, 610
Slaughter the maiden dear to Christ
With a quick sword-slice, sever her thought
From her holy heart. He had no idea
What her innocent death would deliver later.
Then the holy maiden’s hope was renewed, 615
Her innocent heart gladdened at the grim news
That her suffering would cease and her soul
Would finally be set free. So the sinful senator
Ordered the sinless virgin dragged to the slaughter.
Suddenly a wretched hell-spirit appeared, 620
Wailing his woe, screeching his misery—
This was the fiend she had bound and scourged.
He shrieked out his evil incantations
To the crowd of hard men bent on crime:
“Give this maiden some bodily grief, 625
Push her into pain, scathe her with suffering.
She tortured me so that I turned traitor.
Give her the reward of a sword’s edge.
She scorned our gods, mocking their might.
Squeeze her soul in a twist of terror. 630
Avenge her unfaith, unseal her head.
Make her pay for our ancient enmity,
You sin-sick men. Remember how I hurt,
Shackled in pain, enduring her evil.
Her demand for truth brought terror and woe.” 635
Then gentle Juliana, blessed and bright,
Looked hard the hell-sprite, man’s fierce foe,
Hearing his agony, his shrieking abuse,
Singing his harm-song as he arched in the air.
Headed for torment and a meeting in hell 640
With his dark lord, he began to lament:
“My name is misery, my life is woe.
My time is terror. This holy maiden
Has unmade me. She will shame me again.
There’s an uncanny evil in her invincible soul.” 645
Then the maiden was led to a border-land
Where cruel, hateful men intended to kill her.
There she began to preach to the people,
Urging them to flee from sin and seek salvation,
Praising God and promising the soul’s comfort. 650
On the glory-road, she taught them, saying:
“Remember the joy of being God’s warrior,
The majesty of heaven, the hope of saints,
Your home in glory with God’s angels.
The Lord is worthy of the highest praise 655
From a host of angels and the race of men.
His help is at hand for all of eternity
For those who both desire and deserve it.
As your teacher, I urge all of you now
To keep God’s laws and secure your homes 660
Against ill winds. Build strong heart-walls
To withstand the squalls and storms of sin.
Fix firm foundations on the living stone,
The rock of God. Use a mortar of love,
Good will, strong belief, true faith. 665
Follow the heart’s promise, the soul’s purpose.
Make your house mighty with holy mystery.
Then God will grant you grace when you need it
In the arms of agony, the throes of affliction.
Truly no one knows his own ending. 670
Keep a careful watch in this wicked world
Against the onslaught of enemies, the war-cries
Of both body-slayers and soul-seekers
Who would hold you back from the heavenly city.
Pray to the Son of God, the Lord of mankind, 675
The Prince of angels, for the gift of mercy.
May the love of the Lord, the comfort of Christ,
The peace of God, be with you forever.”
Then her soul was led from her body
With a swift sword-stroke. It soared to bliss. 680
Afterwards the sin-stained, wicked wretch,
Unholy Heliseus, fled in fear to his ship,
Turned tail from his own dark terror,
Setting sail with soldiers over the whale-road.
The sea raged and swallowed them all. 685
They dropped anchor in the cold abyss,
An unwelcome homeland without much heart.
Thirty-four warriors lost their lives
To the sea’s wrath, both servants and lord.
They lost hope and found hell—a bad trade. 690
The thanes of Heliseus found no good gifts
In that dark hell-hole, that demon-hall,
No twisted gold, no jeweled wine-cups,
No glory-songs or mugs of beer,
No reward of rings, no songs of joy. 695
The holy body of the saint, however,
Was borne to the grave in glorious praise
By a great multitude. Inside that city
People still celebrate the Saint Juliana,
Raising praise-songs to the Lord our God. 700
As the days draw down, my need is great
That the holy saint might offer me help
As each of my friends wanders far away
On death’s dark road and I am alone.
When those two companions, body and soul, 705
Sever their ties, close down their kinship,
Unmake their marriage, then the spirit shall leave
Its worldly bone-house far behind
And travel to some unknown judgment hall.
On Doomsday I must seek another home, 710
Based on the worth of my former works.
C, Y, and N, Cyn or mankind must sadly pass on.
Heaven’s King may be wrathful when the sinful
Sheep, E, W, and U, Ewu wait trembling
For the judgment of God, a reward for their deeds. 715
All earthly goods will be L and F, Lagu-Feoh,
Flood-bound wealth. The world will quake—
The last days will be drenched in sorrow.
I remember the sins I have committed in this world
And mourn these miseries with a torment of tears. 720
Sometimes I was too slow to feel shame,
Unwilling to admit guilt for my wicked works
While soul and body were bound together,
Traveling on life’s transient road.
I need the saint to intercede for me 725
With the Son of God, the supreme King.
My heavy heart is its own fair warning.
I beg and pray that every living person
Who recites this poem will remember me
And pray to the Creator, my Lord and Protector, 730
Sustainer and Shield, Spirit of consolation,
Wielder of judgment, Father and Son,
The True Trinity, to grant me mercy
On that perilous day when all promises are paid,
All works rewarded, all deeds delivered up, 735
All souls divided, all ends determined.
Dear God of hosts, Judge of deeds,
Father of faith, eternal Lord,
Grant us mercy when we come before you,
Humble, yet hoping for generosity and grace 740
In your infinite eyes, and the welcome we want
To see in your sweet, forgiving face.
Amen.
THE WANDERER
This is the first of several poems in the Exeter Book that are often characterized as elegies—dramatic monologues in which the speaker expresses some sense of separation and suffering and attempts to move from a cri de cœur to some form of consolation. Themes include the loss of loved ones, longing for earlier times, a recognition of life’s transience, and the use of proverbial or religious wisdom to come to terms with misfortune. The wanderer who speaks in the poem struggles with a loss of kin and social connection. Mitchell and Robinson point out his vulnerability as a lordless exile in Anglo-Saxon society:
&n
bsp; The wanderer who speaks the monologue is in the worst possible circumstances for an Anglo-Saxon warrior in the heroic age: he is a retainer who has lost his lord and comrades and who therefore finds himself with no place in society, no identity in a hostile world. He is a man in extremis, alone with his memories and naked to his enemies. This plight moves him to strenuous and painful reflection. (2007, 280)
The Wanderer is a poem of complex consciousness. Rosier notes that “it is intrinsically a mirror of a mind in its several states and faculties of memory and reverie, of reason and imagination, of perception and conception” (1964, 366). The narrator of the poem, the anhaga or “lonely dweller” (literally, “the hedged-in one”), has become, by means of contemplating his life, a man snottor on mode, “wise in mind.” He recounts for the reader this process of turning his lament into consoling wisdom, but paradoxically, in the process, he seems to relive again his old life of suffering. The heart of his difficulty is that he must use his mind to cure his mind. The wanderer generalizes that “the wise man who ponders this ruin of a life” will remember his earlier hall-joys and cry out: “Where has the horse gone? Where is the rider? Where is the giver of gifts?” This ubi sunt (“where are they?”) motif is derived from a Latin tradition, and it expresses both a lament over loss and a recognition of transience. Life is on loan. Everything is fleeting—goods, friends, kith and kin—“all this earthly foundation.” Here philosophical speculation competes with apocalyptic images.
In the end the narrator reaffirms his faith, but some critics find his internalized lament more moving and believable than his philosophical wisdom. Pope, for example, believes that “the poet was a good deal less interested in the possible therapeutic virtue of his discourse than he was in the imaginative realization of loss and loneliness in this unstable world” (89). Perhaps the speaker has moved beyond his plaintive lament into a philosophical understanding of the unseen stability of the ways of Providence in this world. Perhaps the consolation is undercut by the power of the images of instability and suffering right up to the end of the poem.
The Wanderer
Often the wanderer walks alone,
Waits for mercy, longs for grace,
Stirs the ice-cold sea with hands and oars—
Heart-sick, endures an exile’s road—
A hard traveler. His fate is fixed. 5
So said the wanderer, old earth-walker,
His mind choked with the memory of strife,
Fierce slaughter and the fall of kinsmen:
Often alone at the edge of dawn,
I must wake to the sound of my own sorrow, 10
The mute song of a muffled heart,
Sung to no listener, no lord alive.
I know the custom. A noble man
The Complete Old English Poems Page 56
