The Complete Old English Poems
Page 68
Gather glory, guard your treasure-house,
The secure space of your heart’s holdings.
Bind up your thoughts. Be careful with vows. 5
A true companion sometimes proves false;
Promises can unravel so a friendship is undone.
The world sometimes weathers rough storms,
The tempests of untrust, and suffers doom.
There is one heart’s haven: one firm faith, 10
One living Lord, one sacred baptism,
One eternal Father, the precious Prince
Of all peoples, our Maker who has shaped
Creation and country, firmament and fields,
The wonders of the world, its joys and blessings. 15
God’s glories grew, though the not yet fully
Wakened world slept in a blanket of expectation,
In a shrouded grove, a shadow of unknowing,
Imminent creation concealed in darkness—
Until one powerful, mindful maiden 20
Grew into her own God-given glory,
In whose treasure-cup, the virginal vessel,
It pleased the Holy Spirit to spring into life
And breathe into being God’s Son.
Bright in her breast, warm in her womb, 25
The inborn light began to shine.
RIDDLES 28B AND 58
See the headnote to Riddles 1–57 for an introduction to the riddles and the “Appendix of Possible Riddle Solutions” for proposed solutions to these riddles. Riddle 28b is a variant of Riddle 28a earlier in the collection. Riddle 58 is thought by some editors to be part of The Husband’s Message, which follows it in the manuscript, since there appear to be resemblances between the speakers of the two poems (as each may be a message-bearing creature such as a rune-staff or reed-pen).
Riddles 28b and 58
28b
I am sun-struck, rapt with flame,
Flush with glory, and flirt with the wind.
I am clutched by storm, consumed by fire,
Ripe for the road, bloom-wood or blaze.
My path through the hall is from hand to hand 5
As friends raise me, proud men and women
Bow humbly before me, clutch and kiss me,
Praise my power. To many I bring
A ripe bliss, a rich blooming.
58
Rooted near water, raised by the shore,
I was earth-fast, bound in a bed,
My native land. Few men walked
In this wilderness, watched as the wave
Played round my body with its dark arms 5
At dusk and dawn. I did not dream
That someday I should speak, slip words
Over benches, mouthless in the meadhall.
That is a miracle to men who do not know
This craft—how the point of a knife, 10
A skilled right hand and a man’s intent
Tooling together should shape me so
That boldly I bring you my message,
Singing in silence so no man in the wider
World may share our words and understand. 15
THE HUSBAND’S MESSAGE
This poem and Riddle 58 are sometimes taken to be one poem since the speaker in each case may be a rune-staff bearing a message; most editors, however, treat them as separate poems. The solution to Riddle 58 is more likely to be a reed-pen. The speaker in The Husband’s Message is an inanimate object, as in many riddles. The theme of lovers or spouses separated by feud is similar to that of The Wife’s Lament, though formally this poem is less an elegy than an invitation. Klinck, in her edition, argues that the poem is more of a formal love letter “designed to evoke, not the feelings of the speaker, but those of the lord towards his lady: his fidelity, his confidence in the strength of the vows they made together, his urgent desire for her, all mediated by the messenger’s ceremonious deference” (58). The bold capital letters at the end of the poem are runes in the original; they stand for their runic names so that the S-and R-runes, sigel-rad or segl-rad (Niles, 2006, 239), probably refer to the “sun-road” or “sail-road”; the EA and W to ear-wynn, “sea-joy”; and M to mon, “man.” Together they appear to extend a heartfelt invitation to the woman or wife who receives the message to board a ship and set sail homeward toward her waiting husband or lover.
The Husband’s Message
Now I can speak secretly to you,
Pass on my message, sing of my lineage,
Tell you what kind of childhood I had,
What kind of tree I was taken from,
How I was shaped into silent song. 5
* * *
Over the salt-seas I was forced to sail
At my lord’s pleasure from foreign lands
On ship’s plank or prow, visiting towns,
Seeking the loved one to read my runes.
* * *
A stave of words, I am quietly yours. 10
I bear you the carved thoughts of my lord’s love,
So you may know in your heart of his deep devotion.
I pledge and promise his love is true,
His trust holds, his faith is fixed.
My lord and shaper sends his greeting, 15
Begs you to recall in your rich array
The vows you shared when you held a home,
Trading talk, waking as one,
Walking the land, in the sweet trust of love.
A feud drove him away from his victory-proud 20
People, sent him sailing into exile.
Your loving lord sends you this message:
Go down to the cliff’s edge, the sea-wall,
And listen for the spring-sad cuckoo’s song
Wafting from the woods, plaintive, persistent. 25
When you hear that sweet, mournful melody,
Let no one hinder your heart. Go down to the sea,
Set sail south over the gull’s ground.
Let the whale-road take you to where
Your lord lies, waiting, wanting, 30
Expectant in exile. His sole wish,
As he said to me, is to have you home
With God’s grace so your love may thrive,
And both together can share the hall,
Giving out treasure, a reward of rings, 35
To warriors and thanes, a prince’s pleasure.
He has a store of hammered gold,
A great estate, enough for all,
A place of power in a foreign land.
* * *
Long ago he fled the feud, launched his ship, 40
Escaped into exile, bound by necessity,
To sail the whale-road into foreign lands.
Now he has vanquished woe, won over strangers,
Wrestled down fate. He can lack no joy,
Want no treasure, no fine horses, 45
No meadhall pleasures, no great possessions,
If he has you, a prince’s daughter.
Let my runes remind you of your vows together:
I hear S and R, Sigel-Rad, the Sun-Road,
The sail’s pathway; EA and W, Ear-Wynn, 50
The Sea-Joy; and M for Mon, Man—
All of them inviting you to set sail
Under the sun, across the sea to your lord,
Who has kept his oath of love alive
And cherishes the vows you voiced together. 55
Let my runes recall and reveal his love.
THE RUIN
This poem contrasts the greatness of an ancient city, probably Bath, with its present state of ruin. The great halls have become tumbled-down walls, whose stones have survived longer than both citizens and rulers. Time and weather have unraveled this ancient glory, and the enta geweorc or “work of giants” is moldering away. Amid the present ruin, the poet recalls the ingenuity of the architect, the beauty of the buildings, the revelry of the halls, and the splendor of the stone baths. Orchard points out that “it has been argued
that the poem owes much to the Latin genre of the encomium urbis (‘praise poem for a city’), as well as to various Latin laments for fallen cities and abandoned buildings,” and notes other possible connections with the OE riddles and elegies (2008, 46–47). Mitchell and Robinson point out that “the Anglo-Saxons were very given to reflection on former civilizations and the people who built them, so much so that their language had a word for such meditation: dustsceawung, ‘contemplation of the dust’” (2007, 265). Appropriately enough, the poem itself, in its manuscript form, has suffered serious decay and destruction over time.
The Ruin
Wondrous are these ancient wall-stones,
Shattered by time, foundations shaken by fate,
The old work of giants, crumbled, corrupted—
Rooftops in ruin, towers tumbled down.
Gate-locks lie broken, frost chokes the lime— 5
Ceilings sapped with age, the high hall loftless.
The mortar is moldy, the master-builders are gone,
Buildings and brave men in the clutch of the grave.
A hundred generations have passed away,
Princes and peoples now forgotten. 10
The ruddy wall-stones are stained with gray,
Rocks that have outlived the reign of kings,
The crash of storms, the crush of time.
Still something remains as a fierce reminder—
Walls scored with weapons, grimly ground down, 15
The old work of smiths, skillfully wrought,
Shining and bright, now dull with dust,
* * *
The mind of the builder crafted a clever idea,
To bind the walls in circular shapes
With strips of wire, with rods and rings. 20
The burg-halls were bright, the bath-houses beautiful,
The gabled roofs grand. The sounds of warriors,
Their steps and shouts, reverberated under roofs.
The meadhalls were full of wine and revelry—
Until fierce fate overturned everything. 25
Proud men were slaughtered, a plague attacked,
Grim death gathered up a whole host of people.
Their ramparts were ruined, their halls laid waste;
Their cities crumbled. Warriors were wounded,
Craftsmen killed. No builder was left alive. 30
The halls grieved and fell, arches angled down,
Tiles tumbled, red stone hit the ground,
Broken piles where once men sang
And played the lyre, clothed in splendor,
Adorned with gold, gladdened with wine, 35
Gazing on treasures, shining armor,
Silver and gemstones, precious jewels,
A bright city, a burgeoning kingdom.
There were stone buildings and hot springs
Bringing bath water in the walls’ embrace— 40
That was convenient as the hot streams poured
Over the gray stones into a circular pool,
A pond in a building, a kingly thing.
* * *
RIDDLES 59–91
See the headnote to Riddles 1–57 for an introduction to the riddles and the “Appendix of Possible Riddle Solutions” for proposed solutions to each riddle. The occasional use of bold capital letters in the translations, which are the alphabetical equivalents of runes or runic names in the original text, is explained in the same appendix for each riddle in which the runes have occurred.
Riddles 59–91
59
Sometimes a lady, comely and proud,
Locks me up, boxes me tight—
Sometimes draws me out on demand
And hands me over to her pleasing prince,
Who shoves his hard head in my hole, 5
Slides up while I slip down—
A tight squeeze. If the man who seizes me
Presses with power, something shaggy
Will fill me up, muscle me out—
A precious jewel. Say what I mean. 10
60
I am the hard punch and pull of power,
Bold thrusting out, keen coming in,
Serving my lord. I burrow beneath
A belly, tunneling a tight road.
My lord hurries and heaves from behind 5
With a catch of cloth. Sometimes he drags me
Hot from the hole, sometimes shoves me
Down the snug road. The southern thruster
Urges me on. Say who I am.
61
Gleaming with joy, glad with gold,
I am carried to the hall where I serve
Bold heroes carousing together.
Sometimes in a chamber as I come full-
Bodied to a palate, a man may kiss me, 5
Press me boldly with his cupped hand,
Work his will, drink desire,
Mouth on mine, in a delicate spill
* * *
So the light shows what I bear in my belly
* * *
So the reckless man raises this treasure, 10
Drinks deep of my own dark pleasure.
62
I saw W and I smooth-prancing the plain,
Carrying B and E. A bold H and A
Was to both on that journey the lifter’s joy
And a portion of power. The hard Þ and E
Rejoiced in the going; the F and Æ flew 5
Over the EA and SP of that strange troop.
63
A stalk of the living, I nothing said;
Dumb, stand waiting to join the dead.
I have risen before and will rise again,
Though plunderers carve and split my skin,
Bite through my bare body, shear my head, 5
Hold me hard in a slicing bed.
I do not bite a man unless he bites me,
But the number of men who bite is many.
64
I stretch beyond the bounds of middle-earth,
Shrink down smaller than a hand-worm,
Grow brighter than the moon, and run
Swifter than the sun. I cradle oceans,
Lakes, paths, green plains in my arms. 5
I dive down under hell’s way and rise up
Over heaven’s home, arced over angels.
I form-fill all earth and ancient worlds,
Fields and sea-streams. Say who I am.
65
In the hall of the High King, I heard
That a voiceless creature spoke charmed
Words, chanted praise, prayer-song
* * *
Wise and wonderful it seemed to me
* * *
It speaks without mouth, moves without feet 5
* * *
Saying, “I am now teacher of men,
Preacher to many on middle-earth—
I will live as long as men walk the land.”
It’s wound with silver and plated gold.
I have seen it open where men sit 10
Drinking together. Now a wise man
Should know what this creature is called.
66
I saw a creature wandering the way:
She was devastating—beautifully adorned.
On the wave a miracle: water turned to bone.
67
She shapes for her listeners a haunting sound
Who sings through her sides. Her neck is round
And delicately shaped; on her shoulders draped,
Beautiful jewels. Her fate is strange
* * *
68
* * *
Who am I who stand so boldly by the road—
High-towering, cheek-bright, useful to men?
69
Power and treasure for a prince to hold,
Hard and steep-cheeked, wrapped in red
Gold and garnet, ripped from a plain
Of bright flowers, wrought—a remnant
Of fire and
file, bound in stark beauty 5
With delicate wire, my grip makes
Warriors weep, my sting threatens
The hand that grasps gold. Studded
With a ring, I ravage heir and heirloom
* * *
To my lord and foes always lovely 10
And deadly, altering face and form.
70
* * *
Often I tugged at four sweet brothers,
Pumped and plied for a day’s full drink
At each dangling hole—but the dark herdsman
Pulled my pleasure as I grew older,
And I was drawn to wider roads—moors, 5
Fields—bound by beam and neck-ring
To earth-trace and a gait of suffering,
A haul of sorrow. I kept silence,
Goaded by iron, side-sting—
Moaned to no man, even as punishing 10
Point and pace together tracked pain.
71
I grew in the ground, nourished by earth
And cloud—until grim enemies came
To take me, rip me living from the land,
Strip my years—shear, split, shape me
So that I ride homeless in a slayer’s hand, 5
Bent to his will. A busy sting,
I serve my lord if strength and strife
On the field endure and his hold is good.
We gather glory together in the troop,
Striker and death-step, lord and dark lunge. 10
* * *
My neck is slim, my sides are dun;
My head is bright when the battle-sun
Glints and my grim loving lord bears me
Bound for war. Bold soldiers know
That I break in like a brash marauder, 15
Burst the brain-house, plunder halls
Held whole before. From the bone-house
One breaks ready for the road home.
Now the warrior who feels the thrust
Of my meaning should say what I’m called. 20
72
I was a young maiden, a gray-haired woman,
And a singular warrior at the same time.
I flew with birds and swam in the sea,
Dove under waves, dead among fish,
And stood on the shore—locking in a living spirit. 5
73
I saw a swift one shoot out on the road:
D N L H
I saw a woman sitting alone.
74
Suckled by the sea, sheltered near shore,
Cradled in the cold catch of waves,
Footless and fixed—often I offered
To the sea-stream a stretch of mouth.
Now a man will strip my bonelike skin 5
From the sides of my body with a bright blade