The Complete Old English Poems

  A braided home where he lives alone, 210

  His body surrounded by the warming sun,

  His wings wound about by leafy green,

  By supple stem, brightest blossom,

  Sweetest scent, the best of earth’s offerings.

  He perches there in peace, prepared 215

  For the living fire, longing for flight.

  When the gem of heaven, the summer sun,

  Shines high and hot over grove and glade,

  Surveying the world, illuminating shadows,

  Then fate is fulfilled as the bird’s home 220

  Is imbued with God’s heavenly heat.

  Each herb is an incipient oven, each flower

  An expectant blaze. The nest is a nascent fire.

  With a sudden, sweet scent and bright flash,

  Both bird and nest burst into flame. 225

  The funeral pyre blazes the bird’s body,

  Engulfing his heart, devouring his home.

  The fierce yellow flame, savage as the sun,

  Obliterates the phoenix, flesh and bone,

  Melts off a multitude of years, gnaws 230

  Limbs, sinews, feathers, skin into nothing.

  Out of this fire of apparent unbeing,

  The ashes gather into a miraculous ball,

  A hope of feathers, a hint of song.

  The noblest nest, the bold bird’s home, 235

  Is wholly burned, his bone-case broken,

  His corpse turned cold. Out of the ashes

  Comes an orb like an apple or an egg,

  Out of which emerges a wondrous worm

  Like a small creature cracking his shell. 240

  He grows in the shade like a fine fledgling,

  A proud eaglet. He gobbles and groans,

  Plumes and preens, gathers to a greatness,

  Bright-feathered, beautifully adorned.

  His flesh is revived, his form refreshed, 245

  Separated from sin, resurrected, reborn.

  We too are like this bird. We bring home food,

  Harvest grains and heavy fruits, the reaping gifts,

  Before winter’s chill or storm-wind’s blast.

  We store such food to sustain ourselves, 250

  When snow and frost blanket the earth,

  Icing it over like a crop of cold.

  Our fruit and grain were once small seeds

  Sown in the ground. Then the sustaining sun

  Came beckoning life in spring’s awakening, 255

  Pulsing seed-skins, pulling sprouts, nurturing plants,

  So that the fruit of the earth, the world’s wealth,

  Would be grown again from its own seeds.

  So the old bird is born anew from his own flesh.

  He eats no food, no grain or fruit, except the sweet 260

  Honey-dew, a long night’s nectar, a dawn-drink.

  In this way the noble phoenix births himself,

  Braces his new body, sustains his life,

  And seeks again his old home under heaven.

  When the bird boasts bright feathers again 265

  Among the ashes of burnt herbs and plants,

  And he can spread his renewed wings

  To the wind’s blessing, then young and graceful,

  He gathers up his old body’s bone-ash

  And cinders that were once muscle and sinew, 270

  Which the fierce blaze has turned to dust,

  And begins with an artist’s skill and craft

  To assemble all the crumbled bones

  And reshape the burnt flesh, the rich residue

  Of the funeral pyre, wrapping it all up 275

  With pleasant herbs, a fragrant bundle,

  Something sweet from the death-spoils.

  Then a deep desire begins to draw him home,

  And he seizes his own relics in his talons,

  Clutching a fistful of ash within his claws, 280

  Winging homeward with his blasted bones

  To his sun-bright land—his life redeemed,

  His body renewed, his coat of feathers recast.

  So he returns to his own bright beginning,

  Just as God created him, perfect in that paradise. 285

  Then that brave bird buries his own ashes,

  His powdered bones on the high plateau

  Of his old homeland. There the sun surges

  Anew for him, sings his song of living heat,

  When the star-stone, the brightest of sky-gems, 290

  Rises up in radiance from the eastern sea.

  The bird is blessed with multitudinous hues

  In his feathered breast. His head is bright

  Behind with blended green and pale purple.

  His tail is dusky colored with hints of crimson, 295

  Cunningly studded with bright spots.

  His feathered wings are white beneath.

  His neck is green; his bill gleams like glass.

  His eye is stunning as a jeweled stone

  Set by skilled smiths, encased in gold. 300

  Around his neck is a ring of sun,

  A circlet of feathers, a band of brilliance.

  His belly is beautiful; his crest is bold.

  His lithe legs and tawny feet are overgrown

  With strong scales like a bright mail-coat. 305

  This bird is unique but a little like a peacock,

  As the books tell us, grown great,

  Strong but not sluggish, no slow glider

  Through the upper air but a speedy flier,

  Elegant and artful, swift and bright 310

  As streaking sunlight. The eternal Lord

  Is the radiant Ruler who grants that bird bliss.

  When the bird departs from his nesting ground

  To seek his old dwelling, his bright-hued body

  Is seen by multitudes of men and women 315

  On middle-earth. People flock together

  From north, south, east, and west

  To see God’s grace revealed in the radiance

  Of that bright bird, as the true King of victories

  Earlier endowed him with the noblest nature, 320

  The fairest form, in that original creation.

  He is the best and most beautiful of birds.

  All men wonder at his shining grace,

  And artists rush to catch his splendor

  In storied words or shapes of stone— 325

  Each trying to copy the phoenix in flight.

  Then the race of birds returns from far and near,

  A thriving throng. They warble praise-songs

  To their noble lord, their glorious leader,

  Once lost, now found, as they flock to him, 330

  Surrounding him with a flying ring

  Of joyful servants exulting in his return.

  People watch and are moved beyond words

  That the flock follows the phoenix so faithfully,

  A wonder on the wing. The swarming birds 335

  Celebrate the coming home of their beloved king,

  Then lead their lord toward his ancient home,

  That garden paradise on the high plateau,

  Till their leader suddenly turns and swings away

  From his feathered followers, soaring swiftly, 340

  A solitary bird seeking his old homeland.

  So the blessed bird survives his death-time,

  Swinging back to his old beloved land.

  Then the birds that followed the fair phoenix

  Leave their lord, sad-hearted at their loss, 345

  And fly homeward to their own native lands.

  The ancient bird, now young again,

  Settles into bath, branch, and sun.

  Only God knows the gender of that bird,

  Whether male or female. It’s an unsolved riddle 350

  How the bird breeds, reforms himself,

  And is so richly reborn. The blessed bird />
  Enjoys himself in the green groves

  And sparkling springs, thriving on the plateau,

  Until another thousand years have passed, 355

  And he rises again to greet death and be reborn,

  Awakening from the ashes of the fierce fire.

  Even when the phoenix expires, he has no fear

  Of dreaded death or flaming dissolution,

  For he knows well that after ashes, 360

  He will rise again, reborn in his former glory

  Beneath the shielding sky of heaven.

  The phoenix is his own dear father,

  His darling son, inheritor of his bones,

  Those precious relics, that sacred dust 365

  That seeds itself. God granted him this gift—

  That he should become again what he once was

  Before death, resurrect himself from the holy fire,

  Bearing himself homeward again on bright wings.

  So it is that the blessed wind their way 370

  Through this earthly world’s wretched exile,

  Bold ones who brave the dark fires of death

  To be reborn again in body and soul

  And lifted up into everlasting life,

  The rich reward for their good works, 375

  A place in paradise, a homeland in heaven.

  The bird is like those blessed servants of Christ,

  The chosen ones who can change their forms

  After earthly death, and through God’s aid

  Find themselves reborn, remade, returned home 380

  Where the heart finds its own original joy.

  We have heard that God made man and woman

  Through his wondrous might and settled them

  In a beautiful place that we call paradise.

  There they lacked no joy, no generosity, 385

  No daily grace, no season’s sustenance.

  They were at first willing to keep God’s word,

  But an old enemy of the Lord, out of deep envy,

  Offered them forbidden fruit that they foolishly ate,

  The taste of bitter knowledge from that tree, 390

  So they lost life and were plucked from paradise,

  Sorely seduced by Satan—and all for an apple.

  After that misguided meal, their dessert

  Was mournful misery, a sense of separation

  From themselves and God. That was no gift 395

  Of love to each other or their offspring.

  They were painfully punished for the tooth of crime,

  Enduring God’s wrath and their own dark guilt.

  Ever since that first sin, the sons of Adam

  And the daughters of Eve have suffered, 400

  Repeating the bitter pattern of original sin.

  All men are mournful for that unmaking meal

  When the serpent’s envy drove us all

  Out of Eden away from God’s eternal bliss.

  Satan deceived our parents in paradise, 405

  So they were driven away to live in toil

  In this valley of death, to build an earthly house

  In place of Eden’s home. The gates of paradise

  Were closed to them and the plateau hidden

  Through the devil’s wiles until Christ came, 410

  The King of glory, our only hope,

  Who brought solace to those who were suffering,

  Raising the wretched out of the abyss

  When he opened heaven’s doors after harrowing hell,

  Returning the righteous to their home in heaven. 415

  Scholars say, and sacred writings tell us,

  That this holy story of redemption and return

  Is like the flight of the phoenix, when the bird

  Grows wise in spirit, old in years,

  And leaves his homeland to seek shelter 420

  In that restoring grove. The noble bird

  Builds his nest of sticks and twigs,

  Plants and flowers, herbs and spices,

  Waiting for the wonder, the redeeming riddle,

  Of the fierce flame that transforms time 425

  And the bird’s body, saving his vital spirit.

  He longs for life, to be young again,

  To defeat death, rise from the flames,

  Fly back home again after his bath of fire,

  And settle into the radiant peace of paradise, 430

  That sun-bright land. Likewise our ancient parents

  Left their lovely Eden, that earthly paradise,

  A place of grace and glory, traveling

  Into the arms of envy, the realm of exile,

  Where evil enemies and unknown creatures, 435

  Monsters and marauders made them suffer—

  Harried and harassed, injured and oppressed them.

  Yet many heeded and hewed to their Maker,

  Served their holy Lord in many ways

  With righteous words and virtuous deeds, 440

  So their heavenly King held them in his heart.

  The holy ones now gather around that tree,

  Shielded from Satan and his serpentine guile,

  His venomous sins, in their perilous hour.

  God’s warrior weaves his own nest of glory 445

  With worthy deeds and alms to the poor,

  Opposes all evil, fights against feud,

  Avoids enmity, and invokes his Lord’s aid.

  He hastens forth in fear and awe of God,

  Fleeing from vice and the powerful pull 450

  Of the devil’s dark deeds, unholy desires.

  He holds his Lord’s love and law in his heart,

  Seeking through prayer a perfect peace,

  Shunning sin, bowing humbly before God,

  Dreading his judgment as a good man should, 455

  Determined to offer the gift of good works.

  The Lord is his shield through every season,

  His righteous Judge and generous Redeemer.

  So a man feathers his nest with faith

  And good deeds. These are the firm fruits 460

  And precious plants that the phoenix gathers

  And weaves together from far and wide

  Around the world and under God’s heaven

  To fashion his nest as a shield against evil,

  And shape a shelter against the endless 465

  Wickedness of the world, the heart’s hatred.

  So the warriors of God fulfill his will

  Through mind and might. God grants them

  Their just reward. He will weave for them

  An eternal nest, a homeland for the heart, 470

  Out of the herbs of their virtue and the precious plants

  Of their good works because they have always loved

  The Lord’s holy lore, his sacred teachings,

  And have chosen faith over worldly wealth.

  The soul strives for eternal bliss in heaven, 475

  Not a longer life in this fleeting realm.

  So a man may earn a place in paradise,

  A home in heaven with the high King,

  During his worldly days until the end,

  When death calls, that blood-hungry warrior, 480

  Armed with the weapons of age and agony,

  Feud and ferocity, fiendishness and fate.

  Death will seize each life, bury each body

  In the earth’s embrace, separated from its soul,

  Where it must molder in middle-earth, 485

  Waiting for the Lord’s call and the cleansing

  Fire to sweep ravening across creation.

  Men and women shall be led to that last meeting

  When the Lord of hosts, the King of victories,

  Calls his assembly to assign judgment. 490

  When the Lord and Creator, Father of angels,

  Savior of souls, issues his great clarion call,

  And the sound of the trumpet is suddenly heard


  Throughout the land, then shall each earthly body

  Arise from the dust, from the cold clutch of clay, 495

  To return resurrected to righteous judgment.

  Dark death shall lose dominion over the blessed.

  Those who are saved shall enter into eternal life

  By the grace of God, as the wicked world

  So rife with sin goes up in flames. 500

  Everyone shall know dread on that grim day

  When the fire wolfs down all worldly wealth,

  Consumes crops, gulps down dappled gold

  And the hand of greed, gathers each earthly

  Good up in its terrible tongues of flame, 505

  And feasts on flesh and other furnishings.

  In the hour of revelation, the radiance of the phoenix

  Shall be made manifest, a sign to mankind,

  A harbinger of hope, a reminder of resurrection,

  When God shall raise all buried bodies 510

  From their tombs, their earthly beds,

  Gathering their limbs, sinews, bones,

  Woven together again with their separated souls,

  Before Christ’s knee. The Savior will shine

  Like a radiant sun, the jewel of heaven, 515

  On the holy ones from his high throne.

  It will be well in that grim hour for those

  Who can prove themselves pleasing to God.

  Glad will be those resurrected in flesh,

  Their reformed bodies cleansed of sin. 520

  Each soul will return to its own bone-house

  As the judgment flames burn high in the heavens.

  That fire may be fierce to many men

  Who come to judgment in mortal dread,

  Both the just and the unjust. Sepulchers will open, 525

  Bodies climb out, souls move back in

  To their fleshly homes. Together again

  On the final day, they will fear God’s doom.

  The ravening fire will ravage all sinners,

  But the blessed will be encircled with virtue, 530

  Shielded by their own earthly good works,

  Which are like the noble herbs and pleasant plants

  That the phoenix uses to feather his nest

  So that it bursts into flames, kindled by sun,

  And the bird after burning rises into new life. 535

  So good men and women dressed in flesh,

  Who follow the faith and work God’s will,

  Shall be young and fair, gloriously rejuvenated,

  Yearning for the Lord’s mercy at that last meeting.

  Then righteous souls and steadfast spirits 540

  Shall raise their holy voices in hymns of praise

  To God’s glory, strain upon swelling strain.

  Then they will rise up, wrapped in the fragrance

  Of God’s fullness, the perfume of perfection,

  The gift of their goodness, the wonder of their works. 545