The Complete Old English Poems

by Craig Williamson

Keep your eye on the truth whenever you talk.” 70

  A ninth time the sage approached his son,

  A scholar and philosopher with much to say:

  “There are not many left who love wisdom,

  Who read and reflect upon the scriptures.

  Their minds molder, their thoughts wither, 75

  Their hearts hesitate, their discipline dries up.

  They care nothing for the Lord’s commands,

  And many will pay with their souls’ suffering—

  But keep your mind on the ancient writings,

  The sacred books, the texts of truth, 80

  Which people now ignore everywhere.

  Surely turning a blind eye or a deaf ear

  To the Lord rarely leads to any good.”

  A tenth time, full of anxious concern

  And loving care, the father firmly 85

  Began again to instruct his son:

  “A wise man guards himself against sin

  In his words and deeds, supports truth

  For his soul’s sake, his heart’s health.

  His gifts will grow, his talents increase, 90

  His endowments expand through the hand of God.

  Whoever throws off sin empowers his strength.

  Always flee from the fierce grip of anger;

  Speak no rash words from a raging heart.

  A wise man guards his thoughts till he knows 95

  How his words will be heard. One should be moderate,

  Wise in mind, sensible in spirit, prudent in thought,

  So he can gain his share of happiness in life.

  Neither flatter nor blame; never be double-tongued

  Or hypocritical in your heart. Avoid slander and sin. 100

  Be slow to judge, merciful to many.

  Show contempt to none. No one is worthless

  In the eyes of God. Be gracious and kind,

  Loving in spirit, loved by many.

  Always remember your father’s instruction. 105

  Follow this wisdom and withstand sin.”

  THE SEAFARER

  This poem is a dramatic monologue divided into two parts. In the first half, the seafarer comments on his experience at sea, contrasting it with the worldly joys that land inhabitants experience. His soul is stirred not by harp-songs or the sharing of mead in the hall but by the tumult of waves on the high seas and the testing of his strength and spirit. In the middle of the poem, the speaker shifts into a philosophical and religious mode, never mentioning the sea or land again as the poem turns into what I. L. Gordon calls “an act symbolic of the renunciation of worldly life generally and the ready acceptance of the struggles and sufferings involved in the quest for eternal bliss” (7). As the seafarer travels on his pilgrim road, he recognizes the transience of this life and the permanence of the next. Donoghue notes that “one of the essential lessons learned by the Seafarer is that the joys of heaven cannot be comprehended by earthly standards, which are deade [dead] and læne [transient] even in their most splendid manifestation” (51).

  Kennedy points out that “the use of sea imagery in an allegorical contrast of earthly existence and the Christian vision of life after death is not without parallel in Old English poetry” (1943, 112). He points to a passage from Cynewulf’s Christ II: The Ascension (lines 488–505 in my translation above), which may have drawn its inspiration and imagery from Gregory’s homily on the Ascension. In that passage, the turmoil of life is compared to “a hard and harrowing voyage / Sailing our ships across cold waters,” and the salvation of Christ to a safe harbor, “a port, / A haven … ascending into heaven.”

  Where the Old English wanderer is thrust into a life of exile, a long road of suffering, the seafarer deliberately chooses his lonely and difficult life. He rides his ship of sorrow, eschewing the joyful life on land because only in suffering and contemplation can he discover the transience of this worldly life and the stability of the afterlife in heaven. As the poem moves from seafaring to sermonizing, it seems only appropriate that it should end with “Amen.”

  The Seafarer

  I can sing this truth-song about myself—

  Of harrowing times and hard traveling,

  Of days of terrible toil. Often I endured

  Bitter heartache on my ship of sorrow,

  In my hall of care, on the heaving waves. 5

  The narrow night-watch often held me,

  Anxious and troubled at the ship’s prow,

  As we sailed, tossing close to sea-cliffs.

  My feet were pinched by cold, bound by frost.

  Hunger and longing tortured and tore 10

  My sea-weary mind. No man knows

  Who lives on the land in comfort and joy

  How I endured suffering and sorrow

  On the ice-cold sea through endless winters

  On the exile’s road, cut off from kin, 15

  Surrounded by icicles. Hail flew in showers.

  There I heard nothing but the roaring sea,

  The ice-cold waves, the frozen surf.

  Sometimes I listened to the swan’s song,

  The curlew’s cry, the gannet’s call— 20

  A seagull singing instead of men laughing,

  A mew’s music instead of meadhall drinking.

  Storms battered sea-cliffs—the tern answered,

  Icy-feathered. Often the eagle screeched back—

  Dew on its wings. No kinsman was close 25

  To guard the heart, comfort the wretched spirit.

  The man who lives a joyful life on land,

  Secure in the city, proud and passionate

  In the company of friends, drinking wine,

  Can never fathom how I wandered weary, 30

  Sad and suffering, on the long sea-road.

  Night-shadows darkened, snow fell from the north,

  Frost bound the land, hail fell on earth,

  The coldest of grains.

  Still my heart is stirred

  To seek the sea-streams, the tumult of waves, 35

  By my wandering thoughts. The mind always urges

  The soul to set out, seeking some foreign soil,

  A land of strangers. No man is so proud,

  Or so endowed with gifts, so bold in his youth,

  Or so brave in his deeds, so safe and secure 40

  In his lord’s grace, that he harbors no worries,

  No sorrows or cares, in his seafaring days,

  Over what his lord might ultimately offer him.

  He never dreams of the delight of the harp,

  Or receiving gold rings, or the joys of a woman, 45

  Or any other earthly pleasure. His dreams

  Are driven by the sea—the longing of his heart

  Lingers on the thrashing tumult of the waves.

  The groves burst into bloom, adorning the towns,

  Meadows grow beautiful—the world hastens on: 50

  All this urges the restless heart to travel,

  The eager mind of the sailor to seek the sea.

  The voice of the cuckoo, summer’s harbinger,

  Sings of sorrow, bodes mourning,

  The heart’s keen, sad song. A man of comfort, 55

  Proud and prosperous, never knows

  What seafarers endure on the exile-road.

  So my thoughts sail out of my unstill mind,

  My heart heaves from my breast-hoard,

  Seeking the sea—my spirit soars 60

  Over the whale’s home, twists and turns

  Over the earth’s surfaces, rolls and returns,

  Greedy and ravenous. The solitary flier screams,

  Rousing the quickened heart on the whale-road

  Over the stretch of sea.

  For me the joys of the Lord 65

  Are keener than the dead life loaned to us on land.

  I can never believe that all this worldly wealth

  Will last forever. One of three things

  Always
threatens a man with uncertainty

  Before he travels on his final road— 70

  Illness or old age or the sword’s grim edge.

  Therefore each man must earn the honor

  And respect of the living, the praise of posterity,

  Secure his reputation with speech-bearers

  Before his death by striving to accomplish 75

  Great deeds against fiends, against the devil.

  Then the children of men will honor him,

  And his glory will live forever with the angels,

  An eternity of joy with the heavenly host.

  The days of greatness are now gone, 80

  The wealth and power of earthly kingdoms.

  There are no kings or emperors left alive,

  No gold-givers as there once were,

  When the greatest warriors won glory.

  The troops have perished, the joys passed on. 85

  Weaker men remain and rule the world

  In toil and turmoil. Glory is laid low.

  Earthly nobility is aging, fading away,

  As every man withers on middle-earth.

  Old age sneaks up on him, his face pales— 90

  The gray-haired man mourns, misses his friends,

  The children of men who have left the earth.

  When life leaves a man, he cannot taste joy

  Or feel pain any longer in his flesh-house;

  His hand cannot stir, his head cannot think. 95

  He may strew his brother’s grave with gold,

  Enrich that body-barrow with great treasure,

  But gold cannot travel on the spirit-road,

  Cannot help the soul weighed down with sin,

  Cannot hide that heaviness from God’s wrath. 100

  Great is the terrible power of God—

  All earth turns aside before it.

  God created the wide world, the broad plains,

  The surfaces of land and sea, the high heavens.

  Foolish is the man who does not fear God— 105

  Death sneaks up on him like an unexpected guest.

  Blessed is the man who lives humbly in the Lord—

  Mercy comes down to greet him from the heavens.

  God strengthens and supports that soul

  Because the believer trusts in His power. 110

  A man must keep control of a strong spirit,

  A willful heart—keep it steady and constant,

  Pure in its promises, holding to its vows.

  Each man must be measured and moderate

  In affection to friends and enmity to foes, 115

  Even though one may often wish another

  In the embracing fire of a funeral pyre—

  Enemy or friend. Fate is stronger,

  The Lord mightier, than any human desire.

  Let us consider where our true home lies 120

  And plan how we might come to that place.

  Let us aspire to arrive in eternal bliss,

  Where life is attained in the love of the Lord,

  Where hope and joy reside in the heavens.

  Thanks be to holy God, the Lord of glory, 125

  Who honored us and made us worthy,

  Our glorious Creator, eternal through all time.

  Amen.

  VAINGLORY

  Vainglory is a poem of advice, a passing on of wisdom from a teacher to a pupil. It is part sermon, part homily, part religious reflection. The poem includes both example and admonition, as well as a brief narrative of the rebellion in heaven by Satan and his minions, recounted so powerfully in the Old English poem Genesis and by Milton centuries later in Paradise Lost. The speaker of the poem draws upon a variety of modes—personal experience, contrasting exempla, and religious narrative—to pass on advice and wisdom to his student listener, as he says his own teacher has done with him. The speaker repeats the advice of a prophet at line 58, then gradually segues into a melding of his voice with that of the prophet. There is disagreement about where the prophet’s voice ends and the speaker’s voice begins again. Shippey wisely recognizes that the shift of voices is a complex one, noting that in these lines, “the voices of the poet and prophet are hardly to be distinguished” (129). The pupil learns from the teacher and becomes the teacher himself, passing on wisdom to yet another pupil. One voice flows naturally into the other. In that spirit, I have refrained from marking off the prophet’s speech with quotation marks; the reader should pass gradually from one voice to another. This passing of voice from the wise man to the student (or from the poet to the reader) is a crucial part of the learning process described in the poem.

  Vainglory

  Listen! A wise man once told me long ago

  Of many wonders—a teacher and truth-sayer.

  He unlocked his word-hoard, his wise lore,

  His mind schooled in the sayings of prophets,

  So I could listen and truly perceive, 5

  By holy song and enchanted story,

  God’s own son, a welcome guest

  In our human home, and also that other

  Weaker one, mankind unshielded,

  Different and distinct, separated by sin. 10

  A man who reflects may easily see

  How in this loaned life a wanton pride

  May mar his mind, how savage drinking

  Can destroy his spirit over many dark days.

  Many loud speakers who love boasting, 15

  Warriors trading insults with tall tales,

  Inhabit our cities, feast at our tables,

  Talking together, drinking in delight,

  Sharpening strife in the family hall,

  Making of home a haven of spears. 20

  When wine drives the soul, excites the heart,

  Then outcry and uproar arise in the company,

  Shouting and screaming, clamor and crash.

  But men’s hearts and minds are made differently—

  Not all are alike. One is arrogant, 25

  Swollen with pride, pushy and violent.

  Many men suffer vainglory like that—

  Sometimes it swells unchecked into insolence,

  Sometimes it shifts into anger or insult,

  Filling the heart with fiendish arrows, 30

  Cunning and deceit. Then a man begins

  To lie and cheat, curse and cry out,

  Belch and boast more than a better man might.

  He thinks his behavior is honorable and good,

  But he may see otherwise at his evil end. 35

  He spins his web of dark intrigue,

  Devious plots, dangerous lies—

  He’s a back-stabber, a wily devil.

  He shoots forth his mind-barbs in showers,

  While he shields himself from his stabbing sin. 40

  He hates his betters out of envy and malice,

  Lets arrows of spite shoot through the walls

  Of the soul’s fortress shaped by the Creator

  To shield us from sin. He sits at the table,

  Proud of his place, swollen with food, 45

  Flush with wine. He draws his mind

  Like a dangerous bow, shoots his words,

  Feathered with anger, aimed with envy,

  Poisoned by pride. Now you can recognize

  His devious craft, his dangerous talk, 50

  When you meet him conniving in the court.

  Know from these signs he’s the devil’s child

  Enveloped in flesh. He’s proud and perverse,

  Grounded in hell, empty of honor,

  Deprived of God, the King of glory. 55

  The prophet said, the word-ready man,

  The ancient shaper, singing these words:

  Whoever exalts himself in evil days,

  Haughty in heart, proud in mind,

  Swollen in spirit, shall be heeled and humbled 60

  After his final journey on the corpse-road;

  He shall dwell in hell, beset by se
rpents,

  Twisted by torment in the woe of worms.

  It was long ago in God’s kingdom

  That pride was born—arrogance arose 65

  In the conflict of angels. They raised a raucous,

  Hard war against heaven with seditious strife.

  They renounced their King, embraced rebellion,

  Plotted treason to steal the throne

  Of their rightful God, the King of glory. 70

  They planned to rule high heaven,

  To secure their power and stifle joy.

  The Father of creation, the world-shaper,

  Withstood that strife, won that war—

  That fight was too fierce for arrogant angels. 75

  All this is different with another kind of man

  Who lives humbly on earth, meek and mild,

  At peace with people, dear to his friends,

  Loving even his enemies who would offer harm.

  He works to spread good will in this world; 80

  He hopes to rise into heaven, the angels’ home,

  Know the joy of saints, the music of his Maker,

  The gift of glory, the breath of bliss.

  It’s different for those who dwell in evil,

  Settled in sin, comfortable in crime, 85

  Perishing in pride. Their rewards are not so rich,

  A grim gift from the God of glory.

  So know this from the prophet’s story—

  That if you find one humble of heart,

  Meek of mind, sharing in spirit, 90

  You will see, linked and living with him,

  A loving guest, God’s own Son,

  The desire of the world, the joy of mankind,

  If the wise prophet has not deceived us.

  Therefore we should always think of salvation, 95

  The gift of God, remembering at all times

  Our great Creator, the Lord of victories.

  Amen.

  WIDSITH

  Widsith, whose name means “wide-wanderer,” is a poem about a “scop” or “singer-poet,” who serves King Eormanric of the Goths and travels about the world, visiting a wide variety of peoples, singing his songs and telling his stories in hopes of receiving a valuable reward. As he collects, composes, and passes on stories, he weaves together the strands of people and places in a vision of the larger world. As he travels both real roads and those dreamed up in the map of the mind, he becomes the embodiment of all such poets. Fulk and Cain note that the form of the poem is mainly a thula, or recited list of both legendary and historical peoples and their leaders, which seems to provide “an incomparable window on the rather large repertoire of legends that an Anglo-Saxon scop … might be expected to know” (218), but they also point out that the range of the list probably goes beyond the capacity of any Anglo-Saxon audience to fully comprehend, and that “some decidedly literate lists [were] surely incomprehensible to anyone but a monkish bookworm” (218). Bjork argues that “the poem may have functioned as a mnemonic device for remembering major themes and tribes and periods of history that should be incorporated into the present worldview” (2014, xii). For the spelling of the proper names in the poem, whose forms and identities are often debated, I am indebted to Mitchell and Robinson (1998, 196–203).