Anglo Saxon Poetry. Your textbook lacks these extremely valuable text.

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1 Anglo Saxon Poetry Your textbook lacks these extremely valuable text. Most of the Old English poetry that has survived is contained in only four manuscripts. The richest and most diverse of these is the Exeter book which includes a group of short philosophical poems, differing in style and outlook but similar in tone, which have come to be known as 'elegies. The label 'elegy' is potentially misleading: in Greek and Latin literature the term refers to a particular metrical form, and since the sixteenth century the word has been used in English literature to describe a lament or poem of mourning. Tthe term 'elegy' is sometimes used more loosely to describe any serious meditative poem, and it is this sense that these Old English poems should be considered 'elegies'. The poems share certain themes and concerns the passage of time and the transience of earthly things, the pain of exile and separation, the ache of absence and longing as well as certain images and scenes such as ruined or abandoned buildings, desolate landscapes, storms at sea, darkness, night and the chill of winter. These themes, and the traditional language in which they are presented, are found in other Old English poems certain passages of Beowulf may be called 'elegiac', if not outright 'elegy'. Most of the Old English elegies are monologues spoken by an unidentified character whose situation is unclear but who seems to be cut off from human society and the comforts of home and friendship. But even though they share the poetic language of exile and longing, each poem has its own shape and purpose, and each makes its own statement about the problems and possibilities of earthly life. The Wanderer laments the passing of a whole way of life, the heroic world of the warrior's hall; The Wife's Lament is a poem of intense personal longing for an absent husband or lover. The Seafarer is explicitly and even aggressively homiletic and Christian; The Ruin is more detached and dispassionate about the scene it describes and its moral judgments, if anything, are implicit and indirect. INSTRUCTIONS: Read the following poems and complete the series of questions presented (do not print the actual poems - they are quite long)

2 The Seafarer This tale is true, and mine. It tells How the sea took me, swept me back And forth in sorrow and fear and pain Showed me suffering in a hundred ships, In a thousand ports, and in me. It tells Of smashing surf when I sweated in the cold Of an anxious watch, perched in the bow As it dashed under cliffs. My feet were cast In icy bands, bound with frost, With frozen chains, and hardship groaned 10 Around my heart. Hunger tore At my sea-weary soul. No man sheltered On the quiet fairness of earth can feel How wretched I was, drifting through winter On an ice-cold sea, whirled in sorrow, Alone in a world blown clear of love, Hung with icicles. The hailstorms flew. The only sound was the roaring sea, The freezing waves. The song of the swan Might serve for pleasure, the cry of the sea-fowl, 20 The death-noise of birds instead of laughter, The mewing of gulls instead of mead. Storms beat on the rocky cliffs and were echoed By icy-feathered terns and the eagle's screams; No kinsman could offer comfort there, To a soul left drowning in desolation. And who could believe, knowing but The passion of cities, swelled proud with wine And no taste of misfortune, how often, how wearily, I put myself back on the paths of the sea. 30 Night would blacken; it would snow from the north; Frost bound the earth and hail would fall, The coldest seeds. And how my heart Would begin to beat, knowing once more The salt waves tossing and the towering sea! The time for journeys would come and my soul Called me eagerly out, sent me over The horizon, seeking foreigners' homes. But there isn't a man on earth so proud, So born to greatness, so bold with his youth, 40 Grown so grave, or so graced by God, That he feels no fear as the sails unfurl, Wondering what Fate has willed and will do. No harps ring in his heart, no rewards, No passion for women, no worldly pleasures, 45 Nothing, only the ocean's heave; But longing wraps itself around him. Orchards blossom, the towns bloom, Fields grow lovely as the world springs fresh, And all these admonish that willing mind 50 Leaping to journeys, always set In thoughts traveling on a quickening tide. So summer's sentinel, the cuckoo, sings In his murmuring voice, and our hearts mourn As he urges. Who could understand, 55 In ignorant ease, what we others suffer As the paths of exile stretch endlessly on? And yet my heart wanders away, My soul roams with the sea, the whales' Home, wandering to the widest corners 60 Of the world, returning ravenous with desire, Flying solitary, screaming, exciting me To the open ocean, breaking oaths On the curve of a wave. Thus the joys of God 65 Are fervent with life, where life itself Fades quickly into the earth. The wealth Of the world neither reaches to Heaven nor remains. No man has ever faced the dawn Certain which of Fate's three threats 70 Would fall: illness, or age, or an enemy's Sword, snatching the life from his soul. The praise the living pour on the dead Flowers from reputation: plant An earthly life of profit reaped 75 Even from hatred and rancor, of bravery Flung in the devil's face, and death Can only bring you earthly praise And a song to celebrate a place With the angels, life eternally blessed 80 In the hosts of Heaven. The days are gone When the kingdoms of earth flourished in glory; Now there are no rulers, no emperors, No givers of gold, as once there were, 85 When wonderful things were worked among them And they lived in lordly magnificence.

3 Those powers have vanished, those pleasures are dead. The weakest survives and the world continues, Kept spinning by toil. All glory is tarnished. 90 The world's honor ages and shrinks, Bent like the men who mold it. Their faces Blanch as time advances, their beards Wither and they mourn the memory of friends. The sons of princes, sown in the dust. 95 The soul stripped of its flesh knows nothing Of sweetness or sour, feels no pain, Bends neither its hand nor its brain. A brother Opens his palms and pours down gold On his kinsman's grave, strewing his coffin 100 With treasures intended for Heaven, but nothing Golden shakes the wrath of God For a soul overflowing with sin, and nothing Hidden on earth rises to Heaven. We all fear God. He turns the earth, He set it swinging firmly in space, Gave life to the world and light to the sky. Death leaps at the fools who forget their God. He who lives humbly has angels from Heaven To carry him courage and strength and belief. A man must conquer pride, not kill it, Be firm with his fellows, chaste for himself, Treat all the world as the world deserves, With love or with hate but never with harm, Though an enemy seek to scorch him in hell, Or set the flames of a funeral pyre Under his lord. Fate is stronger And God mightier than any man's mind. Our thoughts should turn to where our home is, Consider the ways of coming there, Then strive for sure permission for us To rise to that eternal joy, That life born in the love of God And the hope of Heaven. Praise the Holy Grace of Him who honored us, Eternal, unchanging creator of earth. Amen. THE SEAFARER Questions Explain why you agree or disagree with this statement: Fate is stronger than any man s will. In what way/s is the Seafarer in exile? How do his ideas of heaven compare with his earthly exile? Choose five images that contribute to the tone or mood of isolation in the poem? Pick the point in the poem which seems to find the poet the most hopeful. Write that line here. Pick the point in the poem that seems to find the poet feeling the most helpless. Write that line here. What are the three listed ways by which this poet expects death? How come a person dislike something, as much as the seafarer dislikes the sea, yet keeps going back to it? Do you feel sorry for the poet? Have you ever felt similar feelings?

4 The Wanderer Oft to the Wanderer, weary of exile, Cometh God s pity, compassionate love, Though woefully toiling on wintry seas With churning oar in the icy wave Homeless and helpless he fled from Fate. 5 Thus saith the Wanderer mindful of misery, Grievous disasters, and death of kin: Oft when the day brok, oft at the dawning, Lonely and wretched I walied my woe. No man is living, no comrade left, 10 To whom I dare fully unlock my heart. I have learned truly the mark of a man Is keeping his counsel and locking his lips, Let him think what he will! For, woe of heart Withstandeth not Fate; a failing spirit 15 Earneth no help. Men eager for honor Bury their sorrow deep in the breast. So have I also, often in wretchedness Fettered my feelings, far from my kin, Homeless and hapless, since days of old, 20 When the dark earth covered my dear lord s face And I sailed away with sorrowful heart, Over wintry seas, seeking a gold-lord, If far or near lived one to befriend me With gift in the mead-hall and comfort for grief. 25 Who bears it, knows what a bitter companion, Shoulder to shoulder, sorrow can be, When friends are no more. His fortune is exile, Not gifts of fine gold; a heart that is frozen, Earth s winsomeness dead. And he dreams of the hallmen, 30 The dealing of treasure, the days of his youth, When his lord bade welcome to wassail and feast. But gone is that gladness, and never again Shall come the loved counsel of comrade and king. Even in slumber his sorrow assaileth, 35 And, dreaming he claspeth his dear lord again, Head on knee, hand on knee, loyally laying, Pledging his liege as in days long past. Then from his slumber he starts lonely-hearted, Beholding gray stretches of tossing sea, 40 Sea-birds bathing, with wings outspread, While hailstorms darken, and driving snow. Bitterer then is the bane of his wretchedness, The longing for loved ones: his grief is renewed. The forms of his kinsmen take shape in the silence; 45 In rapture he greets them; in gladness he scans Old comrades remembered. But they melt into air With no word of greeting to gladden his heart. Then again surges his sorrow upon him; And grimly he spurs his weary soul 50 Once more to the toil of the tossing sea. No wonder therefore, in all the world, If a shadow darkens upon my spirit When I reflect on the fates of men-- How one by one proud warriors vanish 55 From the halls that knew them, and day by day All this earth ages and droops unto death No man may know wisdom till many a winter Had been his portion. A wise man is patient, Not swift to anger, nor hasty of speech, 60 Neither too weak, nor too reckless, in war, Neither fearful nor fain, nor too wishful of wealth, Nor too eager in vow-- ere he know the event. A wise man will ponder how dread is that doom When all the world s wealth shall be scattered and waste 65 As now, over all, through the regions of earth, Walls stand rime-covered and swept by the winds. The battlements crumble, the wine-halls decay; Joyless and silent the heroes are sleeping Where the proud host fell by the wall they defended. 70 Some battle launched on their long, last journet; One a bird bore o er the billowing sea One the gray wolf slew; one a grieving oerl Sadly gave to the grave s embrace. The Wardenof men hath wasted this world 75 And these giant-built structures stand empty of life. He who shall muse on these mouldering ruins, And deeply ponder this darkling life, Must brood on old legends of battle and bloodshed, And heavy the mood that troubles his heart: 80 Where now is the warrior? Where is the war horse? Bestowal of treasure, and sharing of feast? Alas! the bright ale-cup, the byrny-clad warrior, The prince in his splendor those days are long sped

5 In the night of the past, as if they never had been! 85 And now remains only, for warriors memorial, A wall wondrous high with serpent shapes carved. Storms of ash-spears have smitten the eorls, Carnage of weapon, and conquering Fate. Storms now batter these ramparts of stone; 90 Blowing snow and the blast of winter Enfold the earth; night-shadows fall Darkly lowering, from the north driving Raging hail in wrath upon men. Wretchedness fills the realm of earth, 95 And Fate s decrees transform the world. Here wealth is fleeting, friends are fleeting, Man is fleeting, maid is fleeting, All the foundation of earth shall fail! Thus spake the sage in solitude pondering. 100 Good man is he who guardeth his faith. He must never too quickly unburden his breast Of its sorrow, but eagerly strive for redress; And happy the man who seeketh for mercy From his heavenly Father, our Fortress and Strength. 105 NOTES: Several lines have been lost; and the translation tries to make sense of a few surviving words Wyrd is the Old English word for Fate, a powerful but not quite personified force. It is related to the verb weorthan, meaning roughly to occur. Its meanings range from a neutral event to a prescribed destiny to a personified Fate ; it is useful to think of wyrd as what happens, usually in a negative sense. In a poem so preoccupied with puzzling over the nature and meaning of wyrd, it seemed appropriate to leave the word untranslated. 2 The Exeter Book manuscript in which the poem survives does not have quotation marks, or clear indications of where one speech begins and ends in this poem; we are not sure whether lines 1-5 are spoken by the same character that speaks the following lines, or whether they are the narrator s opinion on the general situation of the Wanderer THE WANDERER Motif of ubi sunt ( where are they? ) How does the editor describe the general mood or tone of The Wanderer? Does he see this as typical or atypical of Anglo-Saxon poetry? Elegies are lyrical poems about death, and normally are not considered to have plots. Can this poem be read as having signs of internal conflict, rather than an external one? Discuss your thoughts? The term translated as fate at the end of the first paragraph is the Anglo-Saxon word wyrd. How does knowing the original meaning of this word alter our understanding of the opening lines? In the fourth paragraph, several kennings appear. What do you suppose the kenning gold-friend means? What about the compound winter-sad? Who (or what personified abstraction) is his cruel companion? What does the wanderer dream of when he falls asleep? What does he discover when he awakens? What does the setting appear to be? (I.e., where is the Wanderer if he has to stir with his arms the frost-cold sea and he awakens to see yellow waves where the sea-birds bathe?) What are the traits of the wise man in Anglo- Saxon thinking, as indicated by this poem? Many critics read the last lines as a bit of Christian propaganda. Where does the poet suggest the Wanderer can find comfort and stability

6 The Wife's Lament I sing this song about myself, full sad, My own distress, and tell what hardships I Have had to suffer since I first grew up, Present and past, but never more than now; I ever suffered grief through banishment. For since my lord departed from this people Over the sea, each dawn have I had care Wondering where my lord may be on land. When I set off to join and serve my lord, A friendless exile in my sorry plight, My husband s kinsmen plotted secretly How they might separate us from each other That we might live in wretchedness apart Most widely in the world: and my heart longed. In the first place my lord had ordered me To take up my abode here, though I had Among these people few dear loyal friends; Therefore my heart is sad. Then had I found A fitting man, but one ill-starred, distressed, Whose hiding heart was contemplating crime, Though cheerful his demeanour. We had vowed Full many a time that nought should come between us But death alone, and nothing else at all. All that has changed, and it is now as though Our marriage and our love had never been, And far or near forever I must suffer The feud of my beloved husband dear. So in this forest grove they made me dwell, Under the oak-tree, in this earthy barrow. Old is this earth-cave, all I do is yearn. The dales are dark with high hills up above, Sharp hedge surrounds it, overgrown with briars, And joyless is the place. Full often here The absence of my lord comes sharply to me. Dear lovers in this world lie in their beds, While I alone at crack of dawn must walk Under the oak-tree round this earthy cave, Where I must stay the length of summer days, Where I may weep my banishment and all My many hardships, for I never can Contrive to set at rest my careworn heart, Nor all the longing that this life has brought me. A young man always must be serious, And tough his character; likewise he should Seem cheerful, even though his heart is sad With multitude of cares. All earthly joy Must come from his own self. Since my dear lord Is outcast, far off in a distant land, Frozen by storms beneath a stormy cliff And dwelling in some desolate abode Beside the sea, my weary-hearted lord Must suffer pitiless anxiety. And all too often he will call to mind A happier dwelling. Grief must always be For him who yearning longs for his beloved. THE WIFE S LAMENT What does exile mean to an Anglo-Saxon woman? Why do you think Anglo-Saxon scholars think the speaker of this poem is female? Could it be a male? What does the speaker say her subject-matter will be in this poem? What happened to the wife s lord that has left her alone? How did the man s kinfolk behave when the wife went to seek shelter with them? Where did the wife s lord command her to live? The wife weeps her exile when she sees what lying together? Why do you suppose the wife says a young person must have a glad countenance even though that person experiences heart-ache?

7 The Ruin Wondrous is this foundation the fates have broken and shattered this city; the work of giants crumbles. The roofs are ruined, the towers toppled, frost in the mortar has broken the gate, torn and worn and shorn by the storm, 5 eaten through with age. The earth s grasp holds the builders, rotten, forgotten, the hard grip of the ground, until a hundred generations of men are gone. This wall, rust-stained and covered with moss, has seen one kingdom after another, 10 stood in the storm, steep and tall, then tumbled. The foundation remains, felled by the weather, it fell.. grimly ground up. cleverly created. 15 a crust of mud surrounded.. put together a swift and subtle system of rings; one of great wisdom wondrously bound the braces together with wires. Bright were the buildings, with many bath-houses, 20 high noble gables and a great noise of armies, many a meadhall filled with men s joys, until mighty fate made an end to all that. The slain fell on all sides, plague-days came, and death destroyed all the brave swordsmen; 25 the seats of their idols became empty wasteland, the city crumbled, its re-builders collapsed beside their shrines. So now these courts are empty, and the rich vaults of the vermilion roofs shed their tiles. The ruins toppled to the ground, 30 broken into rubble, where once many a man glad-minded, gold-bright, bedecked in splendor, proud, full of wine, shone in his war-gear, gazed on treasure, on silver, on sparkling gems, on wealth, on possessions, on the precious stone, 35 on this bright capital of a broad kingdom. Stone buildings stood, the wide-flowing stream threw off its heat; a wall held it all in its bright bosom where the baths were, hot in its core, a great convenience. 40 They let them gush forth.. the hot streams over the great stones, under until the circular pool. hot..where the baths were. 45 Then... that is a noble thing, how. the city. THE RUIN How is the elegiac poem of The Ruin a ruin in itself? This is one of the most moving and powerful poems in Old English. How does it provide a vision of life as both infinitely precious and inevitably transitory? How can a poem so old still strike a responsive chord in the minds of many readers today? Although we know that words are missing, how does the ending still resonate the tone and mood of the author? How does it affect your reading and understanding of the poem to know that this is about a once glorious city of Roman Britain, which fell after the Romans left?