History of English Literature E-Book

Andrew Lang

• Herausgeber: E-BOOKARAMA
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

First published in 1912, "History of English Literature" by Andrew Lang is a massive book that covers English literature from Anglo-Saxon literature all the way through to authors like Anthony Trollope and William Morris. In between, Lang also covers Latin Literature, The Stories of Arthur, Political Songs, Romances and Poems. Early Scottish Literature, Rise of the Drama, Elizabethan and Jacobean Prose Writers, Georgian Prose, The Romantic Movement, and Late Victorian Poets, among many others...

Andrew Lang's survey of English literature is a remarkably thorough look at the history of English writing.

Leseprobe

Table of contents

HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Preface

Chapter 1. Anglo-Saxon Literature

Chapter 2. Anglo-Saxon Christian Poetry

Chapter 3. Anglo-Saxon Learning And Prose

Chapter 4. After The Norman Conquest

Chapter 5. Geoffrey Of Monmouth

Chapter 6. Layamon's "Brut"

Chapter 7. The Romances In Rhyme

Chapter 8. Alliterative Romances And Poems

Chapter 9. Chaucer

Chapter 10. "Piers Plowman." Gower

Chapter 11. The Successors Of Chaucer

Chapter 12. Late Mediaeval Prose

Chapter 13. Malory

Chapter 14. Early Scottish Literature

Chapter 15. Popular Poetry. Ballads

Chapter 16. Rise Of The Drama

Chapter 17. Wyatt And Surrey. Gascoigne. Sackville

Chapter 18. Prose Of The Renaissance

Chapter 19. The Elizabethan Stage And Playwrights

Chapter 20. Other Dramatists

Chapter 21. Elizabethan And Jacobean Prose Writers

Chapter 22. Late Elizabethan And Jacobean Poets

Chapter 23. Late Jacobean And Caroline Prose

Chapter 24. Caroline Poets

Chapter 25. Restoration Theatre

Chapter 26. Augustan Poetry

Chapter 27. Augustan Prose

Chapter 28. Georgian Poetry. 1

Chapter 29. Georgian Poetry. 2

Chapter 30. Georgian Prose. 1

Chapter 31. Georgian Prose.2

Chapter 32. The Romantic Movement

Chapter 33. Later Georgian Novelists

Chapter 34. Poets After Wordsworth

Chapter 35. Late Victorian Poets

Chapter 36. Latest Georgian And Victorian Novelists

Chapter 37. Historians

HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

Andrew Lang

Preface

A Preface to a book on the History of English Literature is apt to be an apology, for a writer must be conscious of his inability to deal with a subject so immense and so multiplex in its aspects. This volume does not pretend to be an encyclopædia of our literature; or to include all the names of authors and of their works. Selection has been necessary, and in the fields of philosophy and theology but a few names appear. The writer, indeed, would willingly have omitted not a few of the minor authors in pure literature, and devoted his space only to the masters. But each of these springs from an underwood, as it were, of the thought and effort of men less conspicuous, whom it were ungrateful, and is practically impossible, to pass by in silence. Nevertheless the attempt has been made to deal most fully with the greatest names.

The author's object has been to arouse a living interest, if it may be, in the books of the past, and to induce the reader to turn to them for himself. Scantiness of space forbids the presentation of extracts; for poetry there is perhaps no better selection than that of the Oxford Book of Verse by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch. 1 For prose, the Anthologies of Mrs. Barnett and Mrs. Dale may be recommended. 2

It is unhappily the fact that the works of a majority of the earlier authors are scarcely accessible except in the publications of learned societies or in very limited editions; but from Chaucer onwards the Globe Editions are open to all; and the great Cambridge "History of English Literature" is invaluable as a guide to the Bibliography. It is better to study even a little of the greatest authors than to read many books about them. If the writer should perchance succeed in bringing any readers to the works of the immortals his purpose will be fulfilled But readers, like poets and anglers, are "born to be so"; and when born under a fortunate star do not need to be allured or compelled to come into the Muses' paradise.

That sins of commission as well as of omission will be discovered the author cannot doubt, for through much reading and writing they that look out of window are darkened, and errors come.

Chapter 1. Anglo-Saxon Literature

The literature of every modern country is made up of many elements, contributed by various races; and has been modified at different times by foreign influences. Thus, among the ancient Celtic inhabitants of our islands, the peoples whom the Romans found here, the Welsh have given us the materials of the famous romances of King Arthur, and from the Gaelic tribes of Ireland and Scotland come the romances of heroes less universally known, Finn, Diarmaid, Cuchulain, and the rest. But the main stock of our earliest poetry and prose, like the main stock of our language, is Anglo-Saxon. The Anglo-Saxon tribes who invaded Britain, and after the departure of the Romans (411) conquered the greater part of the island, must have had a literature of their own, and must have brought it with them over sea.

For all early peoples, even the least civilized, possess the germs of literature. They have their hymns to their Divine Father above the sky, and to gods and spirits; they have magic songs, to win the love of women, or to cause the deaths of men; they have love-songs, and songs of feats of war. They possess fairy-tales, and legends in prose concerning gods and fabulous heroes; they have tales of talking birds and beasts; and they have dances in which the legends of old heroes are acted and sung. These dances are the germ of the drama: the songs are the germs of lyric poetry; the beast-stories are the sources of books like Æsop's Fables and Ovid's "Metamorphoses"; and the fairy-tales are the earliest kind of novels.

The Anglo-Saxon invaders were, of course, on a very much higher level than that of savages. They were living in the age of iron; they did not use bronze for their swords, spears, and axes; much more remote were they from the period of stone axes, stone, knives, and stone arrow-heads. They could write, not in the Roman alphabet, but in "Runes," adapted at some unknown time by the Germanic peoples, probably from the Greek characters; and there is no reason why they should not have used this writing to preserve their poetry, though it is not certain that they did so at this early, period.

One early Anglo-Saxon poem, indeed, "The Husband's Message," professes to be written in runic characters on a staff or tablet of wood. Even more ancient poems may have been written and preserved in this way, but the wood, the bóc (book) as it was called, has perished, while brief runic inscriptions on metal and on stone remain.

The Anglo-Saxon Way of Living.

The society of the Anglo-Saxons, as described in the oldest surviving poems, was like that of the early Irish about a.d. 200 as depicted in their oldest romances, and like that of the early Icelanders as painted in the sagas, or stories of 1100, and later. Each free man had his house, with its large hall, and a fire in the centre. In the hall, usually built of timber, the people ate and passed their time when not out of doors, and also slept at night, while there were other rooms (probably each was a small separately roofed house) for other purposes. The women had their "bower," the married people had their little bedclosets off the hall, and there were store-rooms. The house stood in a wide yard or court, where geese and other fowls were kept; it was fenced about with a palisade, or a bank and hedge. Tilling the soil, keeping cattle, hunting, and war and raiding, by sea and land, were the occupations of the men; the women sewed and span, and kept house.

A group of such homesteads, each house well apart from its neighbours, made the village or settlement: there were no towns with streets, such as the Romans left in Britain.

A number of such villages were united in the tribe, each tribe had its king, while the other chief men, the richest and best born, constituted a class of gentry. Later, tribes were gathered into small kingdoms, with a "Bretwalda" or "Over-Lord," the most powerful of the kings, at the head of all.

This kind of society is almost exactly the same as that which Homer describes among the Greeks, more than a thousand years before Christ. As in Homer, each Anglo-Saxon king had his Gleeman ( scop) or minstrel, who sang to his household and to the guests in hall. The songs might be new, of his own making, or lays handed down from of old.

We shall see that the longer Anglo-Saxon poems, before Christianity came in, were stories about fabulous heroes; or real kings of times past, concerning whom many fables were told. Most of these tales, or "myths," were not true; they were mere ancient "fairy stories," in which sometimes real but half-forgotten warriors and princes play their parts. The traditions, however, were looked on as being true, and the listeners to the gleemen thought that they were learning history as well as being amused. Meanwhile any man might make and sing verses for his own pleasure, about his own deeds and his own fancies, sorrows, and loves.

There was no lack of old legends of times before the English invasion of Britain, or of legends quite fabulous about gods and heroes. We know from Roman and early Christian authors, that the other Germanic peoples, on the Continent, had abundance of this material for poetry: thus the Germans sang of Arminius, the Lombards sang of Alboin, or Ælfwine (died a.d. 573), and the Scandinavians and Germans had legends of Attila, the great Hun conqueror, in the fifth century, and of Sigurd, who slew Fafnir, the Snake-Man; of the vengeance of Brynhild, and all the other adventures of the Volsungs and Niblungs; in Germany fashioned, much later, into the famous "Nibelungenlied". 3

The Anglo-Saxons, too, knew forms of these legends; and mention the heroes of them in their poetry. Thus there is no reason why the Anglo-Saxons should not have produced poems as magnificent as those of the early Greeks, except that they, like all other peoples, had not the genius of the Greeks for poetry, and for the arts; and had not their musical language, and glorious forms of verse. They were a rough country folk, and for long did not, like the Greeks, live in towns.

But even if they had possessed more genius than they did, much of their old literature would probably have been lost when they became Christians; and when the clergy, who had, most to do with writing, generally devoted themselves only to verses on Biblical or other Christian subjects, or to prose sermons; and to learned books in Latin. While plenty of Anglo-Saxon Christian poetry survives, of poetry derived from the heathen times of the Anglo-Saxons there is comparatively little, and much of it has been more or less re-written, and affected by later changes and additions, in early Christian times.

The fragments of old poetry enable us to understand the poetic genius of our remote ancestors as it was before they had wholly adopted Christianity, or come under Latin, French, and Norman influences. From the descendants of the Britons whom they had conquered, or who survived as their Welsh neighbours, they seem, at this time, to have borrowed little or nothing in the way of song or story.

Before beginning to try to understand the Anglo-Saxon literature, we ought to set before our minds two or three considerations. Though the language of these very old poems is the early form of our own English, we cannot understand them except in translations, unless we learn Anglo-Saxon. However well a translator may render the ideas of a poem, he cannot give the original words of it in another language. Now the poet's very own words have a beauty and harmony and appropriateness which a translation cannot reproduce. The ideas remain, but the essence of the poem is lost: gone is the vigour, the humour is weakened; the harmony is impaired. Once more we are accustomed to rhyme, and to certain forms of versification in our poetry. The early Anglo-Saxons did not employ rhyme; the peculiar cadence, with alliteration, of their verse cannot easily be reproduced; and there is much difference of opinion as to the prosody or scansion of Anglo-Saxon verse. Thus, till we can read Anglo-Saxon easily, and while we only read its poetry through translations, we are apt to think less highly of it than it deserves.

Again, the ideas and manners of the Anglo-Saxons were not like our own in many details. Their poets did not write for us, but for men of their own time, whose taste and ways of thinking and living were in many respects very different from ours.

If many people cannot now take pleasure in the novels of Fielding, Scott, Miss Austen, Thackeray, and Dickens—the novels of 1745-1870—because these seem "so old-fashioned," they will certainly be unable to admire the poetry of 500-800. Yet it may be excellent poetry, when we put ourselves as far as we can in the place of the hearers for whom it was composed. If we fail to do this we may read Anglo-Saxon poetry as a matter of history, but, as poetry, we cannot enjoy it.

Minstrels, Story-tellers, and Stories.

Perhaps the oldest of the Anglo-Saxon poems is that called "Widsith," after the name of the far-travelled minstrel or gleeman who sang it before the people in the hall of a prince or noble. This short poem tells us what kind of tales the people liked to hear. It begins:—

Widsith spoke His word-hoard unlocked,

that is, he opened his treasure of stories as a travelling pedlar opens his box of goods. He says that he has wandered, gathering songs and tales, all over the world from the German Ocean to Egypt and India. He means that he knows all, stories; he is merely giving his hearers their choice of a tale about any king and people in the known world.

Let us suppose that they choose to hear about Ælfwine, or Alboin, king of the Longobards or Lombards, whom Widsith says that he had visited. We know what tales were told of Ælfwine. One of these is a fair example of the rest; it is probably not true. Ælfwine had killed the father of his wife Rosamund, and had a cup made out of the skull, and he made Rosamund drink out of it at a feast. She determined to be revenged for this cruel insult, and took counsel with the king's shield-bearer and guardsman. By his advice she entrapped Beartheow, a very strong man, by a trick, so that he became guilty of high treason. He was now at her mercy, for she threatened to inform against him, and thus compelled him to murder her husband, Ælfwine, in his bed. After that, the king's shield-bearer tried to win the kingdom. But Rosamund gave him poisoned wine, and he, when he knew that it was poisoned, made her drink out the cup, and they two died in the same hour.

This makes a noble tragic song, but the story is only a form of a much older Greek tale which Herodotus, 1000 years earlier, tells of King Candaules of Lydia, of his wife, whom he insulted, and of the Captain of his guard, whom she induced to kill King Candaules.

Probably an Anglo-Saxon minstrel would recite the poem called "Widsith," and then the listeners would ask him for any of the stories which he had mentioned, perhaps for one about Ælfwine; or Alexander the Great; or Sigurd of the Volsungs, who slew the Serpent-Man, Fafnir; or of Hygelac (who is believed to have been the man named, in Latin, Chochilaicus, a real king of about 520); or of Hrothgar, whom Widsith mentions. This king is befriended by Beowulf, in the great Anglo-Saxon poem of that name, the noblest and most famous of all these old songs. The minstrel makes requests for gifts of rings and bracelets; and speaks of his desire to meet generous princes. In the same way Homer loves to tell how golden cups and beautiful swords were given by princes to the minstrels in Greece. The last verses of "Widsith" run thus, in modern English, and are a fair example of early Anglo-Saxon versification:— 4

Swa scrithende So wandering on

ge sceapum hweorfath the world about,

gl ee men gumena gleemen do roam

geond grunda fela; through many lands;

thearfe secgath they say their needs

th onc word sprecath, they speak their thanks,

Si mle suth oththe north sure, south or north

su mne gemetath, some one to meet,

gydda gleawne of songs to judge

ge ofam unhncawne and gifts not grudge.

There are few early Anglo-Saxon poems that can be called "lyrics"; they are rather narratives, as in the case of the songs of war, the battles of Brunanburh and Maldon; or "elegiac," and reflective, as in "The Ruined City," though personal emotion, a characteristic of the lyric, often appears in the Christian poems and elsewhere as we shall see.

"Beowulf" the chief poem may be called a brief "epic," a narrative of over 3000 lines, on great heroic adventures. Such a poem would be sung in hall, to beguile more than one long winter night.

Beowulf.

It is impossible to be certain about the date when the original form of this great old poem, "Beowulf," was first composed, because it contains, on the one hand, descriptions of the ancient heathen way of living, thinking, manners, and customs; and, on the other hand, has many allusions to Christian doctrine, which the Anglo-Saxons knew nothing of till after they had quite conquered this country. The poet of "Beowulf" as it now exists, had read the Bible, or knew part of its contents. We must look first at the poem as it stands, and the story as it is told, or rather at the stories, for there are several.

One Beowulf, not our hero, was the son of Scyld. Scyld died, and, in place of Christian burial, was placed in his ship, with arms and treasures, and so sailed out to sea at the wind's will. Not so, when his time came, was our Beowulf buried; that is, Beowulf the hero of the poem, for the earlier Beowulf, son of Scyld, was another man.

The grandson of Scyld was Hrothgar (whose name becomes Roger in later times), and Hrothgar was a Danish king, builder of Heorot, a princely hall. His happiness awoke the envy of Grendel, a fiend of the wilds.

The Christian author of the poem, as it stands, thinks that Grendel and other monsters are descendants of Cain!

The nobles slept in the great hall, whither Grendel came and caught away thirty of them. Men sought other sleeping-rooms, but Grendel still came and slew them. The house was empty, and men promised sacrifices to their false gods all in vain: "they knew not the true God," yet the poet often forgets their ignorance, and makes them speak like Christians:

There was a king of Gothland named Hygelac, a real king living at the beginning of the sixth century. The king's nephew, Beowulf, heard of the evil deeds of Grendel, and set sail with some of Hygelac's men to help the unhappy Hrothgar. They all wore shirts of mail made curiously of interlaced iron rings, they had spears with iron heads, and helmets crowned with the figure of a boar made in iron; some of these shirts of chain-mail and helmets still exist. Coming into the great hall, built of timber plated with gold, the heroes explained their errand, and were well received. As Grendel cannot be harmed with stroke of steel, Beowulf will carry neither sword nor shield, but be slain by Grendel; or slay him with his hands. If Grendel eats him, Hrothgar will not need to give him due burial—burning his body, and burying the bones in a mound of earth; the custom is that of the unconverted German tribes. Hrothgar accepts the offer, the warriors sit at their ale (they had not much wine), and listen to the clear voice of the minstrel as he sings of old adventures. But Hunferth, a thane of Hrothgar, out of jealousy, taunts Beowulf with having been beaten in a swimming match that lasted for seven nights. Beowulf replies that Hunferth "has drunk too much beer": he himself swam better than his opponent for five nights, and slew nine sea-monsters with his sword; Hunferth, on they other hand, dare not face Grendel, and has been the destroyer of his own brothers. Yet Hunferth does not draw his sword, after these insults, which is strange; and the feast in hall goes on merrily.

Such scenes of boasting and quarrelling were, no doubt, common over the ale cups, but Waltheow, Queen of Hrothgar, "the golden-garlanded lady, the peace-weaver," enters the throng, and bears the cup of welcome to Beowulf, thanking God that she has found a helper to her heart's desire. Then she takes her place by her lord Hrothgar.

Night fell, Beowulf, committing himself "to the all-knowing God," takes off his armour and lays his head on the bolster—the word is the same in Anglo-Saxon. Grendel arrived, burst in the iron-bolted door, and laughed as he saw the sleeping men. One warrior he tore to pieces and devoured; but Beowulf, who had the strength of thirty, gripped the fiend, and the hall echoed with their wrestling and stamping up and down; the clamped benches were torn from the floor. Men smote at Grendel with swords, but the steel did not bite on his body. Beowulf tore his arm and shoulder clean away, and Grendel, flying to a haunted pool, described as a terrible place, dived down through the bloodstained water, and "hell caught hold of him".

In Heorot men now made merry, and the minstrel sang a new song of the fight.

After, the rejoicings, eight horses and princely armour are given to Beowulf. The minstrel sings of the hero Finn, with a pleasant description of the coming of spring after a long winter. The poem is not all about fiends and fighting; the descriptions of wild rocks and seas, and of happy nature, are beautiful. Then the gracious wife of Hrothgar bids Beowulf farewell, giving him a cup of gold. Other presents are offered, and on so happy a day, wine, not ale, is drunk in hall.

But Beowulf s adventure is not ended. That night he slept, not in hall, but in a separate room, and the mother of Grendel, a creature more terrible than himself, came to avenge her son, and slew a warrior.

Next day Hrothgar described to Beowulf the home of the fiends; they abode in dark wolf-haunted places, windy "nesses," or headlands, wild marshlands, where the hill-stream rushes through black shadows into a pool or perhaps sea-inlet, under the earth. The boughs of trees hang dense over the water, and at night a fire shines from it. Even the stag that ranges the moors, when he flies from the hounds to the lake, dies rather than venture there to take the water. This is a fine example of the descriptions of nature in the poem. Beowulf is not alarmed; we must all die at last, he says, but while we live we should try to win glory.

So they all rode to the haunted pool, Beowulf in his iron armour and helmet. The man who had insulted him now repents, and gives Beowulf the best of iron swords, named Hrunting; for famous swords in these days had names, like King Arthur's blade, Excalibur, or Roland's Durendal. "I will gain glory with Hrunting, or death shall take me," says Beowulf. 5

Beowulf dived into the black water, the fiend strove to crush him, but his iron shirt of mail protected him, and she dragged him into the dreadful hall, her home, where the water did not enter. A strange light burned; Beowulf saw his hideous foe and smote at her with Hrunting; but the edge did not bite on her body. He threw away the useless sword, and they wrestled; they fell, Beowulf was under her, and she drew her short sword. She could not pierce his armour, but he saw and seized a huge sword, made for a giant in times long ago. With this he cut her down from the neck to the breast-bone, and his friends on shore saw the pool turn to blood; all but his own men had believed that Beowulf was dead, and had gone home.

Meanwhile the blade of the great sword melted away in the poisoned blood of his foe, and he swam to shore with the hilt, and with the heads of the two monsters, Grendel and his mother. With these he came gloriously to Hrothgar, who wondered at that sword hilt, covered with plates of gold, engraved with a poem in Runic letters; for the poet is fond of describing beautiful swords and armour.

Hrothgar now made a long speech about the goodness of God, which, of course, is a Christian addition to the poem. Beowulf gave back Hrunting to Hunferth, saying no word against the weapon though it had been of no service. Then they all departed in high honour, and their swift ship under sail cut the sea into foam as she flew homeward.

In time Hygelac and his son fell in battle, and Beowulf was for fifty years "the shepherd of the people". The last adventure of his old age was a fight with a fiery dragon which dwelt among the golden treasures in an ancient burial mound. In the tomb, says the poet, "there is no sound of swords or harness, no joy of the harp; the good hawk flits not through the hall; the swift horse does not beat the ground at the gate". Anglo-Saxon poetry is full of the melancholy of death, and of mournful thoughts awakened in presence of the ruined homes of men long dead.

In his last fight and his best fight, Beowulf, with a young prince to aid him, slew the Fire Drake, but he was mortally hurt by its poisonous flaming breath, and spoke his latest words: "Bid the brave men pile up a mound for me, high and far-seen on the headland, that seafaring men in time to come may call it Beowulf's mound". These are almost the very words of the ghost of the dead oarsman, Elpenor, to Odysseus in Homer.

So much has been said about the poem of "Beowulf," because it is by far the greatest poem that the Anglo-Saxons have left to us, and best shows how they lived. From "Beowulf" we learn that our ancestors lived almost exactly as did the ancestors of the Greeks, in Homer's poems, made perhaps 1600 years before the making of "Beowulf". Both these ancient Greeks and our own ancestors had, and expressed in poetry, the same love, of life and of the beauty of the world; and the same belief that, after death, hope was hopeless, and joy was ended. Both had the same sense of the mystery of existence, and, when they took time to think, had the same melancholy. Our poetry thus began like that of Greece, and, in the end, became the rival of the greatness of Greece.

We know from broken pieces of these old songs which have come down to us that the Anglo-Saxons, like their German neighbours on the Continent, had even better stories than "Beowulf". But they have been lost, and "Beowulf" was perhaps saved by the Christian parts of it, which must have been put in by some one who wrote it over again after the Anglo-Saxons were converted: the language is like what was spoken and written about 750. One beautiful poem is "The Ruined City". The minstrel, beholding the desolation of the towers and baths of some Roman town which the Anglo-Saxons have overthrown, laments its fall and the perishable state of human fortunes. Other poems may be briefly mentioned.

The Wanderer.

In "The Wanderer" there is abundance of gloom, but it is a less noble poem than "The Ruined City," for the speaker is in sorrow, not for the griefs of all mankind, but for his own. He is an exile, homeless, in fact a tramp, Eardstapa. He has lost his lord, his patron; and dreams of his kindness, in the old happy days; and wakens, an aged man, friendless, to see the snow falling in the ocean, and the seabirds flitting with their white wings through the snow. The house where he had been young has fallen, and he laments over the ruins.

The Plaint of Deor.

This complaint is also rueful, but it is manly. The poet calk to mind old heroes and heroines, such as Weland (remembered still as Wayland Smith, in Scott's "Kenilworth"), who suffered many misfortunes, but endured them bravely. The poem is in stanzas; each ending with the burden or refrain,

That evil he overcame, So may I this!

It is like the often repeated word of Odysseus in Homer:—

Endure my heart, Worse hast thou endured!

One sorrow of the poet is that his lord has taken from him the land which he held as a minstrel, and given it to another singer. Now he is in new trouble.

That I surmounted, So may I this!

Probably there were many other poems with refrains, or recurring lines at the end of each stanza; this is a very old poetic device; originally the refrains were sung in chorus by the listeners as they danced to the music of the minstrels.

The Seafarer.

In this poem, as in "Beowulf," the sea is spoken of as it would be by men who knew its wild moods; cold, tempest, biting salt water, danger, and grey waves under driving rain, yet the seafarer loves, it. The poet says that (like

The gentlemen of England Who live at home at ease,)

many a one knows not the dangers of the deep, while the minstrel has heard the swan sing through the ice-cold showers of hail and the spindrift. But the coming of spring and the cuckoo's cry, admonish the brave man to go seafaring, despite the distresses; they are more inspiriting than life on land. He is a Christian, but he falls back on the old melancholy for the passing of kings and gold-givers. Though he preaches over much, he still thinks of the bale-fire as the mode of burial, as if Christian rites of earth to earth were not yet adopted.

Waldhere.

Of this poem only some sixty lines exist. They were found at Copenhagen, written on two pieces of vellum which had been used in binding a book: it is common to find fragments of early printed books or manuscripts in the bindings of books more recent. One page of "Waldhere" contains a speech by the heroine of the tale, Hildeguthe, urging Waldhere to fight Guthere; the other fragment has portions of a dialogue between the two combatants.

The names of the personages show that the poem was one of which we have other versions, the most intelligible is a Latin form in verse. 6 The story deals with an adventure, real or romantic, in the wars of Attila with the Franks. Waldhere, an Aquitanian hostage, brought up in Attila's court, with his betrothed lady, Hildeguthe, daughter of the King of the Burgundians, is now keeper of Attila's treasures; he and his friend Hagen escape; Hagen, who first fled, reached the court of Guthere, King of the Franks, and hearing there that a lady and a knight, with a treasure, are wandering about, he recognizes his friends, and follows them with King Guthere (who mainly wants the treasure), and with eleven other warriors. Hildeguthe sees them coming, and Waldhere, who will not give up the treasures, slays the eleven companions of Guthere, who are chivalrous enough to "set him man for man," as the Scottish ballad says, in place of overpowering him by numbers. Hagen, of course, does not want to fight his friend Waldhere, but Fate, the Anglo-Saxon Wyrd, is too strong: Waldhere has to encounter both Guthere and Hagen, for Hagen is Guthere's man, or thegn, and may not disobey him; moreover, he must avenge his nephew, whom Waldhere has already slain. All three men receive terrible wounds, and then they make friends; and Waldhere keeps both his lady and the treasure.

This version of the story is more like a later romance than the other Germanic epics. In these, as in this tale, there is usually a tragic conflict of passions and duties, as when the law of blood-vengeance compels a woman to avenge a slain father or brother, or her husband or her lover. The end is always tragic, but the Latin poet has probably contrived "a happy ending," while retaining the many good fights, and the conflict of friendship and duty to a hero's lord, which make the interest of the story.

In the Anglo-Saxon fragments, Hildeguthe, encouraging, her lover to fight, praises the swordsmith, the old German hero, Weland, the Tubal Cain of the race. He made the sword Miming, the best of all swords, which never fails the fighter. Hildeguthe has never seen Waldhere flee the fight; now he must not be less noble than himself. The other fragment is like the dialogues of the heroes in the Iliad before they come to blows.

The whole of "Waldhere" must have been, when complete, a poem much more complex, and even more interesting (at least to modern readers) than "Beowulf". It had "love interest," a brave heroine, good duels, and the tragic conflict of duties, while it was full of allusions to other ancient epics of the Germanic peoples.

The Fight at Finnsburg.

In a song of the gleeman at Hrothgar's house in "Beowulf," there are obscure references to the slaying of Hnæf, brother of Hildeburh, wife of the Frisian King Finn, and the slaying of Hildeburh's own sons by the men of Hnæf, in a fight within the royal hall of Finn. They are all burned together on the funeral pyre, while Hildeburh weeps for sons and brother. A fragment of an Anglo-Saxon epic on this affair exists only in one copy, the original is lost. It is a complicated story of slayings and revenges among folk akin by marriage, and the interest clearly lay in the tragic situation of Hildeburh, who owes vengeance against her husband, Finn, and also against the family of her brother, who have slain her sons. As Hildeburh returns to her own people, the Danes, after her husband is killed, she probably preferred her own blood kindred to those of her husband.

Chapter 2. Anglo-Saxon Christian Poetry

When the Anglo-Saxons became Christians (597-655) they took the Gospel, and the rules of the Church, in the North, from the Irish missionaries who, under St. Columba of Ireland, settled in the Isle of Iona: in the South from Roman teachers, such as Theodore of Tarsus, who had studied at Athens, and, in 668 became Archbishop of Canterbury. Both in the South, and North, in Northumberland, great schools were established, in connexion with the monkish settlements: in the monasteries Greek was not unknown, and the language of Rome, Latin, was taught and was used in writing all learned works, and hymns. With the language of Rome, almost dead as a living speech, came knowledge of ancient history, and of the great Roman poets, especially Virgil. The seventh and eighth centuries were thus a new epoch, a century of learning, and of division between the educated and the unlearned. The learned, mainly priests, no longer cared much for making songs and stories about fighting, love, and the adventures of their heathen heroes. They were occupied with the history of Rome and of the old world; and still more with their new religion, and the stories of apostles and saints and Hebrew kings and patriarchs, and with the making of sermons and hymns. Thus the old heathen tales and poems were lost or half forgotten.

Cædmon.

The first sacred poet of whom we hear is Cædmon. His tale is told by the great and learned Bede, born at Wearmouth in Northumberland in 673, and trained in the new monastery there. Says Bede: "There was in the monastery of St. Hilda at Whitby, a Brother who, when he heard the Scriptures interpreted, could instantly turn the lesson into sweet verses." Just so the minstrel of Hrothgar, when he heard the nobles talk about Beowulf's defeat of Grendel, turned the story at once into a song. This was "improvisation," and Cædmon "improvised" religious poems; no man has equalled them since, says Bede. But he began when he was far from young, and was not yet a priest. Till then he had not been a poet; indeed, if he were at a feast where every man sang in his turn, when the harp was brought to people near him at table, he arose and went home.

One night he ran away from the harp into the stalls of the cattle, and there fell asleep on the straw. In a dream One appeared to him, and bade him sing. He answered that he had left the feast because he could not sing.

"You must sing."

"About what am I to sing?"

"The beginning of things created."

Cædmon then made in his sleep a poem about the Creation, and when he awoke he remembered it, as Coleridge made "Kubla Khan" in a dream, and remembered part of it until he was disturbed by a person on business from Porlock. After this Cædmon made sacred poems, doing Scripture into verse, with perfect ease, and he became a monk.

Now there exist long Anglo-Saxon poems on parts of Genesis, Exodus, and Daniel, and it has been very naturally supposed that these are the poems of Cædmon, which, as Bede thought, had never been equalled in the Anglian tongue. Nothing is known for certain, and only one short hymn has a good chance to be by the poet Cædmon. The ideas of the poet singing of the war in Heaven, so closely resemble those of Milton, in "Paradise Lost," that Milton has been supposed to have known something of the Anglo-Saxon poem. 7 No lines in "Paradise Lost," are more familiar than those which describe a land of fire,

Yet from these flames, No light, but rather darkness visible, Served only to discover sights of woe.

The old Anglo-Saxon poet says:—

They sought another land, That was devoid of light, And was full of flame.

The speech of Satan, too, in Anglo-Saxon, the speech in which he blames the justice of God; his threat of what he would do, were he free for but one winter; his design to avenge himself on Adam and his posterity, are all like Milton, whose

Fairest of her daughters, Eve,

is exactly like

The fairest of women, That have come into the world.

In the fighting scenes of these Anglo-Saxon Biblical poems, the poets appear to enjoy themselves most and to feel most at home. They have only to write in the manner of their own old battle songs, about the howling of wolves and crying of ravens to whom the victor gives their meat.

Indeed Anglo-Saxon poetry reminds us of an ancient casket of whalebone in the British Museum, with its scenes from the heathen story of Weland or Weyland Smith, the adoration of the Magi, Romulus and Remus and the wolf, and a battle between Titus and the Jews: such is the mixture of Christianity, heathenism, and learning in the Christian Anglo-Saxon literature. 8

Thus in the long fragment "Judith," based on the well-known story of Judith and Holofernes in the Apocrypha, there is vigour in the descriptions of the intoxicated roaring Holofernes; and of the cries of wolf, raven, and eagle; and of the clash of swords and shields.

Cynewulf.

The best Christian poem, called "Crist," is full of the happiness bestowed by the new religion. The verses are by a poet named Cynewulf of whom nothing is known but his name, recorded in a kind of acrostic written in the Runic alphabet. He took his matter from sermons and hymns in Latin, but Cynewulf makes the poetry his own. He is joyously religious. After all the melancholy of the heathen or half-heathen minstrels, their wistful doubts about the meaning and value of our little life, the author of the "Crist" comes as one who "has seen a great light". He rejoices like the shepherds who heard good tidings of great joy at Bethlehem on the first Christmas night. It is as when spring comes to the world and the thrushes cannot have enough of singing: the night and the darkness are over: the grave has lost its sting and Death his victory. The poet is as happy as the birds in March. To him the message of Christ is no old story, but a new certainty; he has no doubt, no fear, and this gladness of faith is all his own, whether he sings of Our Lord or of Our Lady. That is the charm of Cynewulf; his fresh delight in his work.

Thou to us The bright sun sendest, And thyself comest, That thou may'st enlighten Those who long ago With vapour covered, And in darkness here Sat, in continual night.

The legends of "St. Guthlac" and "St. Juliana," on the other hand, are not, it must be confessed, such spontaneous bursts of song.

Andreas.

In the "Andreas" the poet, whoever he was, sings of what he has heard, adventures of St. Andrew and St. Mark. St. Matthew has fallen into the hands of the cannibals of old Greek legend, the Læstrygonians, the poet calls them the "Mermedonians". 9

The cannibals have caught, and are about to eat St. Matthew, but the Lord appears first to him, in his dungeon, and then to St. Andrew, who is living among the Achæans, in Greece. The voyage, the fighting, are in the old heathen style, and the Deity appears with two angels, all three disguised as sailors. It is impossible to give the whole tale, which appealed to the natural man as a great story of adventure in waves and war, while it introduced religion. The adventures are many, and much more startling and wild than any that survive from the Anglo-Saxon poetry of heathen times.

Dream of the Rood.

There is a singular poem "The Dream of the Rood," which with many other "masterless" poems, some critics assign to Cynewulf, on account of the style, and the deep personal feeling which we admire in the "Crist": others attribute it to Cædmon. This opinion was partly based on a curious set of facts. The followers of the great Reformer, John Knox, in Scotland (1560) destroyed almost all the "monuments of idolatry" as they called works of Christian art. But they forgot to break to powder a tall ancient cross of red sandstone, beautifully carved, and marked with Runic characters, in the church of Ruthwell, near Dumfries. Some eighty years later (1642) when the Covenanters were in arms against Charles I, the preachers began a new war against works of Christian art, and ordered the Ruthwell Cross to be destroyed. It was broken into several fragments, which have now been pieced together, and the Cross stands in an apse-shaped building adjoining the church. The Runic characters record a part of the poem styled "The Dream of the Rood," and give the inscription " Cædmon me made", probably Cædmon was really the artist who made and carved the stone cross: indeed the name is rather hard to read.

The poem speaks of the author's wonderful dream of the gold adorned and jewelled True Cross, and, in "Elene," Cynewulf also speaks of the revelation to him of the light of the Truth of the Cross. Conceivably, then, Cynewulf really had a dream or vision, and became devout after a life of war and minstrelsy.

Elene.

It would, in that case, be in old age that Cynewulf wrote, in the "Elene," a poetic version of the legend of the discovery of the True Cross by Helena, mother of the Emperor Constantine. This poem, probably based on a Latin legend, has been very highly praised. But before we can take any pleasure in it, we must try to think ourselves back into the state of mind of England when the heathen poetry of war was still popular, and Christianity, with many mediaeval legends, was a fresh inspiration. Even when we have done that as well as we can, the "Elene" awakens only an historical kind of rapture. The natural man is much more at home with "Beowulf" and "Waldhere" than with "Elene".

The poet begins with an imaginary battle: allied Franks and Huns attack the Emperor Constantine. The motive of Cynewulf is to introduce plenty of fighting: probably he never fought himself, but like other men of peace, he loves to sing of war. His treatment of war is conventional; he introduces the usual cries of wolf, eagle, and raven. Constantine is encouraged by a dream of a bright being who urges him to trust in God; he also sees a vision of the Cross, gay with jewels (as in "The Dream of the Rood") and letters making the words "In this sign conquer". Then the battle is described, with more zest than originality, and the heathen are routed; many are converted. Helena next takes a large force, and sails to Palestine to look for the True Cross. The usual formulæ descriptive of a seafaring are employed.

Helena preaches to the Jews in the mediaeval way, and they, naturally, reply, "We know not, lady, why you are so angry with us". A crafty Jew, Judas, guesses that she has come to demand from them the True Cross, which he is reluctant to give up. Helena threatens to burn the Jews, and does put Judas in a pit, without meat or drink, for seven days. Broken in spirit at last, he says that he will do his best; he prays; a miraculous vapour arises from the spot where, twenty feet underground, three crosses are discovered. Another miracle points out which of the three is the Holy Rood; Judas is baptized, and the shining nails of the Cross are discovered. Then follow the verses in which the poet describes his own old age, and his beholding the true light that lighteneth all men.

Riddles.

Among other poems vaguely assigned, in part, to Cynewulf are Riddles. The Sword describes itself, so do the byrnie, or shirt made of iron rings, the helmet, the shield; and there are many other riddles, some derived from late Latin. The best are really poetical. In addition to the Riddles there are several curious magical songs, or charms, for curing diseases, and removing spells of witchcraft. In these there are remains of the old heathen magical songs.

Phœnix.

The "Phœnix," assigned to Cynewulf as usual, is based on a late Latin poem attributed to Lactantius (290-325) and ends as an allegory of Christ. It is interesting to observe in the "Phœnix" a description of an ideal land of peace "where comes not hail or rain or any snow," the picture is borrowed from Homer's lines on Olympus, the home of the gods, and Elysium, the abode reserved for Helen of Troy and Menelaus, in the Odyssey. Anglo-Saxon poetry, without knowing it, came in touch, through Lactantius, with the most beautiful verses in the most ancient poetry of Greece, verses paraphrased in Latin, by Lucretius, and in English by Tennyson, twice ("Lucretius," and the "Morte d'Arthur"), and in "Atalanta in Calydon," by Mr. Swinburne. The golden thread of ancient Greek poetry thus runs through Roman, Anglo-Saxon, and English literature.

Chapter 3. Anglo-Saxon Learning And Prose

Latin Among the Anglo-Saxons.

Books written on English soil in the Latin language are no part of English literature. It is necessary, however, to notice them, because they testify to the knowledge and taste of the educated; while the ideas expressed in Latin reached the less instructed people through sermons and in conversation, and through the translations into Anglo-Saxon which were directed and in part executed by King Alfred.

Though written by a native of our island we may omit the Latin book of Gildas, of about 516-570, for he was a Briton of the Romanized sort, who fled to Brittany. His book, where it does not contain mere lamentations, gives a kind of history, very vague, of events in the country, and of the sins and crimes of the British princes down to about 550. Such as the information was, Bede, the great early Anglo-Saxon historian, used it, as did the author of "The History of the Britons" attributed to Nennius (say 800), who, like Gildas, mentions the battle of Badon hill, but, unlike Gildas, brings in King Arthur. As we shall see later, Bede does not mention Arthur.

Leaving these vague British writers in Latin, we come to Bede.

Bede.

When we think of the time in which Bede, the greatest of our early scholars, lived and worked, it seems amazing that he had such a wide knowledge of books and so comparatively clear an idea of the way in which history should be written. Born in 673 (died 735), he was in his thirteenth year when his king, Egfrid of Northumbria, was killed by the Piets (practically Gaelic-speaking Highlanders), in the great battle of Nectan's mere (685), in Angus beyond the Tay, for so far into what is now Scotland had English Northumbria pushed her conquests. Great part of these was lost, and in the eighth century, there came an age of anarchy and civil war, as fierce as the contests of the old times of heathendom. To us the Anglo-Saxons of these ages seem barbarous enough, but Bede speaks of the Piets of Scotland as "barbarians". He constantly deplores the greed and ignorance of the clergy, in terms much like those used by the Protestants before the Reformation. In an ignorant age Bede wrote unceasingly and copiously about such natural science as was within his reach, especially using that popular and fanciful book of Pliny, mere fairy-tales of natural (or unnatural) history. He wrote much and usefully on chronology in relation to history; and on theology, of course, he wrote abundantly. Most important is his "Church History of the Race of Angles," without which we should know little indeed concerning the Anglo-Saxon invasions of Britain, and the development of events both in England and Scotland. His tale of the reception of Christianity by Edwin is very commonly quoted: it is of much literary interest, and proves that the sense of the mystery and melancholy of the world, so often expressed in Anglo-Saxon poetry, weighed heavily on men who were not poets.

A council or Witanagemot was held to consider the Christian doctrines preached by Paulinus. One noble, Coifi, said, in jest or earnest, that the heathen religion was useless, "for no man among your people does more to please our gods than I, but many are more favoured by you and by fortune". Coifi, therefore, voted that Christianity deserved consideration. But another noble, agreeing so far, added, "Human life, oh King,... seems to me to resemble the flight of a sparrow, which flits into your warm hall at a feast in winter weather. The bird flies into the bright hall by one door, and out by another, and after a moment of quiet, slips from the wintry darkness into the wintry darkness again. Such is the life of man, that is for a moment, but what went before, and what comes after, as yet we know not." The practical Coifi then proposed to destroy the old temples of the old gods; rode off, and threw his spear into a shrine.

Coifi's idea was merely to "change the luck," and to enjoy the pleasures of destruction; he was of a common type of reformers; while the other speaker desired intellectual satisfaction, and the understanding of the mystery of existence.

Latin and even Greek learning, we have seen, found footing in southern England with the arrival of Archbishop Theodore and Abbot Hadrian at Canterbury in 669. Latin had never been quite extinct. A non-English writer in Latin, in Scotland, is Adamnan (died 704), author of a Life of the Irish St. Columba, who brought Christianity to the Picts of Scotland, while later from his little holy Isle of Iona missionaries reached Northumbria. Adamnan's book may be read with more pleasure than any other of the time; it is so rich in pictures of Highland life and sport on sea and land, and in tales of magic and the second sight. This was one of the works used by Bede in writing his "History".

The numerous books which were within the reach of Bede were brought, in five journeys, by Benedict Biscop, Abbot of Wearmouth, from Rome to Northumberland. Before Bede, such books had been studied by Aldhelm (Bishop of Sherborne, died 709). He wrote poetry in the native language, which King Alfred greatly admired, but none of the extant poems are attributed to him. His Latin would have surprised Cicero; he delighted in strange words, and in strings of alliterations. He wrote edifying treatises on Christian virtues as exemplified by Biblical characters and by saints, some of them rather fabulous personages. He knew many early Christian authors, and Virgil, Cicero, Ovid, and Lucan, but his own style was as absurdly bombastic as that of many of the ancient Irish romances. He had disciples in style, who manufactured acrostics in Latin verse.

The Latin literature of the southern Anglo-Saxons thus fell for a time into full decadence; very different was the learning of the northern Bede. His taste was uncorrupted by the sudden arrival of ancient literature among a people almost barbarous. He wrote in plain Latin without affectation concerning things worthy to be known and remembered: he gave us a frank and charming picture of the great St. Cuthbert; he had, no doubt, too great a love of miracles, and rather exaggerated some which he found in earlier lives of early English saints, such as the said Cuthbert, the saint of the Border, whose body sleeps in Durham Cathedral. The authors whom he quotes are mainly Christian, including many of the chief Fathers of the Church, and he is not certain about the propriety of studying the heathen classics, though he cannot abstain from Virgil, who, it was fancied, predicted the coming of Christ. He had Greek enough to read the Greek New Testament, but this learning was lost, in England, in later times. The translation of Bede's "History" into Anglo-Saxon under King Alfred was not the least of his gifts to his people.

Alcuin.

Alcuin (735-804), a pupil of the school of York, lived at the worst period of the savage attacks made by the still heathen Danes on England. What the Anglo-Saxons had done to the Britons, the Danes after 780 did to the Anglo-Saxons, slaying, plundering, torturing, and burning, wherever they came. Happily for Alcuin he passed most of his life abroad, aiding the great Emperor Charlemagne in founding schools and fostering education. Charlemagne collected the old war-songs of his people, little dreaming that in three centuries he would become as fabulous a hero, in the French epic poems of the eleventh to the thirteenth century, as Beowulf or Alboin had been in Germanic lays. Alcuin had far more influence as a lecturer and as a writer of letters than as an author; in a poem he preserves the names of the books in the libraries of York and Wearmouth, beautiful manuscripts that would now be almost priceless, but the Danes burned them all. Other Latin writers there were, they mainly dealt with religious themes, and their works are of very little importance.

Alfred.

Not till the kingdom of the West Saxons, Wessex, became the most powerful state in England, and made successful resistance to the Scandinavian invaders, who had destroyed monasteries everywhere, were learning and literature able to raise their heads again. It was the most famous of English kings, Alfred (849-901), that, among all his other labours as warrior and ruler, restored education.

It is unfortunate that so many matters of interest in Anglo-Saxon times are veiled in obscurity. The "Life of Alfred," by Asser, a Welshman, Bishop of Sherborne, is a confused record.

Alfred was certainly taken to Rome by his father at a very early age, but all that is told on this subject is most perplexing. He is said to have been untaught in the art of reading till he was 12 years old, but he heard Anglo-Saxon poems repeated by others, and knew many of them by heart. The famous tale that his mother offered a book of Anglo-Saxon poems to the first of her sons who should "learn it," and that Alfred was taken by the beauty of the illuminations, learned to read, and won the prize, is absolutely unintelligible in Asser's Latin. But Asser says, and Alfred, in his Preface to an Anglo-Saxon translation of Pope Gregory's "Pastoral Care" himself avers, that learning was almost or quite extinct south of the Humber, when his reign began, while in Northumbria matters were little better. But his father's second wife, Judith, was daughter to the Emperor, Charles the Bald, and though Judith, a young girl, was far from being sedate and erudite, the connexion with the Continent enabled Alfred to bring over Frankish scholars, such as Grimbald, while from Wales came Asser, who, for part of each year, lived with Alfred as his tutor.

The king wrote a Handbook, or commonplace book, of Latin extracts, which he translated into his own native tongue; and later he translated, or caused to be translated, the "Pastoral Care" of Pope Gregory; the very popular work on "Consolation" by Boëthius, a philosopher who was slain about 524; the "Church History" of Bede; and a kind of "History of the World" by Orosius, a Christian writer of the fifth century. Of these books, the "History" by Bede was of the greatest value for Englishmen; the "Consolations" of Boëthius are at least as consolatory as any others, and were long popular; while whoever reads Orosius will learn many things, though he will learn them wrong, about the whole history of the human race. Still, the Anglo-Saxon reader became aware of the elements of geography, and of the existence of the powers of ancient Assyria, Egypt, Crete, and Athens, while much space is devoted to the empire of the Amazons. 10 "It is shameful," says Orosius, nobly, "to speak of such a state of things, when such miserable women, and so foreign, had subdued the bravest men of all this earth," a conquest which the women repeated, he says, during the Peloponnesian war!

When Orosius reaches Roman history he is much more copious, and not so amusingly incorrect. Alfred, as a rule, paraphrased rather than translated his originals, omitting and adding at pleasure, and amplifying the geography of the North, by information received through Otthere and Wulfstan, contemporary voyagers.

He found learning on its deathbed and he restored and revived it, saving erudition from the natural contempt of men by the royal example of a great statesman, sportsman, and warrior. It was plain to the world that, in spite of the human tendency to despise books, learning was not merely an affair for shavelings in cloisters, for the great king himself loved reading and writing.

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.

To the influence of Alfred is attributed, with much probability, the organization of the earlier parts of the "Anglo-Saxon Chronicle," which briefly tells the history of the country from year to year. There were several versions of these annals, containing the most notable events of each year. It seems that copies of one manuscript, containing the remotest events, beginning with the invasion of Britain by Julius Cæsar, and going on to Alfred's own age, were given to several monasteries. In each the scribe afterwards continued to make, as it were, a diary of the chief occurrences, and, later, various additions about past events would be inserted in various religious houses, so that the dates are not always to be trusted. After the year of Alfred's birth, the records become more full. In his "Life of Alfred," Asser turned much of the "Chronicle" for Alfred's reign into Latin: the materials of the "Chronicle," therefore, existed in his day (an early part of it was by a Northumbrian writer). The "Chronicle" now exists in several versions, done by various hands in various monasteries. Some "Chronicles" are lost, such as that of Kent, whence much matter has been borrowed by that of Peterborough, which is the longest, and reaches the year 1154.

The early entries in the "Chronicle" are very short: here is the history of the year 774.

"In this year a red Cross appeared in the heavens after sunset; and in this year the Mercians and Kentish men fought at Otford, and wondrous serpents were seen in the South Saxons' land."

This reads like a journal kept by a child. In later days events are recorded at more length, such as fights with the Danes; meetings of the Witanagemot, or great Council of the Wise; slayings of Kings and Earls; even foreign facts of interest about Popes and Emperors. But as late as 1066, the chronicler is brief enough, when he tells how William, Count of Normandy, sailed to Pevensey on Michaelmas Eve.

"This was then made known to King Harold, and he gathered a great army, and came to meet Count William at the hoar apple tree. And William came against him unawares, ere his people were in battle order. But the king, nevertheless, fought boldly against him with those men who would follow him, and there was a great slaughter made on each side. There were slain King Harold, and Earl Leofwine his brother, and Earl Gyrth his brother, and many good men; and the French held possession of the place of carnage, as to them God granted for the people's sins." We who write long books about a single battle, such as Waterloo, are surprised by the brevity of the "Chronicle".

Some seventy years later, just before it ends, the "Chronicle" has a long and famous passage about the cruel oppressions in Stephen's reign (1137). By that date the language has changed so much, that the meaning can easily be made out, even by readers who do not know Anglo-Saxon. The style of the "Chronicle" is always extremely simple, and the good monks are usually more interested in events affecting their own monasteries, than in matters which are of more importance to the history of the country. Nevertheless, there are records of periods in the "war-age" when the Danes were burning, plundering, and slaying through England, and there are characters of great interest among the kings, earls, and counsellors, lay or clerical, of whom we should know little or nothing if the monks had ceased to make their entries in the "Chronicle". To students of language, with its dialects and changes, the "Chronicle" is priceless, and a few poems and ballads are contained in its pages.

The most famous poem in the "Chronicle" is on the battle of Brunanburh (937), when the English, under Æthelstan, defeated the Scots and Danes. This song, translated by Tennyson, does not so much describe the fighting as the triumph after the battle.

Five lay On that battle-stead, Young kings By swords laid to sleep: So seven eke Of Olaf's earls, Of the country countless Shipmen and Scots.

Olaf fled in his ship over the barren sea, the aged Constantine, King of the Scots, left his son dead on the field. As usual the raven, wolf, and eagle have their share of the corpses: an Anglo-Saxon poet could not omit these animals. This poet boasts that there has been no such victory since first the Anglo-Saxons "the Welsh overcame". Perhaps the enthusiasm of English students rather overrates the poetical merits of this war-song.

There is more poetry, and more originality in "Byrhtnoth," a song of a defeat at the hands of the Danes. The warrior entering the field of battle

Let from his hands his lief hawk fly, His hawk to the holt, and to battle he stepped.

He haughtily refuses to accept peace in exchange for tribute which the Danes demand. The armies are divided from each other by a tidal river, and Byrhtnoth chivalrously allows the heathen to cross, at low tide, and meet him in fair field. There are descriptions of hand to hand single combats; and of the wounds given and taken, and the boasts of the slayers, who throw their spears, piercing iron mail, and shields of linden wood; and strip the slain of their armour and jewels. The friends of the fallen fight across the corpses. Byrhtnoth falls, some of his company flee, the rest make a ring of spears about the hero, one cries

The more the mood, as lessens our might,

that is,

The braver be we, as our strength fails.