Anglo-Saxon.

THE GRAVE.

FOR thee was a house built
Ere thou wast born.

For thee was a mould meant
Ere thou of mother camest.
But it is not made ready,

Not its depth measured,
Nor is it seen

How long it shall be.

Now I bring thee

Where thou shalt be;

Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein,
The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways unhigh.
The roof is built

Thy breast full nigh,

So thou shalt in mould

Dwell full cold,

Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house,
And dark it is within;
There thou art fast detained,

And Death hath the key.

Loathsome is that earth-house, And grim within to dwell.

There thou shalt dwell,

And worms shall divide thee.

Thus thou art laid,
And leavest thy friends;
Thou hast no friend

Who will come to thee,

Who will ever see

How that house pleaseth thee;

Who will ever open

The door for thee,

And descend after thee;

For soon thou art loathsome

And hateful to see.

BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO HEORT.

THUS then, much care-worn,

The son of Healfden

Sorrowed evermore,

Nor might the prudent hero

His woes avert.

The war was too hard,
Too loath and longsome,
That on the people came,
Dire wrath and grim,
Of night-woes the worst.
This from home heard
Higelac's Thane,

Good among the Goths,
Grendel's deeds.

He was of mankind

In might the strongest,

At that day

Of this life,

Noble and stalwarth.

He bade him a sea-ship,
A goodly one, prepare.
Quoth he, the war-king,
Over the swan's road,
Seek he would

The mighty monarch,
Since he wanted men.
For him that journey
His prudent fellows

Straight made ready,
Those that loved him.

They excited their souls,
The omen they beheld.
Had the good-man
Of the Gothic people
Champions chosen,

Of those that keenest

He might find,

Some fifteen men.

The sea-wood sought he.
The warrior showed,
Sea-crafty man!

The land-marks,

And first went forth.

The ship was on the waves,

Boat under the cliffs.

The barons ready

To the prow mounted.

The streams they whirled

The sea against the sands.
The chieftains bore
On the naked breast
Bright ornaments,
War-gear, Goth-like.

The men shoved off,

Men on their willing way,

The bounded wood.

Then went over the sea-waves,

Hurried by the wind,

The ship with foamy neck,

Most like a sea-fowl,

Till about one hour
Of the second day
The curved prow
Had passed onward,
So that the sailors

The land saw,

The shore-cliffs shining,
Mountains steep,

And broad sea-noses.
Then was the sea-sailing

Of the Earl at an end.

Then up speedily
The Weather people

On the land went,
The sea-bark moored,

Their mail-sarks shook,

Their war-weeds.

God thanked they,

That to them the sea-journey

Easy had been.

Then from the wall beheld The warden of the Scyldings,

He who the sea-cliffs

Had in his keeping,

Bear o'er the balks
The bright shields,

The war-weapons speedily.
Him the doubt disturbed
In his mind's thought,
What these men might be.
Went then to the shore,
On his steed riding,
The Thane of Hrothgar.

Before the host he shook

His warden's staff in hand

In measured words demanded: "What men are ye

War-gear wearing,

Host in harness,

Who thus the brown keel

Over the water-street

Leading come

Hither over the sea?

I these boundaries

As shore-warden hold;

That in the land of the Danes

Nothing loathsome

With a ship-crew

Scathe us might. . .

Ne'er saw I mightier

Earl upon earth

Than is your own,
Hero in harness.

Not seldom this warrior

Is in weapons distinguished;
Never his beauty belies him,
His peerless countenance!
Now would I fain

Your origin know,

Ere ye forth

As false spies

Into the land of the Danes

Farther fare.

Now, ye dwellers afar off!

Ye sailors of the sea!

Listen to my
One-fold thought.
Quickest is best

To make known

Whence your coming may be."

THE SOUL'S COMPLAINT AGAINST THE BODY.

MUCH it behoveth

Each one of mortals,

That he his soul's journey

In himself ponder,

How deep it may be.

When Death cometh,

The bonds he breaketh

By which united

Were body and soul.

Long it is thenceforth

Ere the soul taketh
From God himself

Its woe or its weal;
As in the world erst,
Even in its earth-vessel,
It wrought before.

The soul shall come
Wailing with loud voice,
After a se'nnight,

The soul, to find

The body

That it erst dwelt in ;-
Three hundred winters:

Unless ere that worketh