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'BYRHTNOTH S DEATH.

93

sion into the eastern coast of England, and after plundering Ipswich, penetrated into Essex as far as Maldon on the Panta river. Near this town the river divides into two branches; the southerly arm washes the northern declivity of the hill upon which Maldon lies. The Danish ships seem to have taken their position in this branch, while the warriors occupied the space between the two arms of the river. Then the East-Saxon ealdorman, Byrhtnoth, advanced from the north with a hastily collected band, and halted on the northern arm of the Panta, on whose shores ensued the conflict celebrated in the song of Byrhtnoth's Death.1

Byrhtnoth brought his force into battle array, and riding about exhorted and encouraged his warriors. Then he dismounted from his horse, and took his place among his faithful thegns.

On the other shore stood a herald of the Vikings who, with a powerful voice and threatening tone, spoke the demand of the sea-rovers: "Active sea-men send me to thee; they bid me say to thee, that thou must quickly send rings for safety; and it is better for you that ye buy off this spearrush with tribute, than that we share such hard fight. If thou who art the richest here, dost decide that thou wilt redeem thy people, wilt give the sea-men money at their own prizing, in exchange for peace, then we will enter our ships with the treasures, go afloat, and keep peace with you." Byrhtnoth held fast his shield, swung his slender ash aloft, and answered with scorn and decision: "Hearest thou, seafarer, what this folk saith? They will give you spears for tribute, the poisonous lance-point, and the old sword, war-trappings that are not good for you in battle. Messenger of the water-men, announce again, say to thy people warlike words: A noble eorl stands here with his band, who will protect this inheritance, Aethelred's, my prince's country, folk, and lands. Heathen shall fall in the battle. To me it seems too shameful that ye should go to your ships with your treasures, unfought, now that ye have come hither thus far into our land. Ye shall not gain treasure so easily; rather shall the point and the edge become us, grim battle-play, before we give tribute." He drew up his warriors upon the bank. The high tide that swelled the Panta stream prevented the forces from getting

1 Bibliothek der ags. Poesie. I 343–353.

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to each other. On its shores stood opposed the East Saxons and the "host of the ashen ships.' Neither could injure the other; only by arrows were some struck down. The ebb came; the rovers stood ready, eager for battle. Then the protector of heroes commanded a hardened veteran, Wulfstan, son of Keola, to guard the bridge. Near him stood the two fearless warriors, Aelfhere and Maccus. They defended themselves with vigour against the enemy, as long as they could wield their weapons. Then the evil guests asked that passage over the ford be granted them. In his haughtiness the eorl gave them the shore free. The son of Byrhthelm (Byrhtnoth) called out over the cold waters (the warriors lay in wait): "Now that space is cleared for you, come to us at once, men, to the battle! God alone knows who shall rule the slaughter-place." Then the warwolves, the hosts of the Vikings, without shunning the water, waded westward across the Panta. Byrhtnoth stood there with his heroes in readiness; he ordered them to form the battle-hedge with their shields, and to maintain their ranks fast against the enemy. Then the time was come when those consecrated to death should fall; a cry was raised; ravens circled in the air, and eagles, craving for carrion; on the earth clamour prevailed. Spears flew from the hands; the bow was busy; the shield received the point; bitter was the rage of battle; warriors fell. On both sides lay the young fighters. Wulfmær, Byrhtnoth's kinsman, sank, struck down by swords. Eadweard avenged him, as with his sword he laid one of the Vikings low at his feet. The warriors stood fast. Byrhtnoth urged them on. Wounded by the spear of a sea-man, the eorl struck the shaft with his shield; it broke and sprang back. He fiercely thrust his own spear through his enemy's neck to his heart, so that his corselet burst. The hero rejoiced. He laughed and thanked God for the day's work which had been vouchsafed him. Then from the hand of another enemy there flew a spear which pierced him through. Wulfmær the youth, Wulfstan's son, who fought at his side, drew the bloody dart from the hero's body, and sent it back; the point penetrated, and stretched him upon the earth who had hit Wulfmær's master. Then a mailed man stepped up to the eorl to rob him of his weapons. Byrhtnoth drew his broad brown sword from its sheath, and smotę

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him upon the corselet. But one of the ship-men crippled the hero's hand with a blow. The fallow-hilted sword fell to the ground; he could no longer hold it. But the gray battlehero still cheered on the youths; his feet refused to serve him; he looked toward heaven and said: "I thank Thee, Ruler of Peoples, for all the joys that I have had in the world. Now, mild Creator, I have most need that Thou grant my spirit good, that my soul may go to Thee, may pass with peace into Thy power, King of Angels." Then the heathen struck him down, and the two heroes who fought near him, Aelfnoth and Wulfmær, gave up their spirits at their lord's side.

Cowards now turned to flight. First the sons of Adda: Godric forsook the noble one who had given him many a horse, and fled upon his lord's own steed; and with him his brothers, Godwine and Godwig, and more of the warriors than was at all becoming. Aethelred's eorl, the people's prince, had fallen; all of his kindred saw that their lord lay slain. The proud warriors rushed up, willed either to avenge the dear one or to yield their lives. Aelfric's son, the young warrior Aelfwine, exhorted them. He said: "Think of the speeches which we often spoke at mead, when we raised up vaunting upon the bench, heroes in the hall, about hard battle. Now may be shown who is bold. I will show forth my lineage to all, that I was of high race in Mercia. My old father was called Ealhhelm, a wise ealdorman, worldly prosperous. Never shall the thegns reproach me among the people, that I would desert this host, and seek my country, now that my prince lies slain in battle. That is my greatest grief: he was both my kinsman and my lord." Then he strode forward, thinking of blood-vengeance. To the same effect spoke Offa and Leofsunu. Dunhere, too, an aged ceorl, took up the word. Swinging his lance, he bade all heroes avenge Byrhtnoth: "Never may he hesitate who thinketh to avenge his lord in the people, nor care for his life." They went forward, careless of life. The kinsmen began a hard fight; they prayed God it might be granted them to avenge their kin and chief, and to work slaughter among their enemies. Aescferth the Northumbrian, Ecglaf's son, helped them zealously; ceaseless flew his arrows and pierced the foe. Eadweard the Long swore he would not leave the field

where his prince lay, a foot's breadth. He broke through the shield-wall, and, before he lay with the corpses, fought until he had worthily avenged the treasure-giver, among the seawarriors. So also did Aetheric and many another. Offa slew the sea-farer, Gadde's kinsman. But he himself was soon struck down. He had kept the vow he made to his lord: that they would ride safe homeward together, or fall in the fight, die of their wounds upon the slaughter-field. And like a true thegn, he lay near his lord. There fought Wihstan, Thurstan's son, and the two brothers, Oswold and Eadwold, urged on the heroes. But Byrhtwold, the aged comrade, spoke as he grasped fast his shield and shook his ash: "The spirit should be all the harder, the heart all the bolder, the courage should be the greater, the more our forces lessen; here lieth our prince cut down, the brave one, slain in the dust. May he ever mourn who thinketh to turn now from this battle-play. I am old in days; I will not go away, but I think to lie by my lord's side; I will lie by such a beloved warrior." Godric, Aethelgar's son, also exhorted all to the struggle. He often sent his spear against the Vikings, struck and flung them down, until he sank in the fight. That was not the Godric who fled from the battle.

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At this point the fragment breaks off. This song of Byrhtnoth's Death is one of the pearls of Old English poetry, full, as it is, of dramatic life, and of the fidelity of an eye-witness. Its deep feeling throbs in the clear and powerful portrayal. In sharp contrast to the Song of Brunanburh, the lyrical element is still less prominent than in Beowulf. The style is simple, pithy, noble; compared with the epic, it is concise and even dry. This is partly due to the difference between two classes of poetry, and partly to the disparity in time. But the basis of the national mind is the same, and the fundamental character of the national art remains unchanged. The ideas of the comitatus and its heroic spirit retain their full strength and influence; and poetry still possesses all the necessary resources for their expression.

There appear tokens of metrical decline, of the dissolution of ancient art-forms. The law of alliteration is often violated, both as regards the position of the chief alliterative word and the emphasis of the alliterative syllables. The re

METRICAL DECLINE.

97 lation between sentence and verse has become more harmonious; both often close at the same place. Thus the unity of the verse strikes the ear more smoothly. But at the same time is opened a path leading to the complete destruction of this unity. Since the cæsura retains its old force, its power is emphasised by the narrow limits of the now isolated verse. Growing looseness in alliteration, frequent use of the leonine rhyme (which rarely appears in Byrhtnoth), will inevitably convert that unity into duality.

That the popular poetry went on in this direction, we see in the many historical poems which were inserted in later copies of the English annals; their authors, probably monks, were doubtless influenced by the folk-song. Good examples are the poem, in two manuscripts1 (year 975), on Eadgar's death, and especially the song on the Aetheling Aelfred, the son of King Aethelred (year 1036). The latter, owing to the complete dissolution of alliterative forms and the frequent use of rhyme, reads like a product of the transition period, and almost like a poem in short couplets.

An alternation of long and short lines, as well as utterly lawless alliteration, appear in other poems, as that on the death in 9792 of Eadweard the Martyr. There is often a disposition to restrict the alliteration to the short line. Here and there we find passages clothed in rhythmical prose, sometimes alliterative, and sometimes rhymed.3

On the other hand the writer of the song on the death of Eadweard the Confessor wields the ancient forms with some ease and grace.

IX.

King Aelfred was, in truth, the first to give to his people a national prose literature, and directly after him, in the chronicler of his last deeds and of the successes of his son Eadweard, arose an unusually talented prose writer, but one who, unfortunately, does not seem to have ventured upon any work of great scope. With Eadweard's death came a break of some length, when production did not entirely cease,

1 Cotton Tib. IV. and Laud 636. See Thorpe, p. 228; Earle, p. 125. Earle, p. 129.

* For an instance, see the entry for 959 found in several manuscripts, Thorpe, p #17: Earle, p. 119.

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