Anonymous+Anglo-Saxon+Poetry

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=Anonymous Anglo-Saxon Poetry=

=Beowulf=





=Get Up and Bar the Door=



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It fell about the Martinmas time, And a gay time it was then, When our goodwife got puddings to make, And she ’s boild them in the pan.

The wind sae cauld blew south and north, And blew into the floor; Quoth our goodman to our goodwife, “Gae out and bar the door.”

“My hand is in my hussyfskap, Goodman, as ye may see; An it shoud nae be barrd this hundred year, It ’s no be barrd for me.”

They made a paction tween them twa, They made it firm and sure, That the first word whaeer shoud speak, Shoud rise and bar the door.

<span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">Then by there came two gentlemen, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">At twelve o clock at night, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">And they could neither see house nor hall, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">Nor coal nor candle-light.

<span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Now whether is this a rich man’s house, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">Or whether is it a poor?” <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">But neer a word wad ane o them speak, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">For barring of the door.

<span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">And first they ate the white puddings, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">And then they ate the black; <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">Tho muckle thought the goodwife to hersel, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">Yet neer a word she spake.

<span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">Then said the one unto the other, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Here, man, tak ye my knife; <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">Do ye tak aff the auld man’s beard, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">And I ’ll kiss the goodwife.”

<span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">“But there ’s nae water in the house, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">And what shall we do than?” <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">What ails thee at the pudding-broo, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">That boils into the pan?”

<span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">O up then started our goodman, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">An angry man was he: <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Will ye kiss my wife before my een, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">And scad me wi pudding-bree?”

<span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">Then up and started our goodwife, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">Gied three skips on the floor: <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Goodman, you’ve spoken the foremost word, <span style="color: #0000ff; display: block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline;">Get up and bar the door.”

Questions Do people do this today? In that people won't do anything until the other does something. Did the man speak up because the men were going to kiss his wife or eat the pudding? Who should have barred the door?

= = =The Wife's Lament=



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I make this song of myself, deeply sorrowing, my own life’s journey. I am able to tell all the hardships I’ve suffered since I grew up, but new or old, never worse than now – ever I suffer the torment of my exile.

First my lord left his people for the tumbling waves; I worried at dawn where on earth my leader of men might be. When I set out myself in my sorrow, a friendless exile, to find his retainers, that man’s kinsmen began to think in secret that they would separate us, so we would live far apart in the world, most miserably, and longing seized me.

My lord commanded me to live with him here I had few loved ones or loyal friends in this country, which __causes__ me grief. Then I found that my most fitting man was unfortunate, filled with grief, concealing his mind, plotting murder with a smiling face. So often we swore that only death could ever divide us, nothing else – all that is changed now; it is now as if it had never been, our friendship. Far and near, I must endure the hatred of my dearest one.

They forced me to live in a forest grove, under an oak tree in an earthen cave.2 This earth-hall is old, and I ache with longing; the dales are dark, the hills too high, harsh hedges overhung with briars, a home without joy. Here my lord’s leaving often fiercely seized me. There are friends on earth, lovers living who lie in their bed, while I walk alone in the light of dawn under the oak-tree and through this earth-cave, where I must sit the summer-long day; there I can weep for all my exiles, my many troubles; and so I may never escape from the cares of my sorrowful mind, nor all the longings that have seized my life.

May the young man be sad-minded with hard heart-thoughts, yet let him have a smiling face along with his heartache, a crowd of constant sorrows. Let to himself all his worldly joys belong! let him be outlawed in a far distant land, so that my friend sits under stone cliffs chilled by storms, weary-minded, surrounded by water in a sad dreary hall! My beloved will suffer the cares of a sorrowful mind; he will remember too often a happier home. Woe to the one who must suffer longing for a loved one.

=The Seafarer=



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A song I sing of my sea-adventure, The strain of peril, the stress of toil, Which oft I endured in anguish of spirit Through weary hours of aching woe. My bark was swept by the breaking seas; Bitter the watch from the bow by night As my ship drove on within sound of the rocks. My feet were numb with the nipping cold, Hunger sapped a sea-weary spirit, And care weighed heavy upon my heart. Little the landlubber, safe on shore, Knows what I've suffered in icy seas Wretched and worn by the winter storms, Hung with icicles, stung by hail, Lonely and friendless and far from home. In my ears no sound but the roar of the sea, The icy combers, the cry of the swan; In place of the mead-hall and laughter of men My only singing the sea-mew's call, The scream of the gannet, the shriek of the gull; Through the wail of the wild gale beating the bluffs The piercing cry of the ice-coated petrel, The storm-drenched eagle's echoing scream. In all my wretchedness, weary and lone, I had no comfort of comrade or kin. Little indeed can he credit, whose town-life Pleasantly passes in feasting and joy, Sheltered from peril, what weary pain Often I've suffered in foreign seas. Night shades darkened with driving snow From the freezing north, and the bonds of frost Firm-locked the land, while falling hail, Coldest of kernels, encrusted earth. Yet still, even now, my spirit within me Drives me seaward to sail the deep, To ride the long swell of the salt sea-wave. Never a day but my heart's desire Would launch me forth on the long sea-path, Fain of far harbors and foreign shores. Yet lives no man so lordly of mood, So eager in giving, so ardent in youth, So bold in his deeds, or so dear to his lord, Who is free from dread in his far sea-travel, Or fear of God's purpose and plan for his fate. The beat of the harp, and bestowal of treasure, The love of woman, and worldly hope, Nor other interest can hold his heart Save only the sweep of the surging billows; His heart is haunted by love of the sea. Trees are budding and towns are fair, Meadows kindle and all life quickens, All things hasten the eager-hearted, Who joy therein, to journey afar, Turning seaward to distant shores. The cuckoo stirs him with plaintive call, The herald of summer, with mournful song, Foretelling the sorrow that stabs the heart. Who liveth in luxury, little he knows What woe men endure in exile's doom. Yet still, even now, my desire outreaches, My spirit soars over tracts of sea, O'er the home of the whale, and the world's expanse. Eager, desirous, the lone sprite returneth; It cries in my ears and it urges my heart To the path of the whale and the plunging sea.

How would you describe the Seafarer's life?

What descriptions does he give of his life on land?

What does he mean when he says, "His heart is haunted by the love of the sea?"

=Barbara Allen=



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// In Scarlet town, where I was born, // // There was a fair maid dwellin’, // // Made every youth cry // Well-a-way!// Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May, When green buds they were swellin’, Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay, For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man in to her then, To the town where she was dwellin’; “O haste and come to my master dear, If your name be Barbara Allen.”

So slowly, slowly rase she up, And slowly she came nigh him, And when she drew the curtain by— “Young man, I think you’re dyin’.”

“O it’s I am sick and very very sick, And it’s all for Barbara Allen.”— O the better for me ye’se never be, Tho’ your heart’s blood were a-spillin’!

“O dinna ye mind, young man,” says she, “When the red wine ye were fillin’, That ye made the healths go round and round, And slighted Barbara Allen?”

He turned his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealin’: “Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allen!”

As she was walking o’er the fields, She heard the dead-bell knellin’; And every jow the dead-bell gave Cried “Woe to Barbara Allen.”

“O mother, mother, make my bed, O make it saft and narrow: My love has died for me today, I’ll die for him tomorrow.”

“Farewell,” she said, “ye virgins all, And shun the fault I fell in: Henceforth take warning by the fall Of cruel Barbara Allen.”

Who is your Barbara Allen?

Is this poem better as a song or as a poem?

Was Barbara Allen a girl you want to know?