THE BATTLE OF MALDON (991). |
Source.—Anglo-Saxon Poem, lines 481-637. Translated by E. A. Freeman. [Note that the lines are to be read across the page.] Leofsuna spake out, | and his linden heaved, | his board to guard him; | he to the warrior quoth, | “I this promise | thence that I nill | flee a footstep, | but will further go, | to wreak in the fight | my lord and comrade. | Nor by Stourmere | any steadfast hero | with words need twit me | that I lordless | homeward should go, | and wend from the fight; | but me shall weapons meet | point and iron.” | Full of ire he waded, | fought he steadfastly, | on flight he thought not. | Dunnere then quoth, | his dart he made quake, | the valiant churl, | over all he cleped; | he bade that warriors each | Brihtnoth should wreak; | “Nought may he fear | who to wreak thinketh | his lord among the folk, | nor for his life mourn.” | Then they forth went, | for life they recked not. | Began then the house-men | hardly to fight, | fiercely spears bearing, | and to God they prayed | that they might wreak | their lord and comrade, | and on their foes | a fall might work. | Then there a hostage gan | gladly to help; | he was in Northumberland | of a hard kin, | Ecglaf’s bairn, | Æscferth was his name. | Nought then feared he | in the war-play, | and he poured forth | arrows enough; | one while he on board shot, | one while a warrior teased, | ever and anon he sold | some wounds, | the while he weapons | still might wield. | Then yet in rank stood | Eadward the Long, | ready and yearnful; | bold words spake he | that he would not flee | a footstep of land, | overback to bow, | while his better lay. | He broke the board-wall | and with the warriors fought, | till he his gift-giver | on the seamen | worthily wreaked, | ere he in slaughter lay. | So did Ætheric, | noble comrade, | eager forth to go, | fought he earnestly, | Sibriht’s brother, | and so many other | clave the keeled board, | keen they were, | burst they the boards, | and the hauberk sang | a grisly lay. | There in the fight slew | Offa the seamen, | till he on earth fell, | and Gadda’s kinsman | the ground sought; | rath was in battle | Offa down hewn, | yet had he furthered | that he his lord had pledged, | as he ere agreed | with his ring-giver | that they should both | to the borough ride | hale to home, | or in the host cringe | on the slaughter-place, | of their wounds die. | He lay thegnlike | his lord hard by. | Then were boards broken, | seamen waded on, | in the fight wrathful. | The spear oft waded through | the fey man’s life-house. | Forth then went Wistan | Thurstan’s son, | with the warmen fought he, | he was in the throng, | banesman of three of them, | ere him Wigeline’s bairn | in slaughter low laid. | There was stern meeting; | stood they fast | fighters in battle; | fighting they cringed, | with their wounds weary; | slaughter fell on earth. | Oswold and Ealdwold | all the while, | both brethren, | the warriors trimmed; | their fellow-kinsmen | with words they bade, | that they there at need | them should bear up, | and unweakly | their weapons use. | Brihtwold then spake, | his board heaving; | he was an old comrade; | his ash he made quake; | he full boldly | the warriors learned; | “Mind shall the harder be, | heart shall the keener be, | mood shall the more be, | as our main lessens. | Here lies our Elder, | all down hewn, | a good man in the dust; | ever may he groan | who now from this war-play | of wending thinketh. | I am old of life; | hence stir will I not, | and I by the half | of my lord, | by such a loved man | to lie am thinking.” | So Æthelgar’s bairn | then all cheered on, | Godric to battle: | Oft he the dart let go, | the death spear wound he | on the wikings. |
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