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An Arthurian Miscellany
Hengist went off to All-Father's keeping,

Wihtgils's son, to the Wielder's protection,

Earl of the Anglians. From the east came, then,

Cerdic the Saxon a seven-year thereafter;

The excellent atheling, offspring of Woden

Came into Albion. His own dear land

Lay off to the eastward out o'er the sea-ways,

Far o'er the flood-deeps. His fair-haired, eagle-eyed

Liegeman and son sailed westwardly,

O'er the flint-gray floods, with his father and liegelord,

O'er the dashing, lashing, dark-flowing currents

That roll and roar, rumble, grumble

Eastward of Albion. Not e'er hath been told me

Of sea-goers twain trustier, doughtier

Than Cerdic and Cynric, who sailed o'er the waters

Valiant, invincible vikings and sea-dogs

Seeking adventure. Swift westwardly,

O'er the fallow floods, fared they to Albion,

Would look for the land that liegemen-kinsmen

Of Hengist and Horsa and high-mooded Aella

And Cissa had come to. Cerdic was mighty,

Earl of the Saxons. His excellent barks,

His five good floats, fanned by the breezes,

Gliding the waters were wafted to Albion,

Ocean-encircled isle of the sea-waves,

Delightsomest of lands. Lay then at anchor

The five good keels close to the sea-shore;

The swans of the sea sat on the water

Close by the cliff-edge. The clever folk-leader

Was boastful and blithesome, brave-mooded Saxon,

Said to his earlmen: "Excellent thanes

True-hearted, trusty table-companions,

See the good land the loving, generous

Gods have given you: go, seize on it.

I and my son have sailed westwardly,

To gain with our swords such goodly possessions

As Hengist and Aella did erstwhile win

On the island of Albion. On to the battle,

The foe confronteth us." Folk of the island,

Earlmen of Albion, angry-mooded, then,

Stood stoutly there, striving to hurl them

Off in the ocean east to the mainland,

Back o'er the billows. Bravely Albion's

Fearless defenders fought with the stranger

Then and thereafter: early did Cerdic

See and declare that slowly, bloodily,

And foot by foot, must the folk of the Saxons

Tear from the Welsh their well-lovd, blithesome,

Beautiful fatherland. Brave were the men that

So long could repel the puissant, fearless

Sons of the Saxons that had sailed o'er the oceans

To do or to die, doughty, invincible

Earls of the east. The excellent kinsmen,

Father and son, scions of Woden,

Burned in their spirit to build in the south the

Greatest of kingdoms: 't was granted to Cerdic

To be first of the famous folk-lords of Wessex,

Land-chiefs belovd; to lead, herald the

World-famous roll of the wise, eminent

Athelings of Wessex, where Egbert and Ethelwulf,

Alfred and Edward, ever resplendently,

Spaciously shine, shepherds of peoples,

Excellent athelings, and Athelstan, Godwin

And Harold the hero, helms of the Saxons,

Have their names written in record of glory

In legend and story, leaving their fame as an

Honor forever to England, peerless

Mother of heroes.--The men of the east

Slowly, bloodily builded a kingdom

Where Aesc and Aella not e'er had been able

To bear their banners, though both these athelings

Were in might marvellous, mood-brave, heroic

Leaders of liegemen.--Beloved of the Welsh

Was the atheling Arthur, excellent, valiant

Lord of the Silurians, land-prince, warrior

Famed 'mid the races. He rued bitterly

That father and son, Saxon invaders,

To the left and right were wresting, tearing

From races no few their fond-lovd, blood-bought

Homesteads and manors, were hacking and sacking

Folk of the southland, and far westwardly

Had bitterly banished the best of the heroes

And earlmen of Albion. Arthur was mighty,

Uther Pendragon's offspring belovd,

His fame far-reaching. Afar and anear then,

All men of Albion honored and loved him;

Sent over Severn beseeching the mighty

Silurian leader no longer to tarry

In crushing the foemen, but quickly to drive them

Back to their bottomless bogs in the eastward

O'er the rime-cold sea; said wailingly:

"The fierce, pitiless folk of the eastward,

Mighty, remorseless men of the waters,

Treacherous, terrible, will take speedily

Our name and nation, and naught will be left us

But to dare and to die." The doughty, invincible

Atheling Arthur, earl of Siluria,

Offspring of Uther, early was ready;

Feared not, failed not, fared on his journey

Seeking for Cerdic. Severn's waters

Saw him and laughed, little expecting

That Arthur the king and the excellent knights

Of the Table Round, with troopers a-many,

Would suffer the foemen to seize and possess the

Lands of Siluria, would let the remorseless,

Implacable, pitiless pagan and heathen

Sail over Severn; not soon did it happen

While Arthur the atheling his earth-joys tasted

Here under heaven. That hero was brave,

Great, all-glorious: God fought for him:

Nor Cerdic nor Cynric could soon injure that

Hero of Heaven; his horrible destiny

Wyrd the weaver wove in her eerie,

Mysterious meshes, mighty, taciturn

Goddess of gods: she gives whom she will to

Speed in the battle. Brave-mooded Arthur,

Offspring of Uther, was eager for glory,

Peerless of prowess: proudly, dauntlessly

Fought he for Albion. Not e'er heard I

Of better battle-knight, more bold, fearless,

That sun ever shone on: the sheen of his glory

With lustre illumined the land where his mother

Gave birth to the bairn; and broad, mighty,

Spacious his fame was; his splendid achievements

Were known to all nations. None could e'er dare to

Cope with that hero, till the conquering, dauntless

Earl of the Anglians, ever-belovd

Founder of freedom and father of kings,

O'er the seas sailing, slowly, bloodily

Builded the best and broadest of kingdoms

Heroes e'er heard of. The heart of king Arthur

Was sad as he saw the Saxon invader

How, foot by foot, forward, onward,

He ever proceeded, eastward, westward,

Far to the north, founding and building

A kingdom and country to crush and destroy the

Land that he long had lived for, thought for,

Fiercely had fought for. Famed was Arthur,

Wide his renown; but Wyrd the spinster

Taketh no heed of hero or craven;

Her warp and her woof she weaveth and spinneth

Unmindful of men. The mighty war-hero,

Atheling Arthur, set out on his journey,

Laid down his life-joys; the belovd folk-lord's

Feasting was finished. Unflinching, fearless,

Doomed unto death, dead on the battle-field

Fell the brave folk-prince. Foul was the traitor,

Hated of heroes. The hope of his countrymen

Sank into darkness; for dead was Arthur,

The last and the best and bravest of Albion's

Athelings of eld. Not ever thereafter

Could the Welshman withstand the sturdy, mighty

Tread of the Saxon as tramping, advancing,

Onward he went, eastward, westward,

Far to the northward: none withstood him,

Now Arthur was lifeless; he alone was able

To stay for a moment that sturdy, mighty,

Invincible march.--The valiant, doughty

Kinsmen of Cerdic, conquering earlmen,

Forward then bare bravely, unfalt'ringly,

Daringly, dauntlessly, the dragon of Wessex

Fuming and flaming; fearlessly bare it

Northward, eastward, on to the westward,

O'er Severn and Thames and Trent and Humber

And east oceanward, till all the great races

Of Albion's isle owned as their liegelords

The children of Cerdic, sire of kings and

Founder of freedom. Few among athelings

Were greater than he, gift-lord eminent,

Wielder of Wessex; the wise-mooded, far-seeing,

Brave-hearted folk-prince builded his kingdom

As a bulwark of freedom. His brave, high-hearted

Table-companions, trusty, faithful

Liegemen and thanes, leaped to his service

In peace and in war: well did they love him,

Bowed to his bidding; blithely followed him

Where the fight was fiercest; would fall in the battle

Gladly, eagerly, excellent heroes,

Ere they'd leave their dear lord alone on the battle-field,

Bearing unaided the onset of foes and

The brunt of the battle. The brave ones were mindful

Of the duties of liegemen; dastardly thought it

To flee from the field while their fond, loving

Leader and liegelord lingered thereon

Dead or alive; deemed him a nidering

Who stood not stoutly, sturdily, manfully

Close to his lord as he led in the battle,

Facing the foemen. The free-hearted earlmen

Minded the days when their dear-honored liegelord

Feasted the throngs of thanemen-kinsmen

In the handsomest of halls heroes e'er sat in

'Neath dome of the welkin. Well they remembered

How their lord lovingly lavished his treasures

On all earlmen older and younger,

Greater and lesser: 't were loathsomest treason

To leave such a lord alone in the battle,

With a foe facing him. The folk-ruler mighty

King-like requited them with costliest gems,

Most bountiful banqueting. The brave-hearted man

Builded his kingdom, broadly founded it

Northward, eastward, on to the westward,

South to the seaward. He said tenderly,

Cerdic discoursed, king of the Saxons,

Father of England: "Old, hoary is

Cerdic your king, kinsmen-thanemen,

Warriors of Wessex. Well have ye served me,

Ye and your fathers. I yet remember

How, ere age came on me, I ever was foremost

In deeds of daring, in doughty achievements,

In feats of prowess. I fought valiantly

Alone, unaided, with only my faithful,

Well-lovd sword, and swept away hundreds

Of earlmen of Albion: now age, ruthless,

Horrible foe of heroes and warriors,

Hath marred my might, though my mood is as daring,

My spirit as stout and sturdy as ever

In years of my youth. I yearn in my soul, now,

To cross over Severn and cut into slivers

The wolf-hearted Welshmen. Well-nigh a forty

Years in their circuits have seen me a-conquering

Here under heaven: from hence, early

I go on my way. Woden will bid me

To the halls of Valhalla, where heroes will meet me,

Gladly will seat me 'mid the glory-encircled

Heroes of heaven. In my heart it pains me

To feel my war-strength fading and waning

And ebbing away. Would I might leap now

Like a king to the battle, not cow-like breathe out my

Soul in the straw. The son of my bossom,

Cynric my bairn, bravely will lead you

When I am no more: he ever hath proved him

A bold battle-earl. My blade I will give him,

Sigbrand my sword: he hath served me faithfully

Sixty of winters: well do I love him,

Bold-hearted battle-brand." The brave earlmen, then,

Shouted lustily, loudly commending

The words of good Cerdic. Cynric they loved, too,

Son of the hero; themselves had beheld him

How valiant, adventurous, invincible, king-like

He ever had borne him, since erst he landed

To fight, with his father, the fierce, implacable,

Wolf-hearted Welshmen: well did they love him,

And oft on the ale-benches earlmen asserted

That, when good king Cerdic, gracious, belovd

Ward of the kingdom, went on his journey,

Laid down his life-joys, his liegefolk would never

Find them a folk-lord fonder, truer,

More honored of all men, than atheling Cynric

Surely would prove him. Shouted they lustily,

"Wes hael, wes hael! hero of Wessex,

Cerdic the conqueror," clanging their lances

And beating their bucklers, bellowed like oxen,

Blew in their shields, shouting, yelling

Glad-hearted, gleefully. The good one discoursed, then,

Cerdic the king said to his liegemen

(Henchmen all hearkened): "Hear ye, good troopers,

Of Sigbrand my sword. I said he was trusty,

And bitter in biting. I brought him to Albion

Far from the eastward. I fared, long ago,

East over Elbe and Oder and Weser

And thence to the northward, never wearying,

Greedy for glory; 'mid the Goths found it,

Old, iron-made, excellent sword-blade,

Weland his work. Well I remember

How I heard high-hearted heroes and athelings,

My true-hearted troopers, tell how a dragon,

His cave guarding, kept there a treasure

Age after age; how earls of the eastward

Said that Sigbrand, the sword-blade of Hermann,

Was kept in that cave covered with magic,

Encircled with sorcery, secretly guarded,

Bound with enchantments. I boldly adventured

A grim grapple with that grisly, terrible

Fire-spewing dragon, to fetch to the westward

The well-lovd, warlike, wide-famous brand

Of Hermann the hero. I hied o'er the rivers

And off to the eastward: earls of those lands there

Laughed when they learned that a lad from the westward

Would dare the great dragon that had daunted their fathers

Five hundred winters. I fared eastward then,

Met with the monster, mightily smote him,

To earth felled him; flamings of battle

Horribly hurled he, hotly he snorted,

Would seethe me in poison. Wtih the point of my blade

I proudly did prick him. Prone he fell forward,

Dead lay the dragon. His den was no more

A horror to heroes; hastened I in, then,

To joy in the sight of jewels and treasures

And song-famous swords that had slept on the wall there

From earliest eras, edge-keen, famous,

Magic-encircled swords of the ancients,

Old-work of giants. With joy, saw I

World-famous Sigbrand, sword-blade of Hermann,

Men-leader mighty, matchless battle-knight,

Hero of Germany. I hastily seized it

All rusting to ruin; the rime-carved, ancient

Sword of the hero was soon hanging then

Safe at my side: it hath served me faithfully

Sixty of winters, well-tried, trusty

Friend-in-the-battle. When I fare, troopers,

Hence to Valhalla, high-hearted Cynric,

My fond-lovd son, folk-lord of Wessex,

Will take up the brand borne by his father

And carve out a kingdom clean to the northward and

Wide to the westward; the Welshman will cower

And shudder and shake, as the shout of the Saxon

Frightens afresh forest and river

And meadow and plain. I shall pass on my journey

Early anon: old and hoary,

Death will subdue me. Dear young heroes,

Do as I bid ye. Bear ye onward

The banner of Wessex. Wyrd will help you

If doughty your valor. I dare to allege it,

That the gods have given this goodly, bountiful

Land of Albion to the liegemen and children

Of Cerdic the Saxon; seize, hold to it

Forever and ever. Ye early will see me

Lorn of my life-joys, lying unwarlike,

Dead in my armor. I urge you, good heroes,

To build me a barrow broad-stretching, lofty,

High on the cliff-edge, that comers from far

May see it and say that so did Angle-folk

Honor the atheling that erstwhile led their

Fathers of old in founding a kingdom."

Cerdic And Arthur