This excerpt of The Battle of Maldon is taken from The Word Exchange: Anglo-Saxon Poems in Translation, an absolutely wonderful collection of poetry. The translations are superb, fluid and still contains the atmosphere of the original Anglo-Saxon poems.
The first time I read about The Maldon of Maldon (that I can recall, at least), was in Helen M. Steven’s book The Myth and Magic of Embroidery, in which a beautiful embroidery of Byrhtnoth is shown.
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| The Myth and Magic of Embroidery by Helen M. Stevens |
Probably the best known lines from this poem; “Hige sceal þe heardra, heorte þe cenre, mod sceal þe mare, þe ure mægen lytlað.” also appears in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth, Beorhthelm’s Son.
This translation of the poem into Contemporary English has been made by David R. Slavitt. I will give the English first, followed by the Anglo-Saxon. A part of the poem can also be listened to at www.poemsoutloud.net. For The Battle of Maldon, click here.
Next week I’ll be bringing you an excerpt from a translation of the Old Norse text recounting The Battle of Stamford Bridge.
Leofsun then spoke, raising his linden shield:
“I offer my oath. Not one step backward!
I fare only forward to avenge in hard battle
my good lord’s death. The brave men of my village,
the people of Sturmer, will not have the need
to resproach my behaviour. My friend has fallen
and I am lordless. I will not go home
or turn away from the fight, but a weapon must take me,
point or sharp blade edge.” He advanced in his anger
and steadfast he fought, scorning the flight.
Dunner spoke up as he brandished his weapon.
An honest peasant, he called out to all,
bidding each soldier to avenge great Byrhtnoth:
“Let no one hesitate who intends to wreak vengeance
on the Viking horde, nor fear for his life!”
Leofsunu gemælde and his linde ahof,
bord to gebeorge; he þam beorne oncwæð:
“Ic þæt gehate, þæt ic heonon nelle
fleon fotes trym, ac wille furðor gan,
wrecan on gewinne minne winedrihten.
Ne þurfon me embe Sturmere stedefæste hælæð
wordum ætwitan, nu min wine gecranc,
þæt ic hlafordleas ham siðie,
wende fram wige, ac me sceal wæpen niman,
ord and iren.” He ful yrre wod,
feaht fæstlice, flæm he forhogode.
Dunnere þa cwaeð, daroð acwehte,
unorne ceorl, ofer eall clypode,
bæd þæt beorne gehwyk Byrhtnoð wræce:
“Ne mæg na wandian se þe wrecan þenceð
Frean on folce, ne for feore murnan.”
On a lighter note...
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