OSMUNDA. 255 



metaphors. I therefore give a faithful version of it, in order that, 

 by translating their recital almost word for word, the majesty of the 

 language may exhibit the majestic achievements and the heroism of 

 the English nation. 



"At Brunesburh, Athelstan the king, noblest of chiefs, giver of 

 collars, emblems of honour, with his brother Edmund, of a race 

 ancient and illustrious, in the battle, smote with the edge of the 

 sword. The offspring of Edward, the departed king, cleft through 

 the defence of shields, struck down noble warriors. Their innate 

 valour, derived from their fathers, defended their country, its trea- 

 sures and its hearths, its wealth and its precious thmgs, from hostile 

 nations, in constant wars. The nation of the Irish, and the men of 

 ships, rushed to the mortal fight ; the hills re-echoed their shouts. 

 The warriors struggled from the rising of the sun, illuminating depths 

 with its cheerful rays, the candle of God, the torch of the Creator, 

 till the hour when the glorious orb sunk in the west. There numbers 

 fell, Danish by race, transfixed viith spears, pierced through their 

 shields ; and with them fell the Scottish men, weary and war-sad. 

 But chosen bands of the West-Saxons, the live-long day, vinshrinking 

 from toil, struck down the ranks of their barbarous foe ; men of high 

 breeding handled the spear, Mercian men hurled their sharp darts. 

 There was no safety to those who with Aulaf, coming over the sea, 

 made for the land in wooden ships, fated to die ! Five noble kings 

 fell on the field, in the prime of their youth, pierced with the sword ; 

 seven earls of King Anlaf, and Scots without number. Then were 

 the Northmen quelled in their pride. For not a few came over the 

 sea to the contest of war ; while but a few heard their king's groans, 

 as, borne on the waves, he fled from the rout. Then was fierce 

 Froda, chief of the Northmen, Constantine with him, King of the 

 Scots, stayed in his boasting, when corpses were strewed on that 

 battle-field, sad remnant left of kindred bands, relations and friends, 

 mixed with the common folk slain in the fight ; there, too, his dear 

 son was stretched on the plain, mangled with wounds. Nor could 

 Danish Gude, hoary in wisdom, soft in his words, boast any longer. 

 Nor could Anlaf himself, with the wreck of his troops, vamit of 

 success in the conflicts of war, in the clashing of spears, in crossing 

 of swords, in councils of wise men. Mothers and nurses wailed for 

 their dear ones, playing the game of ill-fated war with the sons of 

 King Edward. 



" The Northmen departed in their nailed barks, and Anlaf, 

 defeated, over the deep sought his own land, sorrovring much. Then 

 the two brothers Wessex regained, leaving behind them relics of war, 

 the flesh of the slain, a bloody prey. Now the black raven with 

 crooked beak, the livid toad, and eagle and kite, the dog and the 

 wolf, with tawny hide, gorged themselves freely on the rich feast. 

 No battle ever was fought in this land so fierce and so bloody, since 

 the time that came hither, over the broad sea, Saxons and Angles, 

 the Britons to rout ; famous war-smiths, who struck down the Welsh, 

 defeated their nobles, seized on the land*." 



* The Chronicle of Henry of Huntingdon, p. 169, Bohn's Edition. 

 Lond. 1853. 



