[CHAPTER II.]
ANGLO-SAXON CHRISTIAN POETRY.
When the Anglo-Saxons became Christians (597-655) they took the Gospel, and the rules of the Church, in the North, from the Irish missionaries who, under St. Columba of Ireland, settled in the Isle of Iona: in the South from Roman teachers, such as Theodore of Tarsus, who had studied at Athens, and, in 668 became Archbishop of Canterbury. Both in the South, and North, in Northumberland, great schools were established, in connexion with the monkish settlements: in the monasteries Greek was not unknown, and the language of Rome, Latin, was taught and was used in writing all learned works, and hymns. With the language of Rome, almost dead as a living speech, came knowledge of ancient history, and of the great Roman poets, especially Virgil. The seventh and eighth centuries were thus a new epoch, a century of learning, and of division between the educated and the unlearned. The learned, mainly priests, no longer cared much for making songs and stories about fighting, love, and the adventures of their heathen heroes. They were occupied with the history of Rome and of the old world; and still more with their new religion, and the stories of apostles and saints and Hebrew kings and patriarchs, and with the making of sermons and hymns. Thus the old heathen tales and poems were lost or half forgotten.
Cædmon.
The first sacred poet of whom we hear is Cædmon. His tale is told by the great and learned Bede, born at Wearmouth in Northumberland in 673, and trained in the new monastery there. Says Bede: "There was in the monastery of St. Hilda at Whitby, a Brother who, when he heard the Scriptures interpreted, could instantly turn the lesson into sweet verses." Just so the minstrel of Hrothgar, when he heard the nobles talk about Beowulf's defeat of Grendel, turned the story at once into a song. This was "improvisation," and Cædmon "improvised" religious poems; no man has equalled them since, says Bede. But he began when he was far from young, and was not yet a priest. Till then he had not been a poet; indeed, if he were at a feast where every man sang in his turn, when the harp was brought to people near him at table, he arose and went home.
One night he ran away from the harp into the stalls of the cattle, and there fell asleep on the straw. In a dream One appeared to him, and bade him sing. He answered that he had left the feast because he could not sing.
"You must sing."
"About what am I to sing?"