The fairest of women,
That have come into the world.
In the fighting scenes of these Anglo-Saxon Biblical poems, the poets appear to enjoy themselves most and to feel most at home. They have only to write in the manner of their own old battle songs, about the howling of wolves and crying of ravens to whom the victor gives their meat.
Indeed Anglo-Saxon poetry reminds us of an ancient casket of whalebone in the British Museum, with its scenes from the heathen story of Weland or Weyland Smith, the adoration of the Magi, Romulus and Remus and the wolf, and a battle between Titus and the Jews: such is the mixture of Christianity, heathenism, and learning in the Christian Anglo-Saxon literature.[2]
Thus in the long fragment "Judith," based on the well-known story of Judith and Holofernes in the Apocrypha, there is vigour in the descriptions of the intoxicated roaring Holofernes; and of the cries of wolf, raven, and eagle; and of the clash of swords and shields.
Cynewulf.
The best Christian poem, called "Crist," is full of the happiness bestowed by the new religion. The verses are by a poet named Cynewulf of whom nothing is known but his name, recorded in a kind of acrostic written in the Runic alphabet. He took his matter from sermons and hymns in Latin, but Cynewulf makes the poetry his own. He is joyously religious. After all the melancholy of the heathen or half-heathen minstrels, their wistful doubts about the meaning and value of our little life, the author of the "Crist" comes as one who "has seen a great light". He rejoices like the shepherds who heard good tidings of great joy at Bethlehem on the first Christmas night. It is as when spring comes to the world and the thrushes cannot have enough of singing: the night and the darkness are over: the grave has lost its sting and Death his victory. The poet is as happy as the birds in March. To him the message of Christ is no old story, but a new certainty; he has no doubt, no fear, and this gladness of faith is all his own, whether he sings of Our Lord or of Our Lady. That is the charm of Cynewulf; his fresh delight in his work.
Thou to us
The bright sun sendest,
And thyself comest,
That thou may'st enlighten
Those who long ago
With vapour covered,
And in darkness here
Sat, in continual night.
The legends of "St. Guthlac" and "St. Juliana," on the other hand, are not, it must be confessed, such spontaneous bursts of song.
Andreas.
In the "Andreas" the poet, whoever he was, sings of what he has heard, adventures of St. Andrew and St. Mark. St. Matthew has fallen into the hands of the cannibals of old Greek legend, the Læstrygonians, the poet calls them the "Mermedonians".[3]