Nū ic fitte gēn ymb fisca cynn
wille wōðcræfte wordum cȳþan
þurh mōdgemynd, bi þām miclan hwale.
Sē bið unwillum oft gemēted,
5 frēcne and fer[_h_]ðgrim, fareðlācendum,
niþþa gehwylcum; þām is noma cenned,
fyr[ge]nstrēama geflotan, Fastitocalon.
Is þæs hīw gelīc hrēofum stāne,
swylce wōrie bi wædes ōfre,
10 sondbeorgum ymbseald, sǣrȳrica mǣst,
swā þæt wēnaþ wǣglīþende
þæt hȳ on ēalond sum ēagum wlīten;
and þonne gehȳd[_i_]að hēahstefn scipu
tō þām unlonde oncyrrāpum,
15 s[_ǣ_]laþ sǣmearas sundes æt ende,
* * * * *
Now will I spur again my wit, and use
Poetic skill to weave words into song,
Telling of one among the race of fish,
The great asp-turtle. Men who sail the sea
Often unwillingly encounter him,
Dread preyer on mankind. His name we know,
The ocean-swimmer, Fastitocalon.
Dun, like rough stone in color, as he floats
He seems a heaving bank of reedy grass
Along the shore, with rolling dunes behind,
So that sea-wanderers deem their gaze has found
An island. Boldly then their high-prowed ships
They moor with cables to that shore, a land
That is no land. Still floating on the waves,
Their ocean-coursers curvet at the marge;
* * * * *
This time I will with poetic art rehearse, by means of words and wit, a
poem about a kind of fish, the great sea-monster which is often
unwillingly met, terrible and cruel-hearted to seafarers, yea, to every
man; this swimmer of the ocean-streams is known as the asp-turtle.
His appearance is like that of a rough boulder, as if there were tossing
by the shore a great ocean-reedbank begirt with sand-dunes, so that
seamen imagine they are gazing upon an island, and moor their
high-prowed ships with cables to that false land, make fast the
ocean-coursers at the sea's end, and, bold of heart, climb up
* * * * *
and þonne in þæt ēglond ūp gewītað
collenfer[_h_]þe; cēolas stondað
bi staþe fæste strēame biwunden.
Ðonne gewīciað wērigfer[_h_]ðe,
20 faroðlācende, frēcnes ne wēnað.
On þām ēalonde ǣled weccað,
hēah fyr ǣlað. Hæleþ bēoþ on wynnum,
rēonigmōde, ræste gel[y]ste.
Þonne gefēleð fācnes cræftig
25 þæt him þā fērend on fæste wuniaþ,
wīc weardiað, wedres on luste,
ðonne semninga on sealtne wǣg
mid þā nōþe niþer gewīteþ,
gārsecges gæst, grund gesēceð,
30 and þonne in dēaðsele drence bifæsteð
scipu mid scealcum.
Swā bið scinn[_en_]a þēaw,
dēofla wīse, þæt hī droht[i]ende
þurh dyrne meaht duguðe beswīcað,
and on teosu tyhtaþ tilra dǣda,
35 wēmað on willan, þæt hȳ wraþe sēcen,
* * * * *
The weary-hearted sailors mount the isle,
And, free from thought of peril, there abide.
Elated, on the sands they build a fire,
A mounting blaze. There, light of heart, they sit--
No more discouraged--eager for sweet rest.
Then when the crafty fiend perceives that men,
Encamped upon him, making their abode,
Enjoy the gentle weather, suddenly
Under the salty waves he plunges down,
Straight to the bottom deep he drags his prey;
He, guest of ocean, in his watery haunts
Drowns ships and men, and fast imprisons them
Within the halls of death.
Such is the way
Of demons, devils' wiles: to hide their power,
And stealthily inveigle heedless men,
Inciting them against all worthy deeds,
And luring them to seek for help and comfort
* * * * *
on that island; the vessels stand by the beach, enringed by the flood.
The weary-hearted sailors then encamp, dreaming not of peril.
On the island they start a fire, kindle a mounting flame. The dispirited
heroes, eager for repose, are flushed with joy. Now when the cunning
plotter feels that the seamen are firmly established upon him, and have
settled down to enjoy the weather, the guest of ocean sinks without
warning into the salt wave with his prey (?), and makes for the bottom,
thus whelming ships and men in that abode of death.
Such is the way of demons, the wont of devils: they spend their lives in
outwitting men by their secret power, inciting them to the corruption of
good deeds, misguiding
* * * * *
frōfre tō fēondum, oþþæt hy fæste ðǣr
æt þām wǣrlogan wīc gecēosað.
Þonne þæt gecnāweð of cwicsūsle
flāh fēond gemāh, þætte fīra gehwylc
40 hæleþa cynnes on his hringe biþ
fæste gefēged, hē him feorgbona,
þurh slīþen searo, siþþan weorþeð,
wloncum and hēanum þe his willan hēr
firenum fremmað; mid þām hē fǣringa,
45 heoloþhelme biþeaht, helle sēceð,
gōda gēasne, grundlēasne wylm
under mistglōme, swā se micla hwæl
se þe bisenceð sǣlīþende
eorlas and ȳðmearas.
Hē hafað ōþre gecynd,
50 wæterþisa wlonc, wrǣtlīcran gīen.
Þonne hine on holme hunger bysgað,
and þone āglǣcan ǣtes lysteþ,
ðonne se mereweard mūð ontȳneð,
* * * * *
From unsuspected foes, until at last
They choose a dwelling with the faithless one.
Then, when the fiend, by crafty malice stirred,
From where hell's torments bind him fast, perceives
That men are firmly set in his domain,
With treachery unspeakable he hastes
To snare and to destroy the lives of those,
Both proud and lowly, who in sin perform
His will on earth. Donning the mystic helm
Of darkness, with his prey he speeds to hell,
The place devoid of good--all misty gloom,
Where broods a sullen lake, black, bottomless,
Just as the monster, Fastitocalon,
Destroys seafarers, overwhelming men
And staunch-built ships.
Another trait he has,
This proud sea-swimmer, still more marvelous.
When hunger grips the monster on the deep,
Making him long for food, his gaping mouth
The ocean-warder opens, stretching wide
* * * * *
them at will so that they seek help and support from fiends, until they
end by making their fixed abode with the betrayer. When, from out his
living torture, the crafty, malicious enemy perceives that any one is
firmly settled within his domain, he proceeds, by his malignant wiles,
to become the slayer of that man, be he rich or poor, who sinfully does
his will; and, covered by his cap of darkness, suddenly betakes himself
with them to hell, where naught of good is found, a bottomless abyss
shrouded in misty gloom--like that monster which engulfs the
ocean-traversing men and ships.
This proud tosser of the waves has another and still more wonderful
trait. When hunger plagues him on the deep, and the monster longs for
food, this haunter of the sea opens his mouth, and sets his lips agape;
* * * * *
wīde weleras; cymeð wynsum stenc
55 of his innoþe, þætte ōþre þurh þone,
sǣfisca cynn, beswicen weorðaþ.
Swimmað sundhwate þǣr se swēta stenc
ūt gewīt[e]ð. Hī þǣr in farað,
unware weorude, oþþæt se wīda ceafl
60 gefylled bið; þonne fǣringa
ymbe þā herehūþe hlemmeð tōgædre
grimme gōman.
Swā biþ gumena gehwām
se þe oftost his unwærlīce,
on þās lǣnan tīd, līf biscēawað:
65 lǣteð hine beswīcan þurh swētne stenc,
lēasne willan, þæt hē biþ leahtrum fāh
wið Wuldorcyning. Him se āwyrgda ongēan
æfter hinsīþe helle ontȳneð,
þām þe lēaslīce līces wynne
70 ofer ferh[ð]gereaht fremedon on unrǣd.
Þonne se fǣcna in þām fæstenne
gebrōht hafað, bealwes cræftig,
* * * * *
His monstrous lips; and from his cavernous maw
Sends an entrancing odor. This sweet scent,
Deceiving other fishes, lures them on
In swiftly moving schools toward that fell place
Whence comes the perfume. There, unwary host,
They enter in, until the yawning mouth
Is filled to overflowing, when, at once,
Trapping their prey, the fearful jaws snap shut.
So, in this fleeting earthly time, each man
Who orders heedlessly his mortal life
Lets a sweet odor, some beguiling wish,
Entice him, so that in the eyes of God,
The King of glory, his iniquities
Make him abhorrent. After death for him
The all-accursed devil opens hell--
Opens for all who in their folly here
Let pleasures of the body overcome
Their spirits' guidance. When the wily fiend
Into his hold beside the fiery lake
* * * * *
whereupon there issues a ravishing perfume from his inwards, by which
other kinds of fish are beguiled. With lively motions they swim to where
the sweet odor comes forth, and there enter in, a heedless host, until
the wide gorge is full; then, in one instant, he snaps his fierce jaws
together about the swarming prey.
Thus it is with any one who, in this fleeting time, full oft neglects to
take heed to his life, and allows himself to be enticed by sweet
fragrance, a lying lure, so that he becomes hostile to the King of glory
by reason of his sins. The accursed one will, when they die, throw wide
the doors of hell to those who, in their folly, have wrought the
treacherous delights of the body, contrary to the wise guidance of the
soul. When the deceiver, skilful in wrongdoing, hath brought into that
fastness,
* * * * *
æt þām [_ā_]dwylme, þā þe him on cleofiað,
gyltum gehrodene, and ǣr georne his
75 in hira līfdagum lārum hȳrdon,
þonne he þā grimman gōman bihlemmeð,
æfter feorhcwale, fæste tōgædre,
helle hlinduru. Nāgon hwyrft nē swice,
ūtsīþ ǣfre, þā [_þe_] þǣr in cumað,
80 þon mā þe þā fiscas, faraðlācende,
of þæs hwæles fenge hweorfan mōtan.
Forþon is eallinga . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
dryhtna Dryhtne, and ā dēoflum wiðsace
85 wordum and weorcum, þæt wē Wuldorcyning
gesēon mōton. Uton ā sibbe tō him,
on þās hwīlnan tīd, hǣlu sēcan,
þæt wē mid swā lēofne in lofe mōtan
tō wīdan feore wuldres nēotan.
* * * * *
With evil craft has led those erring ones
Who cleave to him, sore laden with their sins,
Those who in earthly life have hearkened well
To his instruction, after death close shut
He snaps those woful jaws, the gates of hell.
Whoever enters there has no relief,
Nor may he any more escape his doom
And thence depart, than can the swimming fish
Elude the monster.
Therefore it is [best
And[1]] altogether [right for each of us
To serve and honor God,[1]] the Lord of lords,
And always in our every word and deed
To combat devils, that we may at last
Behold the King of glory. In this time
Of transitory things, then, let us seek
Peace and salvation from him, that we may
Rejoice for ever in so dear a Lord,
And praise his glory everlastingly.
[Footnote 1: Conjecturally supplied.]
* * * * *
the lake of fire, those that cleave to him and are laden with guilt,
such as had eagerly followed his teachings in the days of their life, he
then, after their death, snaps tight together his fierce jaws, the gates
of hell. They who enter there have neither relief nor escape, no means
of flight, any more than the fishes that swim the sea can escape from
the clutch of the monster.
Therefore is it by all means [best for every one of us to serve[1]] the
Lord of lords, and strive against devils with words and works, that so
we may come to behold the King of glory. Let us ever, now in this
fleeting time, seek from him grace and salvation, that so with the
Beloved we may in worship enjoy the bliss of heaven for evermore.
[Footnote 1: Conjecturally supplied.]
* * * * *