THE SECONDARY POETRY.
How still the legendary lay
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway.
MARMION.
Between the Primary and the Secondary Poetry we must acknowledge a wide
borderland of transition. Some poetical works lying in this interval we
have already found occasion to notice, and have given them such space as
we could afford. We have spoken of the Cædmon, and of the poetical
Psalter; and with these I must group the "Judith," a noble fragment,
which is found in the Cotton Library in the same manuscript volume with
the Beowulf. This fragment preserves 350 long lines at the close of a
poem which appears--by the numbering of the Cantos--to have been of
about four times that length. This remnant contains what would naturally
have been the most vigorous and stirring parts of the poem: the riotous
drinking of Holofernes, the trenchant act of Judith, her return with her
maid to Bethulia, their enthusiastic reception, the muster for battle,
the anticipation of carnage by the birds and beasts of prey, the
destruction of the invading host.
The poetry which is distinctly Secondary is contained--the best
specimens of it--in two famous books, that of Exeter, and that of
Vercelli; and in both of these books it is largely connected with the
name of a single poet, Cynewulf. Here is at once an indication of the
secondary poetry; not merely that we have a poet's name, for we also
entitle poems by Cædmon's name; but that the poet himself supplies us
with his name, and has left it--vailed and enigmatic--for posterity to
decipher.
Curiously and fancifully did Cynewulf interweave into the lines of his
verse the Runes which spelt his name; and it needed the skill of Kemble
to explain it to us. There are three of the extant poems in which he has
thus left his mark, namely two in the Exeter book and one in the
Vercelli book. In two cases out of the three this ingenious contrivance
is at the close of the poem. In the Vercelli book it occurs in the
Elene, the last of the poems in the manuscript, and Mr. Kemble remarked
that it was "apparently intended as a tail-piece to the whole
book."[131] This naturally suggests the inference, which indeed is
generally accepted, that all the poems in the Vercelli book are by
Cynewulf.
But when a like inference is drawn for the Exeter book, inasmuch as the
same Runic device is there found in two pieces, that therefore the book
is simply a volume of Cynewulf's poems, there seems less reason to
acquiesce. That a large part of the book is Cynewulf's poetry will be
generally thought probable. The first thirty-two leaves of the
manuscript, which correspond to the first 103 pages in Thorpe's edition,
contain a series of pieces which are really parts of one whole, as was
shown by Professor Dietrich, of Marburg;[132] and, as one of these
connected pieces has Cynewulf's Runic mark, it seems to follow that the
whole "Christian Epic" is by him. Again in the middle of the volume from
the 65th to the 75th leaf there is the poem of St. Juliana with the
Runes of Cynewulf's name at its close, and this is therefore undoubtedly
his. This brings us to Mr. Thorpe's 286th page. The four pieces which
lie between the above, more especially two of them, St. Guthlac and the
Phœnix, may well be his. But from the close of St. Juliana (Thorpe, p.
286) the pieces become shorter and more miscellaneous, exhibiting
greater diversity both of subject and of quality, being altogether such
as to suggest that they have been collected from various sources and are
of different ages. So that on this view the volume might be interpreted
as containing (1) Poems by Cynewulf; and (2) a miscellaneous collection.
Thus Cynewulf's part would close with "St. Juliana," which ends with the
Runic device, like the Elene closing his poems in the Vercelli
book.[133] About the person of this poet nothing is known, beyond what
the poems themselves may seem to convey. His date has been variously
estimated from the 8th to the 11th century. The latter is the more
probable. If we look at his matter, we observe its great affinity with
the hagiology of the tenth century, the high pitch at which the poetry
of the Holy Rood has arrived, and the expansion given to the subject of
the Day of Judgment. If we consider his language and manner, we remark
the facility and copious flow of his poetic diction, but with a
something that suggests the retentive mind of the student; his
cumulation of old heroic phraseology not unlike the romantic poetry of
Scott, joined occasionally with a departure from old poetic usage which
seems like a slip on the part of an accomplished imitator.[134]
Occasionally he has a Latin word of novel introduction.
All these signs forbid an early date, but they agree well with Kemble's
view of the time and person of Cynewulf. He proposed to identify our
poet with that Kenulphus who in 982 became abbot of Peterborough, and in
1006 became (after Ælfheah) bishop of Winchester. To this prelate
Ælfric dedicated his Life of St. Æthelwold, and he is praised by Hugo
Candidus as a great emender of books, a famous teacher, to whom (as to
another Solomon) men of all ranks and orders flocked for instruction,
and whom the abbey regretted to lose when after fourteen years of his
presidency he was carried off to the see of Winchester by violence
rather than by election.[135]
The Canto in the "Christian Epic" in which the Cynewulf-Runes appear, is
on the near approach of Domesday. This piece closes with a prolonged and
detailed Simile, such as occurs only in the later poetry. Life is a
perilous voyage, but there is a heavenly port and a heavenly pilot:--
Nu is thon gelicost
swa we on laguflode
ofor cald wæter
ceolum lithan
geond sidne sæ
sund hengestum
flod wudu fergen.
Now it is likest to that
as if on liquid flood
over cold water
in keels we navigated
through the vast sea
with ocean-horses
ferried the floating wood.
Is thæt frecne stream
ytha ofermæta
the we her onlacath
geond thas wacan woruld
windge holmas
ofer deop gelad.
A frightful surge it is
of waves immense
that here we toss upon
through this uncertain world--
windy quarters
over a deep passage.
Wæs se drohtath strong
ær thon we to londe
geliden hæfdon
ofer hreone hrycg--
tha us help bicwom
thæt us to hælo
hythe gelædde
Godes gæst sunu:
It was discipline strong
ere we to the land
had sailed (if at all)
o'er the rough swell--
when help to us came,
so that us into safety
portwards did guide
God's heavenly Son:
And us giefe sealde
thæt we oncnawan magun
ofer ceoles bord
hwær we sælan sceolon
sund hengestas
ealde yth mearas
ancrum fæste.
And he gave us the gift
that we may espy
from aboard o' the ship,
place where we shall bind
the steeds of the sea,
old amblers of water,
with anchors fast.
Utan us to thære hythe
hyht stathelian
tha us gerymde
rodera waldend
halge on heahthum
the he heofnum astag.
Let us in that port
our confidence plant,
which for us laid open
the Lord of the skies,
(holy port in the heights)
when he went up to heaven.
The grandest of the allegorical pieces is that on the Phœnix. Of the
pedigree of the fable we have already spoken; as also of the Latin poem
which the Anglo-Saxon poet followed. It is rather an adaptation than a
translation, and it has a second part in which the allegory is
explained. At the close there is a playful alternation of Latin and
Saxon half-lines, which does not at all lessen the probability that the
poet may have been the ingenious Cynewulf.
Hafað us alysed
lucis auctor,
þæt we motun her
merueri,
god dædum begietan
gaudia in celo,
þær we motun
maxima regna
secan, and gesittan
sedibus altis,
lifgan in lisse
lucis et pacis,
agan eardinga
alma letitiæ,
brucan blæd daga;--
blandem et mitem
geseon sigora frean
sine fine,
and him lof singan
laude perenne,
eadge mid englum
alleluia.
Us hath a-loosed
the author of light,
that we may here
worthily merit,
with good deeds obtain
delights in the sky,
where we may be able
magnificent realms
to seek, and to sit
in heavenly seats,
live in fruition
of light and of peace,
have habitations
happy and glad,
brook genial days:--
gentle and kind
see Victory's Prince
for ever and ever,
and praise to him sing,
perennial praise,
happy angels among
Alleluia!
Of the other allegorical pieces the Whale was derived from the book
Physiologus, and probably the Panther also. The whale is used as a
similitude of delusive security. The story reappears in the Arabian
Nights, where it is the chief incident in the first voyage of Sindbad.
The monster lies on the sea like an island, and deludes the unsuspecting
mariner.
Is þæs hiw gelic
hreofum stane,
swylce worie
bi wædes ofre
sond beorgum ymbseald
sæ ryrica mæst,[136]
swa þæt wenaþ
wæg liþende,
þæt hy on ealond sum
eagum wliten;
and þonne gehydaþ
heah stefn scipu
to þam únlonde
oncyr rapum;
setlað sæ mearas
sundes æt ende.[137]
In look it is like
to a stony land,
with the eddying whirl
of the waves on the bank,
with sandheaps surrounded
a mighty sea-reef;
so they wearily ween
who ride on the wave,
that some island it is
they see with their eyes;
and so they do fasten
the high figure-heads
to a land that no land is
with anchor belayed;
sea-horses they settle
no farther to sail.
When they have lighted their fires, and are getting comfortable, then
all goes down. This is an apologue of misplaced confidence in things
earthly.
But the great and absorbing subject of poetry in this age is
Hagiography. We still see the old discredited apocryphal literature in
occasional use, but it retires before the more approved medium of
popular edification, the Lives and Miracles of the Saints. These offer
material very apt for poetical treatment. Even the Homilies, when on the
lives of Saints, are often clothed in the poetic garb.
In the Exeter book there are two of this class of poems; St. Guthlac and
St. Juliana. In St. Juliana, a characteristic passage is that in which
the tempter visits her in the guise of an angel of light, advising her
to yield and to sacrifice to the gods. At her prayer, the fiend is
reduced to his own shape, reminding us of a famous passage in Milton.
St. Guthlac is distressed by fiends, and among the trials to which he is
exposed, one is this, that he sees in vision the evil life of a
disorderly monastery. When he has endured his trials, and he returns to
his chosen retreat, the welcome of the birds is very charming.
But the greatest pieces of this sort are the two in the Vercelli book;
the Andreas and the Elene.
In the Andreas we have an ancient legend which is now known only in
Greek, but which no doubt lay before the Anglo-Saxon poet in a Latin
version. In this story Matthew is imprisoned in Mirmedonia, and he is
encouraged by the hope that Andrew shall come to his aid. Andrew is
wonderfully conveyed to Mirmedonia, where he arrives at a time of
famine, and he finds the people casting lots who shall be slain for the
others' food. On the intervention of Andrew the devil comes on the scene
and suggests that he is the cause of their troubles. Then follows a long
series of tortures to which the saint is subjected. When his endurance
has been put to extreme proof, the word of deliverance comes to him and
he puts forth miraculous power. He calls for a flood, and it comes and
sweeps the cruel persecutors away. But the whole ends in a general
conversion, and the drowned are restored to life. He is escorted to his
ship and has a happy voyage back to Achaia like the return of any hero
crowned with success. Here we are reminded of the return of Beowulf; and
widely different as the two poems are, they have not only points of
similarity but also a certain likeness of type. There is, however, this
great dissimilarity, that in the Andreas the poet stops to speak of
himself and of his inadequate performance, but still he will give us a
little more. The most novel and extraordinary part is the voyage of
Andrew to Mirmedonia. The ship-master is a Divine person, and the
instructive conversation which the saint addresses to him, is
exceedingly well managed, for while it verges on the humorous, it is
perfectly reverent; a strong contrast with the free use of such
situations in the later mediæval drama. Another feature which calls for
notice is the sarcasm with which the drowning people are told there is
plenty of drink for them now.
The "Elene" opens with the outbreak of barbarian war, and Constantine in
camp on the Danube, frightened at the multitude of the Huns. In a dream
of the night he sees an angel who shows him the Cross, and tells him
that with this "beacon" he shall overcome the foe. II. Comforted by his
dream, he had a cross made like that of the vision, and under this
ensign he was victorious. Then he assembles his wise men to inquire of
them who the god was that this sign belonged to? No one knew, until some
christened folk, who (according to this poet) were then very few, gave
the required information. Constantine is baptised by Silvester. III.
Zealous to recover the true Cross, he sends his mother, Elene, with a
great equipment to Judea. IV. She proclaims an assembly, and 3,000 come
together, and she requires of them to choose those who can answer
whatever questions she may ask. V. They select 500 for that purpose.
When they are come to the queen, she addresses a chiding speech to them
about their blindness in rejecting Him who came according to prophecy;
but she does not reveal her aim. Afterwards, the Jews in consternation
discuss among themselves what the imperial lady can mean. At length one
Judas divines that she wants the Cross which is hidden, and which it is
of the greatest consequence to keep from discovery; for his grandfather
Zacheus, when a-dying, told his son, the speaker's father, that whenever
that Cross was found the power of the Jews would end. VI. The speaker
further said that his father told him the history of the Saviour's life,
and how his son Stephen had believed in him and had been stoned. The
speaker was a boy when his father told him this, and seems to have thus
learnt about his brother Stephen for the first time.[138] VII. When they
are summoned into the imperial presence they all profess to know nothing
about the subject of her inquiry, they had never heard of such a thing
before! She threatens. Then they select Judas as a wise man who knows
more than the rest, and they leave him as a hostage. VIII. The queen
will know where the Rood is. Judas pleads that it all happened so long
ago that he knows nothing about it. She says it was not so long ago as
the Trojan war, and yet people know about that. When he persists, she
orders him to be imprisoned and kept without food. He endures for six
days, but on the seventh he yields. IX. Released from prison he leads
the way to Calvary. He utters a fervent supplication in Hebrew, in which
he pleads that He who in the famous times of old revealed to Moses the
bones of Joseph would make known by a sign the place of the Rood, vowing
to believe in Christ if his prayer is granted. X. A steam rises from the
ground. There they dig, and at a depth of twenty feet three crosses are
found. Which is the holy Rood? A dead man is carried by; Judas brings
the corpse in contact with the crosses one after another, and the touch
of the third restores life. XI. Satan laments that he has suffered a new
defeat, which is all the harder as the agent is "Judas," a name so
friendly to him before! He threatens a persecuting king who shall make
the newly-converted man renounce his faith. Judas returns a spirited
answer, and Helena rejoices to hear the new convert rise superior to the
Wicked one. XII. The report spreads, to the joy of Christians and the
confusion of the Jews. The queen sends an embassy to the emperor at Rome
with the happy tidings. The greatest curiosity was displayed in the
cities on their road. Constantine, in his exaltation, sent them quickly
back to Helena with instructions to build a church in their united names
on the sacred spot of the discovery. The queen gathered from every side
the most highly-skilled builders for the church; and she caused the holy
Rood to be studded with gold and jewels, and then firmly secured in a
chest of silver:--
Tha seo cwen bebeád
cræftum getŷde
sundor âsecean
tha selestan
tha the wrætlicost
wyrcan cuthon
stân-gefôgum
on tham stede-wange
girwan Godes tempel
swa hire gasta weard
reórd of roderum .
Heo tha rôde heht
golde beweorcean
and gimcynnum
mid tham æthelestum
eorcnanstânum
besettan searocræftum;
and tha in seolfren fæt
locum belûcan .
Thær thæt lifes treó
sêlest sigebeáma
siththan wunode
æthelu anbroce .
Then the queen bade
of craftsmen deft
at large to seek
the skilfullest,
the most curious
and cunning to work
structures of stone;--
upon that chosen site
God's temple to grace
as the Guarder of souls
gave her rede from on high.
She the Rood hight
with gold to inlay
and the glory of gems,
with the most prized
of precious stones
to set with high art;--
and in a silver chest
secure enlock:--
so there the Tree of life
dearest of trophies
thenceforward dwelt;
fabric of honour.
XIII. Helena sends for Eusebius, "bishop of Rome," and he, at her
bidding, makes Judas bishop in Jerusalem, and changes his name to
Cyriacus. Then she inquires after the nails of the crucifixion, and, at
the prayer of Cyriacus, their hiding-place is revealed. When the nails
were brought to the queen she wept aloud, and the fountain of her tears
flowed over her cheeks and down upon the jewels of her apparel. XIV. She
seeks guidance by oracle as to the disposal of the nails. She is
directed to make of them rings for the bridle of the chief of earthly
kings. He who rides to war with such a bridle should be invincible; and
a prophecy to that effect is quoted! Helena obeys, and sends the bridle
over sea to Constantine,--"no contemptible gift!" Helena assembles the
chief men of the Jews, bids them submit to Cyriacus, and keep up the
anniversary of the Finding of the Cross. Finally, for those who keep the
day is proclaimed a benediction so unmeasured and profuse as to leave
behind it an air in which the solemn evaporates in the histrionic.
Here more than in any other piece of Anglo-Saxon poetry we feel near the
mediæval drama. Almost every canto is like a scene; and little
adaptation would be required to put it upon the stage. The narrative at
the beginning is like a prologue, and then after the close of the piece
we have an epilogue, in which the author speaks about himself, and
weaves his name with Runes into the verses in the manner already
described.
The briefest fragment in the Vercelli book is about False Friendship;
and it contains a long-drawn simile in which the bee is rather hardly
treated.
Anlice beoð
swa þa beon berað
buton ætsomne;
arlicne anleofan
and ætterne tægel
habbað on hindan;
hunig on muðe
wynsume wist:
hwilum wundiað
sare mid swice
þonne se sæl cymeð.
Swa beoð gelice
þa leasan men,
þa þe mid tungan
treowa gehatað
fægerum wordum,
facenlice þencað;
þonne hie æt nehstan
nearwe beswicað:
habbað on gehatum
hunig smæccas,
smeðne sib cwide;
and in siofan innan
þurh deofles cræft
dyrne wunde.
Likened they are
to the bees who bear
both at one time,
food for a king's table,
and venomous tail
have in reserve;
honey in mouth,
delectable food:
in due time they wound
sorely and slyly
when the season is come.
Such are they like,
the leasing men,
those who with tongue
give assurance of troth
with fair-spoken words,
false in their thought;
then do they at length
shrewdly betray:
in profession they have
the perfume of honey,
smooth gossip so sweet;
and in their souls purpose,
with devilish craft,
a stab in the dark.
The "Runic Poem"[139] is a string of epigrams on the characters of the
Runic alphabet, beginning with F, U, Þ, O, R, C, according to that
primitive order, whence that alphabet was called the "Futhorc." Each of
these characters has a name with a meaning, mostly of some well-known
familiar thing, apt subject for epigram.
When learned men began to look at the Runes with an eye of erudite
curiosity, they often ranged them in the A, B, C order of the Roman
alphabet; hence it gives the Rune poem some air of antiquity that it
runs in the old Futhorc order. And, indeed, some of the versicles may
perhaps be ancient; that is, they may possibly date from a time when
Runes were still in practical use. But certainly much of this chaplet of
versicles must be regarded as late and dilettante work. The Rune names
are not all clearly authentic; for example, "Eoh" is rather dubious; but
the poet treats the name as meaning Yew, and gives us an interesting
little epigram on the Yew-tree:--
EOH bith utan
unsmethe treow
heard hrusan fæst
hyrde fyres
wyrtrumum underwrethed
wynan on æthle.
YEW is outwardly
unpolished tree;
hard and ground-fast,
guardian of fire;
with roots underwattled
the home of the Want.[140]
The Riddles are mostly after Simphosius and Aldhelm;[141] but some are
aboriginal. The form is mostly that of the epigram, only instead of
having the name of the subject at the head of the piece as with
epigrams, these little poems end with a question what the subject is.
These Riddles are found in the Exeter book in three batches; Grein has
drawn them all together, and made eighty-nine of them. That on the
Book-Moth, of which the Latin has been given above, p. 88, is unriddled
by the translator:--
Moððe word fiæt;
me þæt þuhte
wrætlicu wyrd
þa ic þæt wundor gefrægn;
þæt se wyrm forswealg
wera gied sumes
þeof in þystro
þrymfæstne cwide
and þæs strangan staðol.
Stælgiest ne wæs
wihte þy gleawra
þe he þam wordum swealg.
Moth words devoured;
to me it seemed
a weird event
when I the wonder learnt;
that the worm swallowed
sentence of man
(thief in the dark)
document sure,
binding and all.
The burglar was never
a whit the more wise
for the words he had gulped.
Toward the end of the period, the poetic form becomes much diluted. The
poetic diction wanes, so does the figured style and the parallel
structure; and what remains is an alliterative rhythmical prose, which,
from the nature of the subjects treated, appears to have been very
taking for the ear of the people. Of this sort is the Lay of King Abgar,
which Professor Stephens assigns to the reign of Cnut. The Abgar legend
is in Eusebius (died 340) "History," i. 13. Abgar, king of Edessa, being
sick, wrote a letter to the Saviour (it being the time of His earthly
ministry) praying him to come and heal him, and adding, that if, as he
hears, the Jews seek to persecute Him, his city of Edessa, though a
little one, is stately, and sufficient for both.
... and ic wolde the biddan
thæt thu gemedemige the sylfne
thæt thu siðige to me
and mine untrumnysse gehæle
for than the ic eom yfele gahæfd.
Me is eac gesæd
thæt tha Judeiscan syrwiath
and runiath him betwynan
hu hi the berædan magon,
and ic hæbbe ane burh,
the unc bam genihtsumath.
... and I would thee pray,
that thou condescend
to come unto me,
and my infirmity cure,
for I am in evil case.
To me is eke said
that the Jews are plotting
and rowning together
how they may destroy thee;
and I have a burgh
large enough for us both.[142]
The impression which this secondary poetry leaves is, that the old
ancestral form could no longer furnish an adequate poetry for the
growing mind of the nation. In contrast with the expanding prose, it
seems to shrink and fade before our eyes. Its only means of enlargement
seems to be in forgetting its own traditions and assimilating itself to
the prose. Moreover, we have traces of various tentative sallies; one
poet trying rhymes,[143] another trying hexameters,[144] which reminds
us of the efforts and essays of the unsatisfied poetic genius in the
middle of the sixteenth century. The Benedictine revival had drawn off
the interest from the old native themes of song to subjects less fitted
for poetry, or with which the poetry of the time was not yet skilled to
deal. The old poetry fitted the old heroic themes with which it had
grown up; and now it throve better on apocryphal and legendary fables
than on the verities of the faith which were rather beyond its strength.
In the new zeal the old vein of poetry was lost or neglected, and its
place was not yet appropriately filled.
For this want a provision was already making in the south. A fresh
spirit of poetry had risen in the region where Roman and Arabic fancy
met, and, after kindling France, was coming to England on the wings of
the French language. With the new romances came new models of poetic
form. A long struggle ensued between the native garb of English poetry
and that of the French. Both lived together until the fourteenth
century, when the victory of the French form was finally determined in
Chaucer; and France set the fashion in poetry to England, as it did
generally to modern Europe.
FOOTNOTES:
[131] In Wright's "Biographia Literaria," Anglo-Saxon Period, p. 502,
_seq._, these three Runic passages are collected and translated. In
Bosworth's "Anglo-Saxon Dictionary," ed. Toller, v. Cynewulf; the Runic
passage is quoted from the Elene, and translated. This poet's Runic
device affects us somewhat as when, at the end of a volume of
Coleridge's poems, we come upon his epitaph, written by himself:--
"Stop, Christian passer-by!--Stop, child of God!
And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod
A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he--
Oh, lift one thought in prayer for S.T.C.!"
[132] In Haupt's "Zeitschrift," ix.
[133] We have already seen in the chapter on the West Saxon laws, that a
bookmaker of the Saxon period appended the laws of Ine to the laws of
Alfred, as if he found it natural to treat the old material as an
appendix to the new.--But there is also something on the other side. In
the after part of the Exeter book there are three batches of riddles,
and the first riddle of the first series (Thorpe, p. 380), is a charade
upon the name of Cynewulf, as was shown by Heinrich Leo. This has
naturally led to the surmise that Cynewulf has had more to do with the
riddles than simply to preface them in his own honour.
[134] Thus:--"ofer ealne yrmenne grund." Juliana _init._; and in the
same poem we find "bealdor" used of a woman!
[135] All this is marred by William of Malmesbury, who represents him as
having trafficked for this promotion, and as having been cut off before
he had long enjoyed it. And yet the two pictures are not incompatible.
The poetry sets before us a poet of the most splendid gifts, but I know
nothing that indicates a superiority of character. Indeed, the
comparison with Solomon suggests a moral type to which the known and
supposed writings of Cynewulf aptly correspond.
[136] "Dorsum immane mari summo." Æneid i.
[137] Milton has set this to his own deep music:--
"Him haply slumb'ring on the Norway foam,
The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff
Deeming some island, oft, as seaman tell,
With fixed anchor...."
[138] The reader will not stumble at a few historical inaccuracies in a
narrative where a speaker in Helena's time is a brother of the
protomartyr.
[139] Kemble, "Runes of the Anglo-Saxons," pp. 13-19. Grein, vol. ii.,
p. 351; and literary notice at p. 413.
[140] It may not be known to all readers, that this is an English word;
and historically, perhaps, the best English name, for the mole (talpa).
Along the Elbe it appears in a form nearer to that of the text: "Win
worp oder Wind-worp, _der Maulwurf_." Bremisch-Niedersachsisches
Wörterbuch.
[141] See Prof. Dietrich in Haupt's "Zeitschrift," xi.
[142] Prof. Stephens, "Tvende Olde-Engelske Digte," Kiobenhavn, 1853.
[143] "The Riming Poem," Cod. Exon. ed. Thorpe, p. 352.
[144] Stubbs, "St. Dunstan," Preface.