Hengist went off to All-Father's keeping, Wihtgils's son, to the Wielder's protection, Earl of the Anglians. From the east came, then, Cerdic the Saxon a seven-year thereafter; The excellent atheling, offspring of Woden Came into Albion. His own dear land Lay off to the eastward out o'er the sea-ways, Far o'er the flood-deeps. His fair-haired, eagle-eyed Liegeman and son sailed westwardly, O'er the flint-gray floods, with his father and liegelord, O'er the dashing, lashing, dark-flowing currents That roll and roar, rumble, grumble Eastward of Albion. Not e'er hath been told me Of sea-goers twain trustier, doughtier Than Cerdic and Cynric, who sailed o'er the waters Valiant, invincible vikings and sea-dogs Seeking adventure. Swift westwardly, O'er the fallow floods, fared they to Albion, Would look for the land that liegemen-kinsmen Of Hengist and Horsa and high-mooded Aella And Cissa had come to. Cerdic was mighty, Earl of the Saxons. His excellent barks, His five good floats, fanned by the breezes, Gliding the waters were wafted to Albion, Ocean-encircled isle of the sea-waves, Delightsomest of lands. Lay then at anchor The five good keels close to the sea-shore; The swans of the sea sat on the water Close by the cliff-edge. The clever folk-leader Was boastful and blithesome, brave-mooded Saxon, Said to his earlmen: "Excellent thanes True-hearted, trusty table-companions, See the good land the loving, generous Gods have given you: go, seize on it. I and my son have sailed westwardly, To gain with our swords such goodly possessions As Hengist and Aella did erstwhile win On the island of Albion. On to the battle, The foe confronteth us." Folk of the island, Earlmen of Albion, angry-mooded, then, Stood stoutly there, striving to hurl them Off in the ocean east to the mainland, Back o'er the billows. Bravely Albion's Fearless defenders fought with the stranger Then and thereafter: early did Cerdic See and declare that slowly, bloodily, And foot by foot, must the folk of the Saxons Tear from the Welsh their well-lovèd, blithesome, Beautiful fatherland. Brave were the men that So long could repel the puissant, fearless Sons of the Saxons that had sailed o'er the oceans To do or to die, doughty, invincible Earls of the east. The excellent kinsmen, Father and son, scions of Woden, Burned in their spirit to build in the south the Greatest of kingdoms: 't was granted to Cerdic To be first of the famous folk-lords of Wessex, Land-chiefs belovèd; to lead, herald the World-famous roll of the wise, eminent Athelings of Wessex, where Egbert and Ethelwulf, Alfred and Edward, ever resplendently, Spaciously shine, shepherds of peoples, Excellent athelings, and Athelstan, Godwin And Harold the hero, helms of the Saxons, Have their names written in record of glory In legend and story, leaving their fame as an Honor forever to England, peerless Mother of heroes.--The men of the east Slowly, bloodily builded a kingdom Where Aesc and Aella not e'er had been able To bear their banners, though both these athelings Were in might marvellous, mood-brave, heroic Leaders of liegemen.--Beloved of the Welsh Was the atheling Arthur, excellent, valiant Lord of the Silurians, land-prince, warrior Famed 'mid the races. He rued bitterly That father and son, Saxon invaders, To the left and right were wresting, tearing From races no few their fond-lovèd, blood-bought Homesteads and manors, were hacking and sacking Folk of the southland, and far westwardly Had bitterly banished the best of the heroes And earlmen of Albion. Arthur was mighty, Uther Pendragon's offspring belovèd, His fame far-reaching. Afar and anear then, All men of Albion honored and loved him; Sent over Severn beseeching the mighty Silurian leader no longer to tarry In crushing the foemen, but quickly to drive them Back to their bottomless bogs in the eastward O'er the rime-cold sea; said wailingly: "The fierce, pitiless folk of the eastward, Mighty, remorseless men of the waters, Treacherous, terrible, will take speedily Our name and nation, and naught will be left us But to dare and to die." The doughty, invincible Atheling Arthur, earl of Siluria, Offspring of Uther, early was ready; Feared not, failed not, fared on his journey Seeking for Cerdic. Severn's waters Saw him and laughed, little expecting That Arthur the king and the excellent knights Of the Table Round, with troopers a-many, Would suffer the foemen to seize and possess the Lands of Siluria, would let the remorseless, Implacable, pitiless pagan and heathen Sail over Severn; not soon did it happen While Arthur the atheling his earth-joys tasted Here under heaven. That hero was brave, Great, all-glorious: God fought for him: Nor Cerdic nor Cynric could soon injure that Hero of Heaven; his horrible destiny Wyrd the weaver wove in her eerie, Mysterious meshes, mighty, taciturn Goddess of gods: she gives whom she will to Speed in the battle. Brave-mooded Arthur, Offspring of Uther, was eager for glory, Peerless of prowess: proudly, dauntlessly Fought he for Albion. Not e'er heard I Of better battle-knight, more bold, fearless, That sun ever shone on: the sheen of his glory With lustre illumined the land where his mother Gave birth to the bairn; and broad, mighty, Spacious his fame was; his splendid achievements Were known to all nations. None could e'er dare to Cope with that hero, till the conquering, dauntless Earl of the Anglians, ever-belovèd Founder of freedom and father of kings, O'er the seas sailing, slowly, bloodily Builded the best and broadest of kingdoms Heroes e'er heard of. The heart of king Arthur Was sad as he saw the Saxon invader How, foot by foot, forward, onward, He ever proceeded, eastward, westward, Far to the north, founding and building A kingdom and country to crush and destroy the Land that he long had lived for, thought for, Fiercely had fought for. Famed was Arthur, Wide his renown; but Wyrd the spinster Taketh no heed of hero or craven; Her warp and her woof she weaveth and spinneth Unmindful of men. The mighty war-hero, Atheling Arthur, set out on his journey, Laid down his life-joys; the belovèd folk-lord's Feasting was finished. Unflinching, fearless, Doomed unto death, dead on the battle-field Fell the brave folk-prince. Foul was the traitor, Hated of heroes. The hope of his countrymen Sank into darkness; for dead was Arthur, The last and the best and bravest of Albion's Athelings of eld. Not ever thereafter Could the Welshman withstand the sturdy, mighty Tread of the Saxon as tramping, advancing, Onward he went, eastward, westward, Far to the northward: none withstood him, Now Arthur was lifeless; he alone was able To stay for a moment that sturdy, mighty, Invincible march.--The valiant, doughty Kinsmen of Cerdic, conquering earlmen, Forward then bare bravely, unfalt'ringly, Daringly, dauntlessly, the dragon of Wessex Fuming and flaming; fearlessly bare it Northward, eastward, on to the westward, O'er Severn and Thames and Trent and Humber And east oceanward, till all the great races Of Albion's isle owned as their liegelords The children of Cerdic, sire of kings and Founder of freedom. Few among athelings Were greater than he, gift-lord eminent, Wielder of Wessex; the wise-mooded, far-seeing, Brave-hearted folk-prince builded his kingdom As a bulwark of freedom. His brave, high-hearted Table-companions, trusty, faithful Liegemen and thanes, leaped to his service In peace and in war: well did they love him, Bowed to his bidding; blithely followed him Where the fight was fiercest; would fall in the battle Gladly, eagerly, excellent heroes, Ere they'd leave their dear lord alone on the battle-field, Bearing unaided the onset of foes and The brunt of the battle. The brave ones were mindful Of the duties of liegemen; dastardly thought it To flee from the field while their fond, loving Leader and liegelord lingered thereon Dead or alive; deemed him a nidering Who stood not stoutly, sturdily, manfully Close to his lord as he led in the battle, Facing the foemen. The free-hearted earlmen Minded the days when their dear-honored liegelord Feasted the throngs of thanemen-kinsmen In the handsomest of halls heroes e'er sat in 'Neath dome of the welkin. Well they remembered How their lord lovingly lavished his treasures On all earlmen older and younger, Greater and lesser: 't were loathsomest treason To leave such a lord alone in the battle, With a foe facing him. The folk-ruler mighty King-like requited them with costliest gems, Most bountiful banqueting. The brave-hearted man Builded his kingdom, broadly founded it Northward, eastward, on to the westward, South to the seaward. He said tenderly, Cerdic discoursed, king of the Saxons, Father of England: "Old, hoary is Cerdic your king, kinsmen-thanemen, Warriors of Wessex. Well have ye served me, Ye and your fathers. I yet remember How, ere age came on me, I ever was foremost In deeds of daring, in doughty achievements, In feats of prowess. I fought valiantly Alone, unaided, with only my faithful, Well-lovèd sword, and swept away hundreds Of earlmen of Albion: now age, ruthless, Horrible foe of heroes and warriors, Hath marred my might, though my mood is as daring, My spirit as stout and sturdy as ever In years of my youth. I yearn in my soul, now, To cross over Severn and cut into slivers The wolf-hearted Welshmen. Well-nigh a forty Years in their circuits have seen me a-conquering Here under heaven: from hence, early I go on my way. Woden will bid me To the halls of Valhalla, where heroes will meet me, Gladly will seat me 'mid the glory-encircled Heroes of heaven. In my heart it pains me To feel my war-strength fading and waning And ebbing away. Would I might leap now Like a king to the battle, not cow-like breathe out my Soul in the straw. The son of my bossom, Cynric my bairn, bravely will lead you When I am no more: he ever hath proved him A bold battle-earl. My blade I will give him, Sigbrand my sword: he hath served me faithfully Sixty of winters: well do I love him, Bold-hearted battle-brand." The brave earlmen, then, Shouted lustily, loudly commending The words of good Cerdic. Cynric they loved, too, Son of the hero; themselves had beheld him How valiant, adventurous, invincible, king-like He ever had borne him, since erst he landed To fight, with his father, the fierce, implacable, Wolf-hearted Welshmen: well did they love him, And oft on the ale-benches earlmen asserted That, when good king Cerdic, gracious, belovèd Ward of the kingdom, went on his journey, Laid down his life-joys, his liegefolk would never Find them a folk-lord fonder, truer, More honored of all men, than atheling Cynric Surely would prove him. Shouted they lustily, "Wes hael, wes hael! hero of Wessex, Cerdic the conqueror," clanging their lances And beating their bucklers, bellowed like oxen, Blew in their shields, shouting, yelling Glad-hearted, gleefully. The good one discoursed, then, Cerdic the king said to his liegemen (Henchmen all hearkened): "Hear ye, good troopers, Of Sigbrand my sword. I said he was trusty, And bitter in biting. I brought him to Albion Far from the eastward. I fared, long ago, East over Elbe and Oder and Weser And thence to the northward, never wearying, Greedy for glory; 'mid the Goths found it, Old, iron-made, excellent sword-blade, Weland his work. Well I remember How I heard high-hearted heroes and athelings, My true-hearted troopers, tell how a dragon, His cave guarding, kept there a treasure Age after age; how earls of the eastward Said that Sigbrand, the sword-blade of Hermann, Was kept in that cave covered with magic, Encircled with sorcery, secretly guarded, Bound with enchantments. I boldly adventured A grim grapple with that grisly, terrible Fire-spewing dragon, to fetch to the westward The well-lovèd, warlike, wide-famous brand Of Hermann the hero. I hied o'er the rivers And off to the eastward: earls of those lands there Laughed when they learned that a lad from the westward Would dare the great dragon that had daunted their fathers Five hundred winters. I fared eastward then, Met with the monster, mightily smote him, To earth felled him; flamings of battle Horribly hurled he, hotly he snorted, Would seethe me in poison. Wtih the point of my blade I proudly did prick him. Prone he fell forward, Dead lay the dragon. His den was no more A horror to heroes; hastened I in, then, To joy in the sight of jewels and treasures And song-famous swords that had slept on the wall there From earliest eras, edge-keen, famous, Magic-encircled swords of the ancients, Old-work of giants. With joy, saw I World-famous Sigbrand, sword-blade of Hermann, Men-leader mighty, matchless battle-knight, Hero of Germany. I hastily seized it All rusting to ruin; the rime-carved, ancient Sword of the hero was soon hanging then Safe at my side: it hath served me faithfully Sixty of winters, well-tried, trusty Friend-in-the-battle. When I fare, troopers, Hence to Valhalla, high-hearted Cynric, My fond-lovèd son, folk-lord of Wessex, Will take up the brand borne by his father And carve out a kingdom clean to the northward and Wide to the westward; the Welshman will cower And shudder and shake, as the shout of the Saxon Frightens afresh forest and river And meadow and plain. I shall pass on my journey Early anon: old and hoary, Death will subdue me. Dear young heroes, Do as I bid ye. Bear ye onward The banner of Wessex. Wyrd will help you If doughty your valor. I dare to allege it, That the gods have given this goodly, bountiful Land of Albion to the liegemen and children Of Cerdic the Saxon; seize, hold to it Forever and ever. Ye early will see me Lorn of my life-joys, lying unwarlike, Dead in my armor. I urge you, good heroes, To build me a barrow broad-stretching, lofty, High on the cliff-edge, that comers from far May see it and say that so did Angle-folk Honor the atheling that erstwhile led their Fathers of old in founding a kingdom."
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