A Student's History of English Literature (Barnes & Noble Digital Library)

PREFACE

THE problems involved in the preparation of a book like this are many; their solution is often a matter of experiment. In attempting A Student's History of English Literature, the writer makes small claim to originality in the method of his compilation. The admirable text-books of Pancoast, of Moody and Lovett, of Halleck, and of Johnson, as well as the older standard histories, have suggested many points of practical utility; and the writer hastens to acknowledge his indebtedness to his predecessors.

In the interest of clearness the author has adopted the simplest possible division of his subject—that according to centuries; and has relied upon the subdivisions of his chapters to emphasize properly the important literary movements of each period. He has assumed that as many as possible of the essential facts in literary history should be presented to his readers. Not only should the student become acquainted with the principal movements and epochs in our literary development—not only should he be given the opportunity to gain the comprehensive view that includes forces and influences which initiate and modify them—but he should also have before him what may be called the mechanical details of the subject,—mere facts of literary record, neither picturesque nor inspiring in themselves, but indispensable even to an elementary knowledge of literary history. The writer has, therefore, followed the biographical method more closely than some authors who have briefly summarized their biographical studies and enlarged the scope of their technical criticism.

The suggestions for study have been prepared in the hope that they will assist both pupil and teacher in the study of literature. In their preparation the writer has also kept in mind the not impossible student out of school who, without professional assistance or direction, is ambitious to become really acquainted with literature as well as with its history. In these suggestions has been embodied such analysis and criticism as seemed reasonable in a text-book of this grade. It is probable that the courses suggested will be found in some instances more extended than the time allotted will permit; of course the teacher will be guided by his own discretion in their use. Will it not be advantageous occasionally to base the exercise entirely upon these suggested studies without requiring in the classroom a formal recitation of the biographical details given in the preliminary sketch? The author will welcome all criticism based upon practical experience with these notes.

Much of the material used in sections dealing with the romancers and novelists has been taken from chapters in the author's Introduction to a Study of English Fiction, published by D. C. Heath and Company. In the biographical sketch of Walter Scott and the study suggestions upon Ivanhoe, similar use has been made of material included in the school edition of Ivanhoe published by Scott, Foresman and Company. The author has drawn also, in the account of De Quincey, upon the biographical introduction to his edition of De Quincey's Revolt of the Tartars, published by Ginn and Company. For the cordial permission of these houses to use this material, the writer desires to express his thanks.

CONTENTS

I. THE ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD

II. THE ANGLO-NORMAN PERIOD

III. THE FIFTEENTH AND SIXTEENTH CENTURIES

IV. THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

V. THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

VI. THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

ENGLAND IN THE ANGLO-SAXON AGE

REDUCED FACSIMILE OF A PAGE OF BEOWULF MANUSCRIPT IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM

FACSIMILE TAKEN FROM AN ELEVENTH CENTURY MANUSCRIPT

Containing an account of the wonders of the East.

FACSIMILE OF A PAGE FROM CAXTON'S SECOND EDITION OF CHAUCER'S CANTERBURY TALES

Printed about 1484.

THE INTERIOR OF THE SWAN THEATRE, ABOUT 1596

From a sketch, in the University Library at Utrecht, by Johannes de Witt, a Dutch scholar.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

After an engraving by Holl from an original portrait in Edward VII.'s collection, St. James Palace. Autograph from Winsor's America.

FACSIMILE OF TITLE-PAGE TO THE FOURTH EDITION OF HAMLET

In the quarto texts (1611). Reproduced from the original copy in the Boston Public Library.

FACSIMILE OF THE FIRST PAGE OF PARADISE LOST

Reproduced from an original copy of the first edition (1667) in the Boston Public Library.

FACSIMILE OF TITLE-PAGE, PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, FIRST EDITION

SCENE IN A TYPICAL ENGLISH COFFEE-HOUSE

From the heading of an old Broadside of 1674.

REPRODUCTION OF ORIGINAL FRONTISPIECE IN FIRST EDITION OF ROBINSON CRUSOE (1719)

CHAPTER I

THE ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD

I. Britain and the English.

II. Anglo-Saxon Poetry.

III. Anglo-Saxon Prose.

IV. The Nation and the Language.

BY the term Literature is meant those written or printed compositions which preserve the thought and experience of a race recorded in artistic form. The element of beauty must be present in greater or less degree, and such works must be inspired by a purpose to afford intellectual pleasure to the one who reads them or hears them read. Books written to give information merely are not usually included in this term; text-books, scientific treatises, chronicles, reports, and similar compilations hardly belong to literature; but works in which the imaginative power of the writer is engaged, those which move or stir the feelings and appeal to the sense of beauty which is found in every intelligent mind—these make up the real literature of a people. Such are poems and dramas, prose works also, in which these elements may find a place; works which are distinguished by the quality called style, and which reflect more or less of the personality which gave them birth. Hence it has happened frequently that books designed to inform have also partaken of these other qualities as well, and have found a permanent place in the literature of our land; such, for example, are the reviews of Macaulay, the political pamphlets of Swift and Burke, the histories of Gibbon and Hume, the narrative papers of De Quincey, the essays of Ruskin and Carlyle.

The history of our English Literature begins almost coincidently with the arrival and settlement of large companies of our Teutonic ancestors in Britain about 450 A. D.

I. BRITAIN AND THE ENGLISH.

So far as history records, the earliest inhabitants of Britain were a Celtic race, the Cymri. These people were not unknown to the Romans even in very early times; in B. C. 55 the island was invaded by Julius Cæsar, although at that period no permanent colony was established. In the next century new invasions followed, and for many years the island was a frequent battle-ground for the Roman legions as they advanced in their conquest of the world. Gradually their victories in Britain carried civilization well to the north, until the Roman frontier was marked by a great line of defense, crossing from the Firth of Forth to the Clyde. For four hundred years the Roman occupation continued. Britain became a colony; native citizens of Rome settled there, and their descendants remained. Permanent camps were established in places of vantage; splendid military roads were built traversing the island; the fields were tilled; the mines were worked; seaports were developed; the exports of Britain became an important factor in the commerce of Europe. Even the luxuries of Roman life were not lacking in wealthy fortified towns like York, Lincoln, and London. However, the legions were withdrawn from Britain in 410 A. D. in order to defend the empire in Italy from the incursions of the Goths; and the decay of Roman civilization began. The rapidity of its disappearance is noteworthy. Besides the solid paving of their famous roads and the remains of their massive walls, scarcely a trace of this domination is to be found. Only a half-dozen words remain in our language as the undisputed heritage of that long period to remind us that the Latin tongue was during these four hundred years the native speech of the rulers of the land. The names of many English towns, like Chester, Winchester, Worcester, Gloucester, Lancaster, and Doncaster, preserve the Latin castra, a camp; the English street (as in Watling Street, the name of an ancient Roman road running north from Dover to Chester) represents, doubtless, the Latin strata via, a paved way; while portus, fossa, villa, and vallum may at this time have supplied the words which give us modern port, fosse, villa, and wall. The native Celts had been partially christianized as early as the third century; by the beginning of the fifth the Church in Britain had attained a decided growth, and was an institution of considerable power.

Upon the withdrawal of the Roman arms, the southern part of the island was speedily overrun by fierce tribes from the highlands of the north, and by other tribes no less fierce from Ireland on the west. Invasions by the Northmen and by the Germans from the shores of the North Sea and the Baltic were frequent also on the eastern coast. Particularly these last, appearing suddenly and settling with their white-winged ships, like swift and merciless birds of prey, were a constant menace to the dwellers along the coast, whose homes they burned, and whose property they stole away. In 449 the Britons invited aid from one of these same Teutonic tribes, and in that year a colony from Jutland, under the twin chiefs Hengest and Horsa, settled on the island of Thanet off the coast of Kent. But the Jutes themselves soon turned invaders, and as fleet followed fleet, bringing successive bands of their kinsfolk, Kent also became their possession, together with various tracts along the southern coast. Perhaps because of the success of these first-comers, perhaps because of the crowding of vigorous warlike neighbors, representatives of two other tribes, the Angles and the Saxons, peoples nearly related to the Jutes, joined in the general migration of the tribes. Dwellers originally in the low-coast countries of North Germany bordering on the North Sea, inhabiting a part of the Danish peninsula and territory extending westward as far as the mouth of the Emms, a region beset with fog and damp, and constantly exposed to the incursions of the sea, the life of these hardy Teutons was one continuous struggle with storm and flood. No wonder that in their eyes the island of Britain appeared a bright and winsome land, or that they were attracted to its sunnier shore. The ocean ways had long been familiar to them, and for generations before the final movement their adventurous bands of sea-rovers had pillaged and harried the British coasts. These tribes had much in common: they were of one parent stock, their language was practically one, their social customs and institutions were alike. Their religion was the common religion of the north. The names of our week days preserve still the memory of their gods. Wednesday is the day sacred to Woden, the head of their mythology and the ancestor of their kings; Thor, the god of thunder and storm, is remembered in Thursday; Frig's name appears in Friday; while Tuesday takes the name of Tiw, the god of darkness and death. Prominent in their mythology is Wyrd, the genius of fate: Goes ever Wyrd as it will, declares the hero of the epic Beowulf. Yet, pagans though they were, savage to cruelty in feud and war, boastful of speech, heavy eaters and deep drinkers, our Teutonic forefathers were at the same time a sturdy, healthful race, maintaining customs that were honest and wholesome, morally sound, and in many ways superior to the more cultured peoples of southern Europe.

As we have seen, the Jutes populated the eastern county of Kent; they also established settlements here and there on the southern coast. The Angles settled in the country north of that occupied by the Jutes, and built up a great kingdom known as East Anglia, a division of which into Northfolk and Southfolk is still indicated in the shires of Norfolk and Suffolk; still farther north did this English conquest move, until even Northumbria was under the English power. Meanwhile the Saxons had not lagged behind their neighbors in the conquest of the island. Successive migrations of this people had already won more than a foothold upon the southern shore, and different divisions of the tribe shared in the possession of this part of South Britain. East Saxons ruled the district lying between Kent and Suffolk, which is now called Essex; to the south of them lay the domain of the South Saxons, who have left their name in Sussex; while the more powerful kindred of the West Saxons covered the territory as far west as Cornwall, and won in time the dominion of all South England, establishing the great kingdom of Wessex. Thus the history of Britain from the beginning of the fifth century to the beginning of the seventh is a confused and bloody chronicle of invasion and conquest. The Celtic race—that portion of it which was not absorbed by intermingling with the invaders—was enslaved or driven toward the west and north; those who found an abiding place among the mountains of the west were given by their Teuton conquerors the name of Welsh, or strangers. At the beginning of the ninth century there were four principal divisions of the English people: there were (1) the English of the north, covering the whole of Northumberland, and (2) the English of East Anglia in Norfolk and Suffolk; Kent was fairly included within the borders of (3) the West Saxons, while (4) the central division of the island, also Anglian, surrounded on three sides by these other kingdoms, and on the west by the Welsh, was known as Mercia, the country of the March, or the border.

During the ninth century a new spoiler appeared on the English coasts. The Danes began their forays on these earlier invaders, and the English peoples, who for two hundred years had been contending among themselves for leadership, were finally united into one nation under Ecgberht, King of the West Saxons, and still more securely under the great King Alfred (871–901) through the force of a common peril and common need.

These long centuries of conquest and adjustment in the history of these related German tribes may be designated as the Anglo-Saxon Period; it extends from the arrival of Hengest and Horsa in 449 to the invasion of the Normans under William in 1066, and thus covers the space of a little more than six hundred years.

ENGLAND IN THE ANGLO-SAXON AGE

II. ANGLO-SAXON POETRY.

These fair-skinned, blue-eyed English folk were, from the first, lovers of song and story. The very relics of their earliest art preserve the scene and spirit of their recreation. Fierce in fight, often merciless in the pursuit of a conquered foe, they loved the gleam of their own hearth-fire and the coarse comfort of the great Saxon hall, with its heavy tables and crowded benches. Here at night the troop gathered, carousing, in some interval of peace. The earl himself, at the high table set crosswise at one end of the huge hall, had before him his noisy band of vassals thronging the mead-benches. The blaze of the hearth-fire in their midst lights up the faces of these ruddy, strong-limbed warriors; it flashes on spear and axe, and is reflected from the armor, curiously woven of link-mail, which grotesquely decorates the walls, half hidden by shaggy skins of wolf and bear. The noisy feasting is followed by a lull. The harp appears. Perhaps the lord of the household himself receives it, and in vigorous tones chants in time with the twanging chords some epic of his ancestors, or boasts of his own fierce deeds. Perhaps the instrument is passed from hand to hand while thane after thane unlocks the word-hoard of his memory as he may. But most frequently it is the professional scop, or gleeman, who strikes the rhythmic notes, and takes up the burden of the tale; he has a seat of honor near his lord; to him the rough audience listens spellbound; he sways their wild spirits at his will.

"There was chant and harp-clang together

In presence of Healfdene's battle-scarred heroes.

The glee-wood was welcomed, tales oft recounted

When Hrothgar's scop, delight of the dwelling

After the mead-bout, took up the telling.

The song was sung out

The gleeman's tale ended. Spirits soared high

Carousing reëchoed."¹

Widsith, or Far-farer, may have been the name of such a singer, whose fame is preserved in what is apparently the very oldest of Old English poems extant. It is preserved in the so-called Exeter Book, a priceless volume of Anglo-Saxon manuscript, presented to the Cathedral at Exeter by Bishop Leofric (1046–73), still in the possession of the cathedral. Sometimes called The Scop, or The Traveller's Song, this ancient poem catalogues the wanderings of the gleeman.

"Widsith unlocked his word-hoard; and then spake

He among men whose travel over earth

Was farthest through the tribes and through the folks:

Treasure to be remembered came to him

Often in hall.

Among the Myrgings, nobles gave him berth.

In his first journey he, with Ealhhild,

The pure peace-maker, sought the fierce king's home,

Eastward of Ongle, home of Eormanric,

The wrathful treaty-breaker." ²

Hermanric, the great king of the Goths, died before the close of the fourth century; and if Widsith told his own story, as parts of the poem indicate, we have here a composition dating from the period before the migration, although the long catalogue of kings and heroes contains some names which mark a later generation and prove the interpolation of a later hand.

"Thus wandering, they who shape songs for men

Pass over many lands, and tell their need,

And speak their thanks, and ever, south or north,

Meet some one skilled in songs and free in gifts,

Who would be raised among his friends to fame

And do brave deeds till light and life are gone.

He who has thus wrought himself praise shall have

A settled glory underneath the stars."³

So Widsith concludes. A companion poem, dating apparently from the same early period, presents the scop in a more melancholy mood. This is Deor's Lament, the composition of some singer who has felt more of the bitterness of life, having been superseded in the favor of his lord by some cleverer scop, and now lingers late on earth after most of his comrades and patrons have gone.

"Whilom was I Scop of the Heodenings:

Dear unto my lord! Deor was my name.

Well my service was to me many winters through;

Loving was my lord; till at last Heorrenda—

Skilled in song the man!—seized upon my land-right

That the guard of Earls granted erst to me.

That, one overwent; this, also may I."⁴

But by far the most interesting and impressive example of early English art is found in our great Anglo-Saxon epic, three thousand lines in length, which preserves out of the distant past the mythical career of Beowulf, prince of the Geats. The form of the epic as we know it appears to have been the work of a Northumbrian poet in either the eighth or ninth century. It embodies various legends reported in earlier songs, the first of which were undoubtedly composed on the Continent, probably by poets of Angle-land. An interesting feature of this final version, which possesses the unity of the genuine epic along with the other characteristics of such compositions, is that it represents the work of a Christian writer who has sought to modify the paganism of its earlier narrative by injecting something of the religious spirit of his own time into the grim mythology of the older lay.

The title of the poem repeats the name of its hero. Beowulf is a typical champion, endowed with superhuman strength, sagacity, courage, and endurance; moreover, in common with the heroes of this type, he is foreordained to relieve the ills of those who have great need, and is always ready to respond to their necessity. The story is this:—

Hrothgar, the Dane, far-famed for his victories, for his justice and generosity no less, grown old in years, builds for his warriors a great mead-hall. There the gray-haired chieftain assembles his vassals for feasting and mirth; but an unheard-of horror comes upon Heorot, great hall of the hart, which Hrothgar has built. Out from the fens, when night falls, stealthily creeps the bog-monster Grendel; enters the new house where the earls after carousal lie asleep on the benches. One and another and another of Hrothgar's men is attacked and devoured by the demon; night after night Grendel devastates the mead-hall. No one of Hrothgar's thanes is brave enough or strong enough to cope with the monster. Heorot is deserted, and the old chief sits gloomily in his former home to mourn in silence the loss of men and of honor. Up in the Northland Hygelac's thane, Beowulf, young, bold, robust, already famous for a daring feat in swimming, and destined to be Hygelac's heir and successor, hears of Hrothgar's plight and of Grendel. Soon, with a band of chosen men, Beowulf travels southward, follows the whale-path, the swan-road, until his ship strikes the shore of Hrothgar's kingdom. The coastguard, first descried sitting his horse like a statue, gallops to meet the strangers and challenges their landing. Beowulf is conducted to Hrothgar and declares his purpose to kill the monster and free the land. Gladly does the Dane listen and generous welcome does he make for the Northmen. Night comes, and once more is Heorot ablaze with the light of the hearth-fire and noisy with the merriment of revel. Wassail is drunk, tales are told, bold boasts are made; but hardly have the shouts died away, and the revelers disposed themselves to sleep on the benches, when the fearful fen-dragon approaches: he has heard the noise of feasting from afar, and now he steals toward the hall, laughing as he thinks of his prey. The fire has died out; the hall is in darkness. One of Hrothgar's men is seized and devoured. Raging, with lust for flesh aroused, Grendel grasps another in his claws; but it is the hero whom the bog-monster has unwittingly caught, and now Beowulf, roused for vengeance, starts up to battle with Grendel. Unarmed, the hero grapples with his enemy. The hall sways with the shock of the fighting. He clutches Grendel by the wrist; never had the monster felt a grasp like that. The muscles ache, the cords of the demon's arms are snapping, the shoulder is torn from the socket; the weary marsh-dweller gropes his way blindly forth, and weakly wends toward his foul home in the swamp-land. Grendel is wounded to the death. Beowulf rests after victory, and shows the hideous claw, his war trophy, to the Danes. Great joy comes to Hrothgar with the dawn, but with the night woe returns. Grendel's mother now issues from the death-breeding marshes, and invades the hall of Heorot. Once more there is wailing among the thanes, once more sorrow sits in Hrothgar's house; but once again Beowulf girds himself for battle. With his faithful followers, the hero now invades the fatal fen-land itself; he stands upon the shore of the mist-covered inlet where the marsh-demons breed. Strange and loathsome shapes appear, half shrouded in fog; nixies and sea-dragons sprawl on the rocks or beat the water glaring at the hero from the cloudy waves of the mere. Here Beowulf equips himself, puts on his best corselet, grasps the strongest brand; then he enters the dark water, presses down through the flood, beset by the sea-monsters, bruised by their shasp tusks, undaunted, down, down to the dwelling of the monsters, where the fierce she-demon waits. Meanwhile his men keep watch and ward above; gloom settles on them; doubt fills their hearts with dread. The day drags by; no sight of their hero. Still they wait, and silent stare on the sea. Now a commotion stirs the thick water; the surface boils under the mists; blood rolls up red through the foam, and Beowulf's men yield to grief and despair. But soon the grief gives way to gladness, for the hero himself emerges from the horrible flood, bringing news of the she-demon's slaughter and a new trophy, Grendel's head; this it was that sent the red blood welling up through the mere depths when Beowulf smote Grendel's dead body. Loud is the rejoicing; triumphantly do the Northmen give the Danes warning of their home-coming. Rich are the gifts bestowed by Hrothgar; great is the feasting. Then Beowulf's followers remember the home-land; the slippery sea-rover is launched, the warriors embark with their presents, Beowulf says farewell to Hrothgar, and steers north to Hygelac's kingdom.

Beowulf achieves another adventure. Now he is old: as Hygelac's successor, fifty winters he has ruled well and wisely; his land has prospered, but an enemy now destroys his men, and by night the land is laid waste. This time it is a fire-drake with which Beowulf must battle: and the hero goes forth, dauntless as ever, to meet the monster. But now his men prove cowards; the hero is left alone to fight with the dragon,—alone but for Wiglaf, who stands behind his lord's shield and helps as he may. Long they fight, monster and man; this is no Grendel, this fire-spurter. The fierce heat shrivels up the shield, the heroes are hard pressed; but at last Wiglaf disables the dragon, Beowulf gives the deathblow. But Beowulf, too, has been hurt and, though victor, lies sick of his death-wound. Then Wiglaf brings forth the hoard from the cave where the worm had so long guarded it, and Beowulf feasts his eyes ere they close upon the vast treasure he bequeaths to his people. The hero is dead: rear his funeral pyre! Upon the tall promontory, a beacon to sailors, friends burn the body; with the roar of the flames mingle death-chant and wailing.

Such are the stories that children usually delight in; thus in the childhood of our race was this tale told. Perhaps under the mists of their swampy, sea-swept land, the rush of the storm and the more subtle attacks of malarious fevers may be grotesquely and fancifully shadowed forth, evaded only by the courage and wisdom of some hero who builds the dikes or drains the marshes; but after all the main fact is that our Anglo-Saxon forefathers approved the qualities idealized in this hero of the epic, and honored in him the stout-hearted men of their race who contended not only with flesh and blood, but with those mysterious hosts, those uncanny powers of sea and air, whose existence they assumed, but whose nature and form lay hidden in the darkness of fog and night. The poem of Beowulf supplies many vivid picturings of early English life and manners; the hero of the poem is really the idealization of the Anglo-Saxon himself. That there is an historical basis for the myth is hardly to be doubted. The name of Hygelac is identified with that of Cochilaicus (a northern chieftain who was slain in battle about the year 520). In the latter part of the poem there is evidently a mingling of the story with the myth of Siegfried and the dragon of the Rhinegold, Faffner. Of the feats ascribed to Beowulf, the account of a remarkable swimming match described in the poem may easily be based on fact, and the incident of the hand-to-hand struggle with sea-monsters and the plunge downward to the submarine cave is not so wholly incredible as it might seem.

REDUCED FACSIMILE OF A PAGE OF BEOWULF MANUSCRIPT IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM

There is but a single manuscript of the Beowulf poem, greatly damaged by fire and age, now preserved in the British Museum. There are 3180 lines in the poem, and it is worth while to examine its form somewhat in detail. The epic begins thus:—

Then follows the genealogy of Hrothgar, builder of Heorot and victim of Grendel's rage.

The characteristic structure of Anglo-Saxon verse is illustrated in the passage given. The composition is metrical, although the number of syllables in one verse may vary from that in another. While there is no end-rhyme in these verses, there is a recurrence of consonants which forms a rhyme in the body of the verse; this repetition of initial sounds is called alliteration, and this is the most conspicuous feature of Anglo-Saxon poetry. The common type of verse is found in lines 4, 5, 7, 8, 11, where two syllables alliterating in the first half-verse are followed by one such in the second. The alliteration is a mark of emphasis always, but the position of these emphatic syllables is not uniform. Sometimes, as in lines 2, 10, a single syllable in the first half-verse alliterates with one in the second; such a double correspondence as occurs in line 1 is rare. In lines 3, 6, 9 vowel alliteration occurs, and this does not require that the vowels shall be the same. Read or chanted by the gleeman, a pronounced rhythm was imparted to the lines, emphasized by the pauses and the accents, which were strongly marked. Recited thus with resonant tones to the rhythmical twang of the harp-cord, this which seems so rude and hoarse became a vigorous, not unmelodious song.

The most striking characteristic of Anglo-Saxon poetry is the rough vigor, the intense energy, of its homely but effective style. There is virile strength and power in its movement, its emphasis, imagery, and theme. If one reads these ancient memorials of our forefathers intelligently and in a mood sympathetic with their half-wild, half-cultured spirit, he will be captivated by the sweep and power of their verse. The imagery of the early gleemen is rich in metaphors, metonymy, and personification. The ocean is poetically termed the whale-path, the swan-road; the ship is described as the wave-traverser, the floater, foamy-necked, like to some sea-fowl;⁵ the gleeman's repertory is his word-hoard; the sun becomes God's bright candle, heaven's gem; swords bite, the war-horn sings; Hrothgar is called the helm of the Scyldings. In descriptive passages the poet loved to let his fancy play about his theme, reintroducing the idea, but turning his phrase to let light fall upon it from some other side. Thus, in describing the hero's preparation for his encounter with the sea-wife, the poet says:—

"Beowulf girded him,

Wore his war-armor; not for life was he anxious.

The linked coat of mail, the hand-woven corselet

Broad and gold-embossed, should breast the deep currents;

That which the bone-chamber well should protect,

That his breast by the battle-grip might not be bruised,

The attack of the terror bring scath to his body.

But the white-shining helmet guarded his head;

This mid the mere-depths with sea-waves should mingle,

With treasure adorned should dart through the surges,

Encircled with gems, as in days that are bygone

The weapon-smith wrought it, wondrously worked it,

A boar's crest above it that never thereafter

Brand might it bite or battle-sword harm it."⁶

Naturally enough these early English poets were inspired by the deeds of warriors, and their work is full not only of battle scenes, but also of the imagery of war. In nature they were impressed by the elemental phenomena of storm and climate,—the descent of winter, the birth of spring. As they delighted in the narrative of conflict, so they loved to picture man's struggle with the sea and to sing of the ocean in all its varying moods:—

"The wild rise of the waves,

The close watch of night

At the dark prow in danger

Of dashing on rook.

The wide joy of waters

The whirl of salt spray.

There is no man among us

So proud in his mind,

Nor so good in his gifts,

Nor so gay in his youth,

Nor so daring in deeds,

Nor so dear to his lord

That his soul never stirred

At the thought of sea-faring."⁷

The reëstablishment of Christianity in Britain introduced a new epoch in English life and literature. While among the native Cymri there were many who had adopted the Christian religion, largely through the ministration of Irish missionaries, the Anglo-Saxons themselves continued in the worship of Woden and Thor, and in many parts of England the older native paganism of the Druids was still maintained. But in the year 597 Augustine, the Apostle to the Saxons as he was called, sent from Rome by Pope Gregory I., landed on that little isle of Thanet, where a hundred and fifty years earlier Hengest and Horsa had gained their first foothold on the British coast; by the end of the year this missionary had baptized ten thousand Saxon converts. He was consecrated archbishop, founded the Cathedral church at Canterbury, and died there in 604. Under the teaching of Paulinus, Aidan, and others, Northumbria was gradually won for the faith.⁸ Communities of devotees, where both men and women piously inclined gathered for religious fellowship and a consecrated life, were established, and in time became seats of learning as well as centres of religious zeal. Very ancient was the famous community of monks established by Columba, the Irish exile, on the island of Iona, off the western coast of Scotland; in a sense Iona was the mother of the new religious settlement at Lindisfarne, or Holy Island, on the bleak Northumbrian coast, where Aidan placed his seat. In 657, at Whitby, on the Yorkshire cliffs overlooking the North Sea, Hilda founded her community of Streoneshalh. In 673 a band of monks settled at Ely, in Cambridgeshire. Peterborough began the building of its great abbey about ten years later, and Jarrow, ever associated with the fame of Bede, had its beginning at about this time. With the growth of Christian sentiment a new spirit appears in Anglo-Saxon literature. Old motives are curiously adapted to the new ends. The glory of conflict still occupies the mind of the poet, warfare and bloodshed are still described, but the material is drawn from Hebrew history, or from the lives of saints and martyrs. The old fatalism of the Teutons is greatly modified, and the melancholy of the pagan gives place to the Christian's hopefulness and faith. Thus, in a long religious poem of the eighth century, we find passages like this:—

"I have heard the fame of a land far hence;

Eastward it lies, loveliest of lands

Known among men. Not easy of access

To many earth-dwellers, who this mid-region traverse,

Is this favored retreat, but far is it removed

Through the Creator's might from ill-minded men.

Fair are its fields, full of delights;

Fragrant with fairest odors of earth.

There is no land like this land; marvelous its Maker,

Proud, rich in power, he who thus planned it!

There is oft granted to the blessed together

Harmonies glorious, Heaven's gates flung wide open.

That is a winsome land; wide wave its forests

Green neath the sky. Nor may there rain nor snow,

Neither frost's bite nor fire's blast,

Neither hail's dart nor hoar-frost's blight,

Neither blazing heat nor bitter cold,

Neither hot wind, nor winter storm

Work wrong to any; but this wonder-land

Seemeth blessed and blissful, a-blossom with bloom."⁹

With the first appearance of this new motive in our literature, we make acquaintance with the personality of our first native English poet whose name is preserved,—the humble singer whose interesting story has been told by Bæda, or Bede, in his Historia Ecclesiastica, compiled within some sixty years of this singer's death. According to Bede, there was living at the Monastery of Streoneshalh (Whitby), in the time of the Abbess Hilda, who died in 680, a lay brother by the name of Cædmon. This man was of mature age, unlearned, and engaged on common menial tasks. Without skill in song or improvisation, Cædmon was compelled to keep silence when the harp passed from hand to hand at the evening merry-makings, where each was expected to assist in the general entertainment. Sometimes, says Bede, when he saw the harp coming near him he rose from the table and silently slipped away. One evening thus he betook himself to the stables, the care of the cattle having been for that night assigned to him. Here he slept, and as he slept some one stood by him and saluted him, calling him by name: Cædmon, said he, sing me something! But he replied, I know not how to sing; since for that very reason I have left the company, because I cannot sing. And the one who talked with him said: Nevertheless you shall sing to me. What shall I sing? he asked. Then that one replied: Sing the beginning of created things. Then Cædmon arose and sang in praise of God the Creator verses of which this is the sense: Now we ought to praise the Author of the Heavenly kingdom, the power of the Creator, and his counsel, the deeds of the Father of Glory. How He, the Eternal God, of all wonders the Author became; who first for the children of men created Heaven for a roof, then the earth, Guardian of the human race, the Almighty. This is the sense, says Bede, but not the order of the words which he sang.¹⁰

This was the vision; in the morning Cædmon remembered his dream and was able to recite the verses he had uttered while asleep. Hilda, the abbess, greatly interested in Cædmon's story, directed the unlearned man to come daily to the monastery, where the monks told him the narrative of sacred history. Then Cædmon meditated all that he heard and, like a clean animal ruminating, turned it into sweetest verse. And his songs were so winsome to hear that his teachers themselves wrote down his words and learned from him.¹¹ Then Cædmon himself became a monk, and inspired by this poetic fire so mysteriously kindled, paraphrased the accounts of Genesis and Exodus, together with many other portions of the Scripture narrative. Not at all from men was it, says Bede, nor instructed by man, that he learned the song-craft; but he was divinely inspired and by God's gift he received the power of song; therefore he never would compose fanciful or idle verses, but only those which pertain to righteousness, and which it became his pious tongue to sing. Many others in England began to write religious poetry after Cædmon's time, but none could compare with him. Such was Bede's judgment of this first poet of the soil, who sang because he was commanded. Thus has it ever been when the unaffected poetry of nature has its birth.

Aside from Cædmon, the only one of the Old English poets known to us by name is Cynewulf, a writer of great influence and a poet of genuine power. Yet Cynewulf's actual personality and the details of his life are so obscured by the shadows of a distant past that there is more of conjecture than of certainty in the accepted narrative of his career. His work must have fallen about a century after Cædmon's. We are assured that he, too, was a Northumbrian. Unlike the older singer of such humble origin, Cynewulf was from the first a mover in courtly circles,—in one of his poems he tells us as much,—was perhaps of noble lineage, at least a thane or a retainer of some high lord. With the experiences of the warrior he must have been familiar, for his war-scenes are realistic, and the spirit of the soldier speaks in the vividness of his narrative. A traveler who knew the sea and had been in distant lands, a scholar to whom the Latin tongue was familiar, a gentleman well-trained in the accomplishments of his time—all these Cynewulf seems to have been, withal participating freely, as a youth, in