Syllic wæs se sigebēam, ond ic synnum fāh,
forwunded mid wommum. Geseah ic wuldres trēow,
wædum geweorðod wynnum scīnan,
gegyred mid golde; gimmas hæfdon
bewrigen weorðlīce wealdendes trēow.
Hwæðre ic þurh þæt gold ongytan meahte
earmra ærgewin, þæt hit ærest ongan
swætan on þā swīðran healfe.
Sublime, the tree was, and I was foul with sin,
wounded and filthy. I saw the wondrous tree
become more beautiful, bound with streamers,
wound with gold; gems gathered
nobly covering the King's tree.
But through the gold I could glimpse,
though buried by sinfulness, that it began
to bleed on its right side.
wounded and filthy. I saw the wondrous tree
become more beautiful, bound with streamers,
wound with gold; gems gathered
nobly covering the King's tree.
But through the gold I could glimpse,
though buried by sinfulness, that it began
to bleed on its right side.
Currently, I am working on article on an eighth century Saxon poem for my other "blog", Echoes from the Gnosis, and just wanted to share a brief quote here from "The Dream of the Rood"; both in translation and in Anglo-Saxon. I do admit to enjoying this poem, which has somehow survived, partially inscribed on a broken stone cross in Scotland, and in a tenth century Italian book. The wording and imagery is powerful, strong, and spellbinding. I felt the need to share some of it here, short of going into the lengthy academic-esque discussion I tend to explore and entertain on my other blog.
MAY 2012 (Update): Since posting this, I have posted an article which can be found here.
MAY 2012 (Update): Since posting this, I have posted an article which can be found here.
