Translated by Edward Moore, Ph.D
This is my effort to render into poetic English the surviving fragments of a lost epic poem, originally composed in Anglo-Saxon (or 'Old English') circa 800 CE. Only these two fragments survive, and they are written in an extraordinarily difficult style, likely because the scribe who copied the original was not a native speaker of Anglo-Saxon (the parchment leaves containing these fragments were discovered in the Royal Library in Copenhagen (seehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waldere for more information and references). The style I have adopted here is a sort of loose iambic pentameter (with some necessarily hyper-metrical verses) and as much internal alliteration as I could muster -- to try and preserve the spirit of the original -- without making the result ridiculous ... or so I hope.
I.
Yearning to hearten him, her[1] words flowed thus:
Surely the work of Weland will not betray
The man who wields Mimming, bears that mighty sword.
Many times were men felled by that fierce blade,
Their lives bled out on the field of battle.
Attila's lead fighter, let not your courage
Fail you this day! With valor fight and defend ...
For now the day has come, son of Aelfhere,
When you shall either lose your life or gain
Everlasting glory.
Never with words would I chide you, my friend,
For disgrace was never yours. No retreat
Have I ever witnessed.
To the walls you never attempted to flee
To save your body from the bloody fray,
No matter the numbers arrayed against you.
But ever further fighting you sought,
Battle beyond limit; I appealed to
The Almighty that you might not rashly run
To the sword's point, seeking yet more warfare.
With worthy deeds heap glory upon yourself,
As long as the Almighty holds you dear!
So do not distrust that sharp sword you hold;
To you it was given as battle-gift.
With it shall Guthere be given his due,
Since this strife was sought by him, unjustly,
Refusing as he did the gleaming gold,
The shining rings -- now shall be go ringless!
This battle he must abandon and set
Himself homebound, lest he go down to death ...
II.
"No sword is superior to the one
Which rests here in my jewel-encrusted sheath.
I know that the king Theodric once thought
To grant it to Widia as a gift
Along with gold and other adornments,
This because Nithad's kinsman, Widia,
Son of Weland, from captivity
Saved him; from the clutches of dread creatures
He hastened forth."[2]
Waldere the war-strong unlocked his word-hoard;
In his hands he held his grim protector,
Gripped it mightily and made his mind known:
"Listen, friend of the Burgundians, you
Foolishly thought that Hagen would finish me!
Take then (if you dare), war-weary as I am,
This corselet that covers my shoulders,
Alfhere's heirloom, of goodly design and
Glittering with gold. 'Tis worthy of a prince,
To save his soul-hoard from enemies' harm;
To me it will prove true, when unknown men
Meet me with hatred, seeking my demise,
As you yourself have done. Yet victory
Can be granted by God who is wise and
Well-versed in His own wisdom; he who trusts
In that holy one for help, turns to God,
He will be upheld, if a blessed life
He leads. Then lords, who rule over lands,
Will render rich reward to that hero.
Notes:
1. Hildegund, the betrothed of Waldere, is the speaker here. For the background story of these enigmatic fragments, see Jonathan Himes, The Old English Epic of Waldere (Cambridge 2009) of which a PDF sample is available online: www.cambridgescholars.com/download/sample/61038. Also, Francis B. Gummere, The Oldest English Epic (New York: 1923): http://elfinspell.com/Gummere/Waldere.html#topref10
2. The speaker here is Guthere, boasting of the superiority of his weapon to the famous Mimming, crafted by Weland, carried by Waldere. These lines are spoken at the beginning of their duel, the account of which is not, unfortunately, preserved in these fragments.
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