The Ruin (Part I.)

Anglo-Saxon Poem (ca. 750 C.E.)

Translation © 2015 Edward Moore

[Allegory is a neglected art nowadays. Chester, England, and the memory of She Who is Dearest saturates these lines: only part of the surviving fragmentary poem, which I plan to translate in full in the coming weeks, is plastered here today. -- E.M.]

Well-wrought were these walls, ruined by fate

Once proud work of giants pulled down

Now without roof, nothing remains

But pock-marked bricks, broken and strewn about

To tell of the great age when mighty men

Consigned now to the crusty ground

Made these monuments -- Alas! they are

Gripped by the unforgiving earth

Upon which now walks another race,

Until the long count of years

Overwhelms them too.

Many lives of men this wall outlasted

Battle-stained and storm-wracked

Withstood the onslaught of glory-seekers

But now it bows to the ground.