Anonymous Olde English
Biography of Anonymous Olde English
Anonymous Olde English Poems
Edward, Edward. A Scottish Ballad
'Why does your sword so drip with blood, Edward, Edward? Why does your sword so drip with blood?
Beowulf (Episode 01)
Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings, leader beloved, and long he ruled in fame with all folk, since his father had gone away from the world, till awoke an heir,
Beowulf (Episode 02)
WENT he forth to find at fall of night that haughty house, and heed wherever the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone. Found within it the atheling band
Beowulf (Episode 04)
To him the stateliest spake in answer; the warriors' leader his word-hoard unlocked: -- "We are by kin of the clan of Geats, and Hygelac's own hearth-fellows we.
Beowulf (Episode 09)
ME thus often the evil monsters thronging threatened. With thrust of my sword, the darling, I dealt them due return! Nowise had they bliss from their booty then
Weep you no more, sad fountains
Weep you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains Heaven's sun doth gently waste.
Beowulf (Episode 08)
UNFERTH spake, the son of Ecglaf, who sat at the feet of the Scyldings' lord, unbound the battle-runes. -- Beowulf's quest, sturdy seafarer's, sorely galled him;
A Pleasant Ballad Of King Henry II. And ...
Part the First. Henry, our royall kind, would ride a hunting To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
Beowulf (Episode 03)
THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene with the woe of these days; not wisest men assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish, loathly and long, that lay on his folk,
A Creature Is That Humane Flesh Deuoures
A creature is that humane flesh deuoures, From out whose bowels fatnesse may be taken, That being dried by fire, a certaine houres
A Robyn, Jolly Robyn
A Robyn, Jolly Robyn, Tell me how thy leman doeth, And thou shalt knowe of myn.
Beowulf (Episode 35)
'THEN he goes to his chamber, a grief-song chants alone for his lost. Too large all seems, homestead and house. So the helmet-of-Weders hid in his heart for Herebeald
Bytuene Mershe and Averil When spray biginneth to springe, The lutel foul hath hire wyl
Lord that is off myghtys most, Fadyr and Sone and Holy Gost, Bryng us out of synne And lene us grace so for to wyrke
IT was heavy hap for that hero young
on his lord beloved to look and find him
lying on earth with life at end,
sorrowful sight. But the slayer too,
awful earth-dragon, empty of breath,
lay felled in fight, nor, fain of its treasure,
could the writhing monster rule it more.
For edges of iron had ended its days,
hard and battle-sharp, hammers' leaving;