resenting the people, assumed increasing responsibilities and rose to sovereignty.

Two impulses prompt the English writers of this period,the one impelling philosophical inquiries into the social affairs of mankind, the other inclining towards the study of nature. The age grew in moral seriousness, called forth the essayist and the novelist, and developed tendencies of thought which were destined to make the next age great in new lines of inquiry and in literary culture.

VI. The Modern and Victorian Period. The collapse of the French Revolution, and the failure of its theories, turned our authors to a study of primal conditions. Never has the human soul expressed its convictions and its aspirations more sincerely or in more varied tones. A fresh spirit and a free age have come to authorship. Poetry interprets nature, philosophy abandons scholastic forms and is practical. The energy and exuberance of the Elizabethan period is manifested in the Victorian Age of the English Literature.

1. The Relations of History and Literature.-2. Six Epochs of English History, and the Corresponding Epochs of English Literature.

THE FIRST PERIOD.

English Literature before the Norman Conquest.

CHAPTER III.

OLD ENGLISH.

OLD ENGLISH POETRY.

The Poem of "Beowulf." - The earliest important writing in Old English is the poem of Beowulf. It celebrates events occurring in Denmark, and bears traces of Christian influence. The only manuscript preserving the narrative was written as late as the close of the tenth century, but the action seems to belong to a time as early as the seventh. Although some scholars have said that the English county of Durham was the poem's birthplace, the story is probably an old Gothic saga, gradually modified in transmission by successive gleemen. The manuscript now in the British Museum was doubtless the work of a monk, whose writing is continuous, resembling a manuscript in prose. The poem has no rhymes, for rhyming was an unknown art; but alliteration,* the formal mark of all Old English poetry, lends its charm to the verses. The story is told in 3182 lines. Its recital must have stirred the courage of many an old Saxon banquet.

* See p. 49.

As the story runs, Hrothgar, King of the Danes, and his chosen subjects were wont to sit in his great hall listening to music, and drinking for their pleasure; but their joy was disturbed by fear of Grendel, a grim and terrible giant, who dwelt in the marshes of Zealand. This monster would come into the palace at times to see "how the doughty Danes found themselves after their beer-carouse." On the occasion of his first visit he slew thirty sleeping men. For twelve years he was the terror of the land. At last the story came to the ears of Beowulf, a viking who was noted for his victories over the giants of the deep. He resolved to cross the seas and go to

the relief of Hrothgar.
ised to fight the monster.
Grendel came, and began a ferocious assault upon a sleeping
man. Beowulf grappled with him and pulled off a whole arm,
so that he died. Then there was great rejoicing. But the joy
was soon dispelled, for the mother of the monster came to seek
revenge. Beowulf pursued her into deep, dark waters, where
he was seized and dragged to the bottom of her cave; but he
was able to let her soul out of its bone-house ("ban-hus").
Returning to his home, he eventually became King of the
Geátas, whom he ruled wisely for fifty years. The poem ends
with the death of Beowulf, caused by an heroic encounter with
a fiery dragon that had wasted his land.

Entering the haunted hall, he prom-
When the mists of the night arose,

Illustrating the quaint thought and the terse expression of the poem, we quote from the condensed and modernized version found in Morley's English Writers.*

"Then came from the moor under the misty hills, Grendel stalking; the wicked spoiler meant in the lofty hall to snare one of mankind. He strode under the clouds until he saw the wine-house, golden hall of men. Came then faring to the house the joyless man, he rushed straight on the door, fast with fire-hardened bands, struck with his hands, dragged open the hall's mouth: quickly then trod the fiend on

* Vol. I., p. 251 seq. See also The Story of Beowulf done out of the Old English Tongue by William Morris and A. J. Wyatt (1895). The text with glossaries and notes may be found in Beowulf, by A. J. Wyatt (1894).

the stained floor, went wroth of mood, and from his eyes stood forth a loathsome light, likest to flame. He saw in the house many war-men sleeping all together, then was his mood laughter. Hope of a sweet glut had arisen in him. But it was not for him after that night to eat more of mankind. The wretched wight seized quickly a sleeping warrior, slit him unawares, bit his bone-locker, drank his blood, in morsels swallowed him: soon had he all eaten, feet and fingers. Nearer forth he stept, laid hands upon the doughty-minded warrior at his rest, but Beowulf reached forth a hand and hung upon his arm. Soon as the evil-doer felt that there was not in mid-earth a stronger hand-grip, he became fearful in heart. Not for that could he escape the sooner, though his mind was bent on flight. He would flee into his den, seek the pack of devils; his trial there was such as in his lifedays he had never before found. The hall thundered, the ale of all the Danes and earls was spilt. Angry, fierce were the strong fighters, the hall was full of the din. It was great wonder that the wine-hall stood above the war-like beasts, that the fair earth-home fell not to the ground. But within and without it was fast with iron bands cunningly forged. Over the North Danes stood dire fear, on every one of those who heard the gruesome whoop. The friend of earls held fast the deadly guest, would not leave him while living. Then drew a warrior of Beowulf an old sword of his father's for help of his lord. The sons of strife sought then to hew on every side, they knew not that no war-blade would cut into the wicked scather; but Beowulf had forsworn every edge. Hygelac's proud kinsman had the foe of God in hand. The fell wretch bore pain, a deadly wound gaped on his shoulder, the sinews sprang asunder, the bone-locker burst, to Beowulf was war-strength given. Grendel fled away deathsick, to seek a sad dwelling under the fen shelters; his life's end was come."

This ancient and interesting Old English poem is full of the superstitions of heathen times, and yet it is a picture of "an age brave, generous, and right-principled." Many strange but forcible compound words, many highly imaginative metaphors, and five similes are found in this venerable poem. It has been interpreted as an allegory of the conflict which primitive men waged with the forces

of nature, the monster representing a poisonous exhalation from the marshes.

Cædmon's Paraphrase of the Scriptures.*- The next poem demanding attention was written about two centuries after the Angles and Saxons began their invasion of England, and after they had been won to the Christian faith. A monk named Cædmon (Kăd'mon), of whom all our information comes from Bede, was the first Englishman who has left us poetry inspired by Christian sentiment. He was the author of A Metrical Paraphrase of the Scriptures.

He was a servant at a monastery in Northumbria, where Hilda, a lady of royal blood, was Abbess.† Sitting, one evening, with a company of rustics, who were whiling away the time by singing and by recitation, his ignorance compelled him to be silent when it was his turn to take the harp and sing. Bemoaning his stupidity, "he left the house of festivity, went out to the stables of the beasts, whose custody on that night was intrusted to him;" and there in his restless sleep, as the story runs, a strange figure appeared to him and bade him sing. "I cannot sing," said Cædmon; "I have come out hither from the feast because I could not sing." Then he who spoke to him said, "But you have to sing to me." must I sing?" asked Cadmon; and the voice replied, "Sing the origin of creatures." At once an inspiration came to the ignorant peasant, and the words of his song lingered in his

"What

* A version of the Paraphrase, with a translation into Modern English, was published by Benjamin Thorpe (1832).

† Above the small and land-locked harbor of Whitby rises and juts out towards the sea the dark cliff where Hilda's monastery stood, looking out over the German Ocean. It is a wild, wind-swept upland, and the sea beats furiously beneath, and standing there one feels that it is a fitting birthplace for the poetry of the sea-ruling nation. Nor is the verse of the first poet without the stormy note of the scenery among which it was written. - Stopford Brooke.