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Here is a vast fire
above and underneath;
never did I see

a loathier landskip;

the flame abateth not,

hot over hell.

Me hath the clasping of these rings

this hard polished band,

impeded in my course,

debarred me from my way.

My feet are bound,

my hands manacled;

Of these hell doors are

the ways obstructed;

so that with aught I can not
from these limb-bonds escape.

About me lie

huge gratings

of hard iron,

forged with heat,

with which me God

hath fastened by the neck.

Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind,

and that he knew also,

the Lord of hosts,

that should us through Adam

evil befall,

About the realm of heaven,

where I had power of my hands.

The specimen of Cadmon's writing here given, may serve as a general one of Anglo-Saxon poetry. It will be observed that it is neither in measured feet, like Latin verse, nor rhymed, but that the only peculiarity which distinguishes it from prose, is a regular alliteration in the original, so arranged that in every couplet there should be two principal words in the line beginning with the same letter, and that this letter must also be the initial of the first word on which the stress of the voice falls in the second line.

A few more names of inferior order, such as Aldhelm, Abbot of Malmsberry, Coilfrid, Abbot of Wearmouth, and Felix of Croyland, bring down the list of Anglo-Saxon writers to the celebrated John of Beverly, and the venerable Bede.

John of Beverly was descended from a noble family, and was born at Harpham in Northumberland, near the middle of the seventh century. The evidence of genius which he early evinced, attracting the attention of the Archbishop of Canterbury, he was instructed in the learned languages by that prelate in person; and such was the rapidity of his attainments, that he soon came to be esteemed one of the first scholars of the age. On his return to his native country, 685, he was preferred by Alfred, king of Northumberland, to the see of Haxam; and in 687, two years after

ward, he was translated by the same prince to the Archbishopric of York. In this exalted position, Beverly continued for many years to exert all the energies of his capacious and accomplished mind toward the improvement of the see over which he presided, and the clergy who were under his control.

In 704, Beverly, in order that he might the more effectually further the great objects of instruction which he had in view, founded, in the town of Beverly, a college for secular priests, which soon rose to great importance, and was endowed with unusual immunities. Among other privileges attached to this college, was an asylum or sanctuary for debtors, and for persons suspected of capital crimes. Within this sanctuary was placed a stone chair, which contained upon it the following inscription:-The chair of peace, to which what criminal soever flies, has full protection.'

After having governed the see of York during thirty-four successive years, he divested himself of his Episcopal character, and died four years after on the seventh of May, 721.

Many years after Beverly's death, Alfric, Archbishop of York, caused his body to be disinterred, and placed in a new shrine, richly adorned with silver, gold, and precious stones; and such was the respect which the place of his repose universally inspired, that when William the Conqueror desolated Northumberland with a numerous army, he spared Beverly alone-out of veneration for the memory of the eminent prelate.

Bede, and many other monkish writers, unhesitatingly attribute to Beverly the performance of many miracles; but this, when we consider the superstition of the times, is not at all to be wondered at, as the extreme sanctity of his life and character must have elevated him far above all his contemporaries.

Beverly was the author of several literary productions, many of which were works of much merit, but as they were all written in the Latin language, a more particular notice of them does not fall within our present province.

BEDE, the next writer of this period, in the order of time, was born 672, at Wearmouth, on a family estate, situated near the mouth of the Tyne. His precocious intellect induced his parents to send him in 679, when he was only seven years of age, to the monastery of St. Peters, to receive his education. He remained at this monastery twelve years; and during that period his literary attainments were so remarkable, that attracting the attention of Beverly, now Archbishop of York, he was ordained by that prelate into the order of deacon at the early age of nineteen.

Bede did not, however, immediately enter upon his religious functions, but still remained attached to his monastery, prosecuting his literary studies with such ardor, that within comparatively a few years, he became one of the most eminent scholars of the age.

In the thirtieth year of his age, Beda was elevated to the priestly office;

and his scholastic fame having already spread over the continent, a mandate was sent by Pope Sergius from Rome, ordering him immediately to repair to the papal see, in order that his opinion and advice might be obtained upon some critical and important subjects, which at that period required the attention of the Pope's counsellors. Bede, however, resisted an order so flattering to his fame, and still remained in his cell for many years, ardently prosecuting his studies, until he had rendered himself master of every branch of learning then cultivated. His whole life was that of a religious recluse; and at his death, which occurred on the 26th of May, 735, he was buried in his own monastery, but his remains were afterward removed to Durham, where they were allowed in uninterrupted quiet to repose.

The literary productions of Bede were very numerous, comprising no less than forty-four distinct works, among what were a translation of the Gospel by John into the Saxon language, Scriptural Commentaries, Religious Treatises, Biographies, and an Ecclesiastical History of the Anglo-Saxons, which is the only history of the subject of which it treats, at all useful at the present time. In the collecting of the materials for this work, Bede occupied many laborious years, drawing them from the lives of eminent saints, from the annals of convents, and from religious chronicles written before his own time. The work was presented to the public 731, when the author was in the fifty-ninth year of his age, and its reception among the learned was such, as at once to place the writer upon a parallel with the early fathers of the church. The last literary performance of Bede was a letter to the Archbishop of York, which contains a very singular and interesting account of the state of the church at that time, and which was finished by an amanuensis at the moment of the venerable author's death.

Of this interesting author Camden remarks, that, 'for his profound learning, in a most barbarous age, we may more easily admire than sufficiently praise him;' and Bale also says, 'that there is scarcely any thing in all antiquity worthy to be read, which is not to be found in Bede, though he traveled not out of his own country; and that if he had flourished in the times of St. Augustine, Jerome, or Chrysostom, he would undoubtedly have equaled them, since even in the midst of a superstitious age, he wrote so many excellent treatises.' Testimonials equally flattering might also be drawn from the learned Seldon, the great antiquarian Spelman, and the famous Stillingfleet.

The two centuries which followed the death of Bede, were perhaps, with regard to literature, the darkest period that ever shrouded the British Isles, and the amiable and intrepid king Alfred, to whom our remarks have now brought us down, must therefore be emphatically regarded as a bright light in the midst of the surrounding gloom. In this prince, learning and authorship graced the royal state, without interfering with its proper duties.

ALFRED was the sixth king of the Saxon dynasty, and was born 848,

After a life of fifty-three years in extent, the early part of which was spent in the most severe conflicts with the enemies of his country for the national existence of his very kingdom, and the latter, covered with glory and honor, he died 901, and left his kingdom perhaps more formidable and prosperous than any other cotemporary monarchy.

Alfred is represented to have attained the fifteenth year of his age without having learned to read even his native language. But about that period his mind was aroused, through the assiduous care of his mother, by the recitation of simple Saxon poems, to the subject of learning; and in the course of a few years, he made those wonderful attainments in literature which rendered him both an able and accomplished scholar. When he became quietly seated on his throne, he, through anxiety for the improvement of his subjects, translated the historical works of Bede, and some religious and moral treatises, perhaps also Esop's Fables and the Psalms of David, into the Anglo-Saxon language. These translations are accompanied with frequent and appropriate reflections, some of which have much point and beauty. Alfred's poems are based chiefly on Boethius; but the original writer often merely suggests the thought, which the royal bard expands into symmetrical beauty. This is peculiarly the case in the odes that follow, the first and second of which were composed during his exile from his throne, and the third at some after-period.

A SONG OF SORROW.

Lo! I sang cheerily

In my bright days,
But now all wearily
Chant I my lays;
Sorrowing tearfully,
Saddest of men,
Can I sing cheerfully,
As I could then?

Many a verity

In those glad times
Of my prosperity

Taught I in rhymes;
Now from forgetfulness

Wanders my tongue,
Wasting in fretfulness

Metres unsung.

Worldliness brought me here
Foolishly blind,

Riches have wrought me here
Sadness of mind;

When I rely on them,
Lo! they depart,—
Bitterly, fie on them!
Rend they my heart.

Why did your songs to me,
World-loving men,
Sad joy belongs to me
Even as then?
Why did ye lyingly

Think such a thing,
Seeing how flyingly
Wealth may take wing?

A SONG OF DESPAIR.

Alas! in how grim

A gulf of despair,
Dreary and dim

For sorrow and care,

My mind toils along

When the waves of the world,

Stormy and strong,

Against it are hurl'd.

When in such strife,
My mind will forget
Its light and its life

In worldly regret ;

And through the night
Of this world doth grope,

Lost to the light

Of heavenly hope.

Thus it hath now

Befallen my mind,
I know no more how
God's goodness to find;
But groan in my grief,
Troubled and tost,
Needing relief

For the world I have lost.

A PSALM TO GOD.

O Thou, that art Maker of heaven and earth,
Who steerest the stars and hast given them birth,
Forever Thou reignest upon Thy high throne,
And turnest all swiftly the heavenly zone.

Thou, by Thy strong holiness, drivest from far
In the way that Thou willest each worshiping star;
And through thy great power, the sun from the night
Drags darkness away by the might of her light.

The moon, at Thy word, with his pale-shining rays
Softens and shadows the stars as they blaze,
And even the sun of her brightness bereaves
Whenever upon her too closely he cleaves.

So also the Morning and Evening Star
Thou makest to follow the Sun from afar,

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