XXII. OF THE INNER MIND, AND THE OUTER SIN. Quisquis profunda mente vestigat verum,

Se the after rihte

XXIII. TRUE HAPPINESS.

Felix qui potuit boni

Sie that la on eorthan

XXIV. THE SOUL'S HERITAGE.

Sunt etenim pennæ volucres mihi

Ic hæbbe fithru

So, he can but little seck
For his own pride:

A fytte of song I fitly speak,
And nought beside :

A folk-beknown and world-read thing
I have to say;

To all the best of men I sing,—
List, ye that may.

A short metre, and one full of echoes, is that which is best fitted to the genius of Anglo-Saxon verse, so as to represent it fairly. The writer in the first instance wrote another version of this opening rhyme; but saw cause to reject it, as not being literal enough, and because for the metre's sake he was obliged to interpolate two lines. The reason why it is here below inserted is, (not by way of proof of extraordinary pains-taking, for the same sort of labour has occurred in other portions of this version, but) because it is considered by a learned friend as worthy of preservation. To the writer's mind, a sin against faithful rendering was fatal, and he prefers the more literal rhyme just already given to the reader. Here then is the rejected one:

Ælfred told to us

A tale of olden time;

The King of the West-Saxons thus
Shewed forth his skill in rhyme.

For long he longed to teach

His people pleasant things,

In mingled changes of sweet speech,

And many counsellings,

The dear delight of men;

Lest weariness forsooth

Should drive away unfairly then

The selfsame word of truth.

He thereby little sought

For any selfish praise;

[But of these people only thought

To give them good always.]

I thus will speak and say

What all the folk shall read;

List ye that may, and like my lay,

Let all the good give heed.

From the circumstance of the third person being used in these lines (a custom far from unusual with authors in every age and nation) some have supposed that Alfred did not write them. The truth seems to lie in the opposite opinion: not merely from the prevalent moral resemblance to Alfred's mind; as in that shrewd hint of the evils of dullness, in the eschewal of vain glory, &c ;--but chiefly from the text itself. After disclaiming self praise, recommending rhymes, and announcing the author, Alfred comes simply to the first person, Ic sceal sprecan,' I SHALL SPEAK : may be more learned to doubt, but it is far more sensible to believe.

it

This Opening rhyme does not occur in the Latin: it is a bit of original Alfred.

In this, as in others of these metres, there is a great satisfaction in seeing how easily they fall into modern rhymes, without a sacrifice of faithfulness. However, when (instructed by Dr Bosworth) we remember that of the 38,000 words of Modern English 23,000, or more than ths, are Anglo-Saxon, this harmony will appear less wonderful. But, what a pity it is that ANY of the fine old root-words of our tongue should have been forgotten for example, in this very Opening song, how is it we have lost 'myreg'-as good a word as 'pleasure,' and the root of 'merry'?-and gilpe,' vain-glory?—and 'spell' (not quite yet obsolete) story?-and 'list' (surely as good a word as art) ?— 'fitte' a song 'leoth' a poem,—and many more? We have of late years been throwing away, by the hundred, the stout old props of our strong north-country speech, and have substituted in their stead the sesquipedalia verba of Southern Europe. Nothing then can be more wholesome than to return for awhile to such good plain stuff as Alfred's stalwarth Anglo-Saxon: it is a right bracing air;-may the reader enjoy the sport as much as the writer. We have here before us fresh fields and a fair brooklet of English running water.