THIS book is addressed to those intelligent students of English literature, whether under tutelage or beyond it, who have not been quite willing to accept the statement that Chaucer was the father of our literature and the creator of our language, and who have yet not been able to gratify their curiosity as to what might lie beyond, by reason of their inability to read the tongue of our pre-Chaucerian ancestors. We are persuaded that there are many who are quite aware that Beowulf was not the author of the poem which bears his name, who yet are uncertain how that poem compares in diction, in imagery, in character-painting, in variety of interest, and in loftiness of sentiment, with the Iliad, the Eneid, or Paradise Lost. We are convinced that there are those who are too well instructed to call Cadmon and Cynewulf Seedmon and Sighneewolf who still have no clear conception as to the relation, whether in bulk or character, borne by the extant poetry of the one to that of the other. We feel sure that there are those who would prefer to appraise for themselves the qualities of our oldest literature rather than remain in helpless dependence upon the dry or rhapsodical estimates of the current writers upon the subject. So long as there are educated persons misled into imagining the missionaries and civilizers of Europe north of the Alps as mere drunken savages or torpid churls, or into looking upon them as fatalists and ascetics plunged in hopeless gloom and continually occupied with images of the charnelhouse, so long there is need that convenient opportunity be afforded to revise such opinions, and to frame juster views concerning those ancient students of Latin and Greek, those patriots who fought with Alfred, those scholars who founded the empire of Charlemagne by arts, as he by arms. To this end their poetry should be rendered accessible. The prose can wait, if need be; but specimens of the better Old English poetry, translated, where that is possible, rather than traduced, should be drawn from the cabinets of professional scholars into the light of day. He who will should have some opportunity to read for pleasure that which may be well written; to admire what may be spirited, pathetic, or sublime; to realize the variety of theme and treatment within the four or five hundred years which the period covers; to compare poem with poem, and, if possible, century with century, or even writer with writer; to trace the relation between our older literature, broadly considered, and the later; and to do this unvexed, so far as may be, by misleading comment, while provided with brief suggestion on important matters, and especially with respect to the sources of fuller information. By two things, at least, this poetry at its best is characterized by the sense of reality and the instinct of The poet writes with his eye upon the object, but it is with an eye that admires, that discerns. reverence. spiritual qualities and meanings, with the eye of the soul no less than that of the body. Here is vivid apprehension, profoundly imaginative insight, worshipful awe, and sometimes a masterly restraint in expression. Here is respect for simple manliness, admiration for magnanimity, homage for divine tenderness and self-sacrifice. The range is not small-from characterization of a lifeless object, like a bow, to that of the terrors of Doomsday and the music of archangels; from the turmoil of ocean, which shouts aloud and groans in mighty pain, While sounds the tramp of floods along the shore, to the colors of an imaginary peacock, the fragrance of a blossoming forest, and the splendor of sunrise over the sea. To these poets heroic deeds are matters to be recounted with simplicity and sober enthusiasm, true kingship is sacred, the good things of life are to be duly enjoyed, the instinctive feelings of the breast before the mystery, the might, and the glory of nature are not to be restrained, while all is tempered by reflections upon an endless future and the due retributions attendant respectively upon evil conduct and right living. Here are pictured, or reflected, men bearing their part of life's burdens, doing the world's work in stoutness or humbleness of heart, not without consciousness of an infinite background for the performance, and infinite rewards for high service, yet with senses alert to sight, and odor, and sound, to the spectacle of an old churl tangled and tripped by the ancient representative of John Barleycorn, the artistry of a beautiful book, the gleam of armor, or the |