Epic Poetry

"He from whose lips divine persuasion flows."

"Andromache! my soul's far better part."

"May I lie cold before that dreadful day, Pressed with a load of monumental clay!"

"Yet while my Hector still survives, I see My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee."

"The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy."

"'Tis man's to fight, but Heaven's to give success."

"Un faldestoed i unt fait tut d'or mer, La siet li reis ki dulce France tient. Blanche ad la barbe e tut flurit le chef, Gent ad le cors e le cuntenant fier; S'est k·il demandet, ne l'estoet enseigner."

"Eleventh-century chroniclers drastically revised early medieval history to demonize Muslims. A famous example is the beautiful eleventh-century poem Le Chanson de Roland, which depicts a 778 engagement in the Pyrenees between Charlemagne and the evil Saracens, describing an ambush by the deceitful Muslims in which the Christians valiantly defended themselves. Like Muslims, the Christians, too, could write poetic war propaganda. In truth, Charlemagne had already made a deal with competing Muslim leaders and easily took Spanish cities by a prearranged collaboration. But then, having not fought any real battles, on his way back to France he sacked Pamplona, a Basque city. It was the Basques and not the Muslims who attacked his rear column in the mountain pass. In reality there were not two all-powerful forces, the Christians and the Muslims, but many warring groups. Urban II unified the Christians by creating this myth of a single, all-powerful Saracen, which for a time was a great Christian advantage since there was no unity among Muslims."

"Tunc cantilena Rollandi inchoata, ut martium viri exemplum pugnaturos accenderet, inclamatoque Dei auxilio prelium consertum bellatumque acriter, neutris in multam diei horam cedentibus."

"Roland is ideal and universal, and the story of his defeat, of the blast of his horn, and the last stroke of Durendal is a kind of funeral march or "heroic symphony" into which a meaning may be read for every new hero, to the end of the world."

"[The battle of Roncevaux] should have been remembered as a humiliation. Yet it was not. For among the dead of Charlemagne’s army was an officer known as Roland. Although Roland scarcely merited a mention in the chronicle accounts of the battle, during the Middle Ages he would gain a form of meme status. His name became the byword for and archetype of the courageous Christian knight who died heroically for his lord and faith, fighting in a losing cause but emerging with the greater glory for it. In the eleventh century, one version of the many minstrel songs composed about Roland was written down in verse as The Song of Roland (La chanson de Roland). Today this is revered as the oldest surviving work of French literature, and although the world it describes bears little actual resemblance to Carolingian Francia (it is much closer to France during the Crusades), the story was no less popular for it. Describing the climactic moments at Roncevaux, the song tells of Roland blowing a mighty horn to alert Charlemagne to his desperate plight. The warrior puffs so hard into the instrument that his temples literally burst and blood spurts from his mouth. Later in the song, once all his companions are dead and he himself is dying, Roland summons his last ounce of strength to defeat a Saracen who was trying to steal his sword, beating the eyes out of his skull and laying him dead on the ground. Eventually, Roland himself dies, but before repenting his sins and joining hands with the archangels Gabriel and Michael, his last thoughts are for “the fair land of France, the men of his lineage [and] Charlemagne, his lord, who raised him.” Needless to say, this was all fantasy. Neither Charlemagne nor the unfortunate, real-life Roland could have imagined that a dismal defeat at the Pass of Roncevaux would have eventually inspired such a dramatic scene—let alone a foundational text in European literature. Yet somehow, for Charlemagne, even abject failure often contained the seeds of triumph."

""Deus," dist li reis, "si penuse est ma vie!" Pluret des oilz, sa barbe blanche tiret. Ci falt la geste que Turoldus declinet."

"Mult ad apris ki bien conuist ahan."

"Tere de France, mult estes dulz païs, Oi desertét a tant ruboste exill! Barons franceis, pur mei vos vei murir, Jo ne vos pois tenser ne guarantir."

"Rollant ad mis l'olifan a sa buche, Empeint le ben, par grant vertut le sunet. Halt sunt li pui e la voiz est mult lunge, Granz ·xxx· liwes l’oïrent il respundre. Karles l'oït e ses cumpaignes tutes. Ço dit li reis: "Bataille funt nostre hume.""

"Kar vasselage par sens nen est folie, Mielz valt mesure que ne fait estultie."

"Pur sun seignur deit hom susfrir granz mals E endurer e forz freiz e granz chalz, Si·n deit hom perdre del sanc e de la char."

"Rollant est proz e Oliver est sage."

"Dist Oliver: "Paien unt grant esforz, De noz Franceis m'i semblet aveir mult poi. Cumpaign Rollant, kar sunez vostre corn! Si l'orrat Carles, si returnerat l'ost." Respunt Rollant: "Jo fereie que fols, En dulce France en perdreie mun los"."

"Ā-lēdon þā lēofne þēoden, bēaga bryttan on bearm scipes, mærne be mæste. Þær wæs mādma fela, of feor-wegum frætwa gelæded: ne hyrde ic cymlīcor cēol gegyrwan hilde-wæpnum and heaðo-wædum, billum and byrnum; him on bearme læg mādma mænigo, þā him mid scoldon on flōdes æht feor gewītan. Nalas hī hine læssan lācum tēodan, þēod-gestrēonum, þonne þā dydon, þē hine æt frumsceafte forð onsendon ænne ofer yðe umbor wesende: þā gyt hīe him āsetton segen gyldenne hēah ofer hēafod, lēton holm beran, gēafon on gār-secg: him wæs geōmor sefa, murnende mōd. Men ne cunnon secgan tō soðe sele-rædende, hæleð under heofenum, hwā þæm hlæste onfēng."

"At the beginning, and during its process, and most of all at the end, we look down as if from a visionary height upon the house of man in the valley of the world. A light starts...and there is a sound of music; but the outer darkness and its hostile offspring lie ever in wait for the torches to fail and the voices to cease."

"Beowulf is in fact so interesting as poetry, in places poetry so powerful, that this quite overshadows the historical content, and is largely independent even of the most important facts...that research has discovered."

"Ic þāra frætwa frēan ealles þanc wuldur-cyninge wordum secge, ēcum dryhtne, þē ic hēr on starie, þæs þe ic mōste mīnum lēodum ær swylt-dæge swylc gestrynan. Nū ic on māðma hord mīne bebohte frōde feorh-lege, fremmað gē nū lēoda þearfe; ne mæg ic hēr leng wesan. Hātað heaðo-mære hlæw gewyrcean, beorhtne æfter bæle æt brimes nosan; se scel tō gemyndum mīnum lēodum hēah hlīfian on Hrones næsse, þæt hit sæ-līðend syððan hātan Bīowulfes biorh, þā þe brentingas ofer flōda genipu feorran drīfað.""

"Sƿā bið geōmorlīc gomelum ceorle tō gebīdanne, þæt his byre rīde giong on galgan, þonne hē gyd ƿrece, sārigne sang, þonne his sunu hangað hrefne tō hrōðre and hē him helpe ne mæg, eald and in‐frōd, ǣnige gefremman. Symble bið gemyndgad morna gehƿylce eaforan ellor‐sīð; ōðres ne gȳmeð tō gebīdanne burgum on innan yrfe‐ƿeardes ... Geƿīteð þonne on sealman, sorh‐lēoð gæleð ān æfter ānum: þūhte him eall tō rūm, ƿongas and ƿīc‐stede."

"Heald þū nū, hrūse, nū hæleð ne mōston, eorla æhte. Hwæt! hit ær on þē gōde begeāton; gūð-dēað fornam, feorh-bealo frēcne fyra gehwylcne, lēoda mīnra, þāra þe þis līf ofgeaf, gesāwon sele-drēam. Nāh hwā sweord wege oððe fetige fæted wæge, drync-fæt dēore: duguð ellor scōc. Sceal se hearda helm hyrsted golde fætum befeallen: feormiend swefað, þā þe beado-grīman bywan sceoldon, gē swylce sēo here-pād, sīo æt hilde gebād ofer borda gebræc bite īrena, brosnað æfter beorne. Ne mæg byrnan hring æfter wīg-fruman wīde fēran hæleðum be healfe; næs hearpan wyn, gomen glēo-bēames, nē gōd hafoc geond sæl swingeð, nē se swifta mearh burh-stede bēateð. Bealo-cwealm hafað fela feorh-cynna feorr onsended!"

"Oferhyda ne gym, mære cempa! Nū is þīnes mægnes blæd āne hwīle; eft sōna bið, þæt þec ādl oððe ecg eafoðes getwæfeð, oððe fyres feng oððe flōdes wylm, oððe gripe mēces oððe gāres fliht, oððe atol yldo, oððe ēagena bearhtm forsiteð and forsworceð; semninga bið, þæt þec, dryht-guma, dēað oferswyðeð."

"Sēlre bið æghwæm, þæt hē his frēond wrece, þonne hē fela murne; ūre æghwylc sceal ende gebīdan worolde līfes; wyrce sē þe mōte dōmes ær dēaðe! þæt bið driht-guman unlifgendum æfter sēlest."

"Gǣð ā Wyrd swā hīo scel!"

"HǷÆT! ǷĒ Gār-Dena in geār-dagum þēod-cyninga þrym gefrūnon, hū þā æðelingas ellen fremedon."

"In Caines cynne þone cwealm gewræc, ēce drihten, þæs þe hē Ābel slōg; ne gefeah hē þære fæhðe, ac hē hine feor forwræc, metod for þy māne man-cynne fram. Þanon untydras ealle onwōcon, eotenas and ylfe and orcnēas, swylce gīgantas, þā wið gode wunnon lange þrāge; hē him þæs lēan forgeald."

"lof-dǣdum sceal in mǣgða gehwǣre man geþēon."

"Necessità 'l ci 'nduce, e non diletto."

"Qual è 'l geomètra che tutto s'affige per misurar lo cerchio, e non ritrova, pensando, quel principio ond' elli indige,'tal era io a quella vista nova: veder voleva come si convenne l'imago al cerchio e come vi s'indova;'ma non eran da ciò le proprie penne: se non che la mia mente fu percossa da un fulgore in che sua voglia venne.'A l'alta fantasia qui mancò possa; ma già volgeva il mio disio e 'l velle, sì come rota ch'igualmente è mossa,'l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle."

"Nel suo profondo vidi che s'interna, legato con amore in un volume, ciò che per l'universo si squaderna."

"La tua benignità non pur soccorre a chi domanda, ma molte fïate liberamente al dimandar precorre."

"Da quel punto depende il cielo e tutta la natura."

"Di quel color che per lo sole avverso nube dipigne da sera e da mane, vid' îo allora tutto 'l ciel cosperso."

"L'uso d'i mortali è come fronda in ramo, che sen va e altra vene."

"La notte che le cose ci nasconde."

"La spada di qua sù non taglia in fretta né tardo, ma' ch'al parer di colui che disïando o temendo l'aspetta."

"Ed ènne dolce così fatto scemo, perché il ben nostro in questo ben s'affina, che quel che vole Iddio, e noi volemo."

"Quale allodetta che 'n aere si spazia prima cantando, e poi tace contenta de l'ultima dolcezza che la sazia, tal mi sembiò l'imago de la 'mprenta de l'etterno piacere."

"L'esperîenza di questa dolce vita."

"Or tu chi se', che vuo' sedere a scranna, per giudicar di lungi mille miglia con la veduta corta d'una spanna?"

"Però ne la giustizia sempiterna la vista che riceve il vostro mondo, com' occhio per lo mare, entro s'interna; che, ben che da la proda veggia il fondo, in pelago nol vede; e nondimeno èli, ma cela lui l'esser profondo."

"Tu proverai sì come sa di sale lo pane altrui, e come è duro calle lo scendere e 'l salir per l'altrui scale."

"Lo maggior don che Dio per sua larghezza fesse creando, e a la sua bontate più conformato, e quel ch'e' più apprezza, fu de la volontà la libertate; di che le creature intelligenti, e tutte e sole, fuore e son dotate."

"E 'n la sua volontade è nostra pace: ell'è quel mare al qual tutto si move ciò ch'ella crïa o che natura face."

"Tu stesso ti fai grosso col falso imaginar, sì che non vedi ciò che vedresti se l'avessi scosso."

"Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda."