ABSTRACT

One of the oldest and most important remains of Anglo-Saxon literature is the epic poem of Beowulf. Its age is unknown; but it comes from a very distant and hoar antiquity; somewhere between the seventh and tenth centuries. It is like a piece of ancient armour; rusty and battered, and yet strong. From within comes a voice sepulchral, as if the ancient armour spoke, telling a simple, straightforward narrative; with here and there the boastful speech of a rough, old Dane, reminding one of those made by the heroes of Homer. The style, likewise is simple,—perhaps we should say, austere. The bold metaphors, which characterize nearly all the AngloSaxon poems we have read, are for the most part wanting in this. The author seems mainly bent upon telling us how his Sea-Goth slew the Grendel and the Fire-drake. He is too much in earnest to multiply epithets and gorgeous figures. At times he is tedious; at times obscure; and he, who undertakes to read the original, will find it no child’s-play; particularly if he undertakes, at the same time, the Latin version of Grim. Johnson Thorkelin [gives a note with reference to Kemble’s adverse criticism in 1833:xxx].