The Old English Physiologus | Page 4

a land
That is no land. Still floating on the waves,
Their
ocean-coursers curvet at the marge;

This time I will with poetic art rehearse, by means of words and wit, a
poem about a kind of fish, the great sea-monster which is often
unwillingly met, terrible and cruel-hearted to seafarers, yea, to every
man; this swimmer of the ocean-streams is known as the asp-turtle.
His appearance is like that of a rough boulder, as if there were tossing
by the shore a great ocean-reedbank begirt with sand-dunes, so that
seamen imagine they are gazing upon an island, and moor their
high-prowed ships with cables to that false land, make fast the
ocean-coursers at the sea's end, and, bold of heart, climb up

and þonne in þæt [=e]glond [=u]p gew[=i]tað
collenfer[_h_]þe;
c[=e]olas stondað
bi staþe fæste str[=e]ame biwunden.
Ðonne
gew[=i]ciað w[=e]rigfer[_h_]ðe,
20 faroðl[=a]cende, fr[=e]cnes ne
w[=e]nað.
On þ[=a]m [=e]alonde [=æ]led weccað,
h[=e]ah fyr [=æ]lað. Hæleþ
b[=e]oþ on wynnum,
r[=e]onigm[=o]de, ræste gel[y]ste.
Þonne

gef[=e]leð f[=a]cnes cræftig
25 þæt him þ[=a] f[=e]rend on fæste
wuniaþ,
w[=i]c weardiað, wedres on luste,
ðonne semninga on sealtne w[=æ]g

mid þ[=a] n[=o]þe niþer gew[=i]teþ,
g[=a]rsecges gæst, grund
ges[=e]ceð,
30 and þonne in d[=e]aðsele drence bifæsteð
scipu mid scealcum.
Sw[=a] bið scinn[en]a þ[=e]aw, d[=e]ofla w[=i]se, þæt h[=i]
droht[i]ende
þurh dyrne meaht duguðe besw[=i]cað,
and on teosu
tyhtaþ tilra d[=æ]da,
35 w[=e]mað on willan, þæt h[=y] wraþe
s[=e]cen,

The weary-hearted sailors mount the isle,
And, free from thought of
peril, there abide.
Elated, on the sands they build a fire,
A mounting
blaze. There, light of heart, they sit--
No more discouraged--eager for
sweet rest.
Then when the crafty fiend perceives that men,

Encamped upon him, making their abode,
Enjoy the gentle weather,
suddenly
Under the salty waves he plunges down,
Straight to the
bottom deep he drags his prey;
He, guest of ocean, in his watery
haunts
Drowns ships and men, and fast imprisons them
Within the
halls of death.
Such is the way
Of demons, devils' wiles: to hide their power,
And
stealthily inveigle heedless men,
Inciting them against all worthy
deeds,
And luring them to seek for help and comfort

on that island; the vessels stand by the beach, enringed by the flood.
The weary-hearted sailors then encamp, dreaming not of peril.
On the island they start a fire, kindle a mounting flame. The dispirited
heroes, eager for repose, are flushed with joy. Now when the cunning

plotter feels that the seamen are firmly established upon him, and have
settled down to enjoy the weather, the guest of ocean sinks without
warning into the salt wave with his prey (?), and makes for the bottom,
thus whelming ships and men in that abode of death.
Such is the way of demons, the wont of devils: they spend their lives in
outwitting men by their secret power, inciting them to the corruption of
good deeds, misguiding

fr[=o]fre t[=o] f[=e]ondum, oþþæt hy fæste ð[=æ]r
æt þ[=a]m
w[=æ]rlogan w[=i]c gec[=e]osað.
Þonne þæt gecn[=a]weð of
cwics[=u]sle
fl[=a]h f[=e]ond gem[=a]h, þætte f[=i]ra gehwylc
40
hæleþa cynnes on his hringe biþ
fæste gef[=e]ged, h[=e] him feorgbona,
þurh sl[=i]þen searo, siþþan
weorþeð,
wloncum and h[=e]anum þe his willan h[=e]r
firenum
fremmað; mid þ[=a]m h[=e] f[=æ]ringa,
45 heoloþhelme biþeaht,
helle s[=e]ceð,
g[=o]da g[=e]asne, grundl[=e]asne wylm
under mistgl[=o]me, sw[=a]
se micla hwæl
se þe bisenceð s[=æ]l[=i]þende
eorlas and
[=y]ðmearas.
H[=e] hafað [=o]þre gecynd,
50 wæterþisa wlonc, wr[=æ]tl[=i]cran
g[=i]en.
Þonne hine on holme hunger bysgað,
and þone [=a]gl[=æ]can [=æ]tes
lysteþ,
ðonne se mereweard m[=u]ð ont[=y]neð,

From unsuspected foes, until at last
They choose a dwelling with the
faithless one.
Then, when the fiend, by crafty malice stirred,
From
where hell's torments bind him fast, perceives
That men are firmly set
in his domain,
With treachery unspeakable he hastes
To snare and

to destroy the lives of those,
Both proud and lowly, who in sin
perform
His will on earth. Donning the mystic helm
Of darkness,
with his prey he speeds to hell,
The place devoid of good--all misty
gloom,
Where broods a sullen lake, black, bottomless,
Just as the
monster, Fastitocalon,
Destroys seafarers, overwhelming men
And
staunch-built ships.
Another trait he has,
This proud sea-swimmer, still more marvelous.

When hunger grips the monster on the deep,
Making him long for
food, his gaping mouth
The ocean-warder opens, stretching wide

them at will so that they seek help and support from fiends, until they
end by making their fixed abode with the betrayer. When, from out his
living torture, the crafty, malicious enemy perceives that any one is
firmly settled within his domain, he proceeds, by his malignant wiles,
to become the slayer of that man, be he rich or poor, who sinfully does
his will; and, covered by his cap of darkness, suddenly betakes himself
with them to hell, where naught of good is found, a bottomless abyss
shrouded in misty gloom--like that monster which engulfs the
ocean-traversing men and ships.
This proud tosser of the waves has another and still more wonderful
trait. When hunger plagues him on the deep, and the monster longs for
food, this haunter of the sea opens his mouth, and sets his lips agape;

w[=i]de weleras; cymeð wynsum stenc
55