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قراءة كتاب The Old English Physiologus
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
animals—when once the music has ceased.
Even so the Lord God, the Giver of joy, is gracious to all creatures, to every order of them, save only the dragon, the source of venom, that ancient enemy whom he bound in the abyss of torments; shackling him with fiery fetters, and loading him with dire constraints, he arose from darkness on the third day after he, the Lord of angels, the Bestower of victory, had for three nights endured death on our behalf. That was a sweet perfume throughout the world, winsome and entrancing. Henceforth,
on healfa gehwone, hēapum þrungon
geond ealne ymbhwyrft eorþan scēat[a].
Swā se snottra gecwæð Sanctus Paulus:
70 ‘Monigfealde sind geond middangeard
gōd ungnȳðe þe ūs tō giefe dǣleð
and tō feorhnere Fæder ælmihtig,
and se ānga Hyht ealra gesceafta
uppe ge niþre.’ Þæt is æþele stenc.
From every side all men whose hearts were true,
Throughout the regions of the circled earth.
Thus spoke the wise St. Paul: ‘In all the world
His gifts are many, which he gives to us
For our salvation with unstinting hand,
Almighty Father, he, the only Hope
Of all in heaven or here below on earth.’
This is that noble fragrance, rare and sweet,
Which draws all men to seek it from afar.
through the whole extent of earth’s regions, righteous men have streamed in multitudes from every side to that fragrance. As said the wise St. Paul: ‘Manifold over the world are the lavish bounties which the Father almighty, the Hope of all creatures above and below, bestows on us as grace and salvation.’ That, too, is a sweet odor.
II
The Whale (Asp-Turtle)
Nū ic fitte gēn ymb fisca cynn Is þæs hīw gelīc hrēofum stāne, |
Now will I spur again my wit, and use Dun, like rough stone in color, as he floats |
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 |
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and þonne in þæt ēglond ūp gewītað On þām ēalonde ǣled weccað, dēofla wīse, þæt hī droht[i]ende |
The weary-hearted sailors mount the isle, Elated, on the sands they build a fire, Of demons, devils’ wiles: to hide their power, |
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 |