The Old English Physiologus/The Asp-Turtle
The Whale (Asp-Turtle)
Nū ic fitte gēn ymb fisca cynn wille wōðcræfte wordum cȳþan þurh mōdgemynd, bi þām miclan hwale. Sē bið unwillum oft gemēted, 5 frēcne and fer[h]ðgrim, fareðlācendum, niþþa gehwylcum; þām is noma cenned, fyr[ge]nstrēama geflotan, Fastitocalon. |
Now will I spur again my wit, and use Poetic skill to weave words into song, Telling of one among the race of fish, The great asp-turtle. Men who sail the sea Often unwillingly encounter him, Dread preyer on mankind. His name we know, The ocean-swimmer, Fastitocalon. |
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. | |
Is þæs hīw gelīc hrēofum stāne, swylce wōrie bi wædes ōfre, 10 sondbeorgum ymbseald, sǣrȳrica mǣst, swā þæt wēnaþ wǣglīþende þæt hȳ on ēalond sum ēagum wlīten; and þonne gehȳd[i]að hēahstefn scipu tō þām unlonde oncyrrāpum, 15 s[ǣ]laþ sǣmearas sundes æt ende, and þonne in þæt ēglond ūp gewītað collenfer[h]þe; cēolas stondað bi staþe fæste strēame biwunden. Ðonne gewīciað wērigfer[h]ðe, 20 faroðlācende, frēcnes ne wēnað. |
Dun, like rough stone in color, as he floats He seems a heaving bank of reedy grass Along the shore, with rolling dunes behind, So that sea-wanderers deem their gaze has found An island. Boldly then their high-pro wed ships They moor with cables to that shore, a land That is no land. Still floating on the waves, Their ocean-coursers curvet at the marge; The weary-hearted sailors mount the isle, And, free from thought of peril, there abide. |
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 on that island; the vessels stand by the beach, enringed by the flood. The weary-hearted sailors then encamp, dreaming not of peril. | |
On þām ēalonde ǣled weccað, hēah fyr ǣlað. Hæleþ bēoþ on wynnum, rēonigmōde, ræste gel[y]ste. Þonne gefēleð fācnes cræftig 25 þæt him þā fērend on fæste wuniaþ, wīc weardiað, wedres on luste, ðonne semninga on sealtne wǣg mid þā nōþe niþer gewīteþ, gārsecges gæst, grund gesēceð, 30 and þonne in dēaðsele drence bifæsteð scipu mid scealcum. |
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. |
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. | |
Swā bið scinn[en]a þēaw, dēofla wīse, þæt hī droht[i]ende þurh dyrne meaht duguðe beswīcað, and on teosu tyhtaþ tilra dǣda, 35 wēmað on willan, þæt hȳ wraþe sēcen, frōfre tō fēondum, oþþæt hy fæste ðǣr æt þām wǣrlogan wīc gecēosað. Þonne þæt gecnāweð of cwicsūsle flāh fēond gemāh, þætte fīra gehwylc 40 hæleþa cynnes on his hringe biþ fæste gefēged, hē him feorgbona, þurh slīþen searo, siþþan weorþeð, wloncum and hēanum þe his willan hēr firenum fremmað; mid þām hē fǣringa, 45 heoloþhelme biþeaht, helle sēceð, gōda gēasne, grundlēasne wylm under mistglōme, swā se micla hwæl se þe bisenceð sǣlīþende eorlas and ȳðmearas. |
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 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. |
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 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. | |
Hē hafað ōþre gecynd, 50 wæterþisa wlonc, wrǣtlīcran gīen. Þonne hine on holme hunger bysgað, and þone āglǣcan ǣtes lysteþ, ðonne se mereweard mūð ontȳneð, wīde weleras; cymeð wynsum stenc 55 of his innoþe, þætte ōþre þurh þone, sǣfisca cynn, beswicen weorðaþ. Swimmað sundhwate þǣr se swēta stenc ūt gewīt[e]ð. Hī þǣr in farað, unware weorude, oþþæt se wīda ceafl 60 gefylled bið; þonne fǣringa ymbe þā herehūþe hlemmeð tōgædre grimme gōman. |
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 His monstrous lips; and from his cavernous maw Sends an entrancing odor. This sweet scent, Deceiving other fishes, lures them on In swiftly moving schools toward that fell place Whence comes the perfume. There, unwary host, They enter in, until the yawning mouth Is filled to overflowing, when, at once, Trapping their prey, the fearful jaws snap shut. |
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; whereupon there issues a ravishing perfume from his inwards, by which other kinds of fish are beguiled. With lively motions they swim to where the sweet odor comes forth, and there enter in, a heedless host, until the wide gorge is full; then, in one instant, he snaps his fierce jaws together about the swarming prey. | |
Swā biþ gumena gehwām se þe oftost his unwærlīce, on þās lǣnan tīd, līf biscēawað: 65 lǣteð hine beswīcan þurh swētne stenc, lēasne willan, þæt hē biþ leahtrum fāh wið Wuldorcyning. Him se āwyrgda ongēan æfter hinsīþe helle ontȳneð, þām þe lēaslīce līces wynne 70 ofer ferh[ð]gereaht fremedon on unrǣd. Þonne se fǣcna in þām fæstenne gebrōht hafað, bealwes cræftig, æt þām [ā]dwylme, þā þe him on cleofiað, gyltum gehrodene, and ǣr georne his 75 in hira līfdagum lārum hȳrdon, þonne he þā grimman gōman bihlemmeð, æfter feorhcwale, fæste tōgædre, helle hlinduru. Nāgon hwyrft nē swice, ūtsīþ ǣfre, þā [þe] þǣr in cumað, 80 þon mā þe þā fiscas, faraðlācende, of þæs hwæles fenge hweorfan mōtan. |
So, in this fleeting earthly time, each man Who orders heedlessly his mortal life Lets a sweet odor, some beguiling wish, Entice him, so that in the eyes of God, The King of glory, his iniquities Make him abhorrent. After death for him The all-accursed devil opens hell— Opens for all who in their folly here Let pleasures of the body overcome Their spirits' guidance. When the wily fiend Into his hold beside the fiery lake With evil craft has led those erring ones Who cleave to him, sore laden with their sins, Those who in earthly life have hearkened well To his instruction, after death close shut He snaps those woful jaws, the gates of hell. Whoever enters there has no relief, Nor may he any more escape his doom And thence depart, than can the swimming fish Elude the monster.
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Thus it is with any one who, in this fleeting time, full oft neglects to take heed to his life, and allows himself to be enticed by sweet fragrance, a lying lure, so that he becomes hostile to the King of glory by reason of his sins. The accursed one will, when they die, throw wide the doors of hell to those who, in their folly, have wrought the treacherous delights of the body, contrary to the wise guidance of the soul. When the deceiver, skilful in wrongdoing, hath brought into that fastness, the lake of fire, those that cleave to him and are laden with guilt, such as had eagerly followed his teachings in the days of their life, he then, after their death, snaps tight together his fierce jaws, the gates of hell. They who enter there have neither relief nor escape, no means of flight, any more than the fishes that swim the sea can escape from the clutch of the monster. | |
Forþon is eallinga . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dryhtna Dryhtne, and ā dēoflum wiðsace 85 wordum and weorcum, þæt wē Wuldorcyning gesēon mōton. Uton ā sibbe tō him, on þās hwīlnan tīd, hǣlu sēcan, þæt wē mid swā lēofne in lofe mōtan tō wīdan feore wuldres nēotan. |
Therefore it is [best And [1]] altogether [right for each of us To serve and honor God,[1]] the Lord of lords, And always in our every word and deed To combat devils, that we may at last Behold the King of glory. In this time Of transitory things, then, let us seek Peace and salvation from him, that we may Rejoice for ever in so dear a Lord, And praise his glory everlastingly.
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Therefore is it by all means [best for every one of us to serve [1]] the Lord of lords, and strive against devils with words and works, that so we may come to behold the King of glory. Let us ever, now in this fleeting time, seek from him grace and salvation, that so with the Beloved we may in worship enjoy the bliss of heaven for evermore. | |