[4]Methought I saw a Tree in mid-air hang Of trees the brightest--mantling o'er with light-streaks; A beacon stood it, glittering with gold.
All the angels beheld it, Angel hosts in beauty created. Yet stood it not a pillory of shame. Thither turned the gaze Of spirits blessed, And of earthly pilgrims Of noblest nature. This tree of victory Saw I, the sin-laden one.
Yet 'mid the golden glitter Were traces of honor. Adown the right side Red drops were trickling. Startled and shuddering Noted I the hovering vision Suddenly change its hue.
Long lay I pondering Gazing full sadly At the Saviour's Rood. When lo, on my ear Fell the murmur of speech; These are the words The forest uttered:
"Many a year ago, Yet still my mind holds it, Low was I felled. The dim forest within Hacked from my roots, Haled on by rude woodmen Bracing sinewy shoulders Up the steep mountain side, Till aloft on the summit Firmly they fastened me.
"I spied the Frey[5] of man with eager haste Approach to mount me; neither bend nor break I durst, for so it was decreed above Though earth about me shook.
"Up-girded him then the young hero, That was God Almighty, Strong and steady of mood, Stept he on the high gallows: Fearless amongst many beholders For he would save mankind. Trembled I when that 'beorn' climbed me, But I durst not bow to earth."
There hung the Lord of Hosts Swart clouds veiled the corpse, The sun's light vanished 'Neath shadows murk. While in silence drear All creation wept The fall of their king. Christ was on Rood-- Thither from afar Men came hastening To aid the noble one.
Everything I saw, Sorely was I With sorrows harrowed, Yet humbly I inclined To the hands of his servants Striving much to aid them.
Now from the Rood The mighty God, Spear-pierced and blood-besprent, Gently men lowered; They laid him down limb-weary, They stood at the lifeless head, Gazing at Heaven's Lord, And he there rests awhile, Weary after his mickle death-fight.
Such was the paean of Caedmon, mighty among the writers of runes, in the seventh century after the Saviour's death. Now, twelve centuries later, it lived again, and the terrible event was once more enacted, just as the skald had sung, just as it happened nearly two thousand years ago.