Tremulus Æscgar sends a Seynte Valentynes Message for Þu

Hwæt! Tremulus Æscgar is min nama! Ic eom what ‏þu yclepst poet, but meseemeth þæt hit bið bettir gif þu yclepst me scop, lyke what menn yclepeð poetes whylom. Maniye scopes dyd wryte of menn lyke Breca ond his swymminge, or the storyes of Widsið who vysited maniye kynges on sondry londes, or evene that olde songe abuten Beowulf, Ecgtheowes bearn, ‏who kylled sum geante ond his modor. Ic eom, pardee, a god Christen, ond Ic nolde wryte næfre of those heathenne guyes – ond soothly Ic ne thynke that those olde songes schall beth remembred, for thei beth ay about deeth ond fyghtynge. Thatte ys nat terribli interestyng.

‏Nathelees, Ic thynke that thys newe poesie, mid hire rhymes, ne beth whatte Ic wolde wryte, ond so ‏þu miht see that min songes beth differaunt fram those of Vostre GC. Min rederes, hit ys nat par chaunce! Ic haue min home in the norð, ond so Ic speke an Englisc differaunt fram thatte of GC. In facte, we met whan Ic wæs oon ‏þe roaade in Kent, travellynge to a puys – the which Ic thynk ‏þu miht yclepst a “poetrie smityng,” or somthyng lyke to thatte. Eek, min mayster wæs a scop also, ond he shewed me how to wryte in the manere of ‏scopes ‏who lyved in the dayes of Ælfred kynge ond halige Edweard. He wrohte songes of Arthure cyninge, ond hys cnihts, on ealle hira aventures. But, hit mesemeth ‏there beth songes ynogh þæt synge of werre – hit thynketh me þæt Englisc wæs ymaade pour Amor!

Swa Ic wolde wryte min songes newes ond pooste hem here, ywrit on ealde Englisc, ‏þæt ic hæfde maad lyke those ealdre songes, ‏þæt were sungen bifore the Frenssh cam to Engelonde. Gode Syr Chaucer hath sayde that Ic maeg poste here whanne Ic haue poemes newe – ond ic wolde sterte wið a poeme GC herde hymselfe, whan we met in Kent. Hit ys ycleped “Þin Leoð” – the which in ealde Englisc meant “‏Þin Songe,” on hit almooste ywon fyrste plaace! Ond as hit beth a songe of Amor, soothly hit is parfaite for thes feest of Seynte Valentyn. But fyrst, for manye ne kan the ealdre tonge, Ic wille gloser ‏min songe for þu, so thatte þu wyll nat be loste...

An povren ceorl ysyngen to his ladye love:

“Min gift ys min songe, ond this songe ys for ‏þu. Ond þu mayst ysingen thes songe, soothly, of yowerselfe. Ic nylle hit beth lyke a tormente for ‏þu, ond nu, as hit beth ydoone – Ic wylle ‏hit beth nat heteful to þu, thatte Ic sayde the which Ic hadde on min mynde – How blysseful hit beth, that Ic may lyve on yower healle. Full oft Ic, lyving aloone, aweited ‏þin mercye, for Ic nylle a blissyde thyng kepe as secrete. Ond there bið noone lyvnge sauwle who myghte hit seye to me – eower eyen: beth hem grene or blue? Natheelees, soothly Ic hit knowe: hie beoð the fayrest eyen on ealle the worlde. ”

Þin Leoð

Leoð min bið me giefe – ic wille gesingan to ‏þe

Meaht þu be ‏þe selfum soð-giedd singan

Leoð min nis nealle earfoðlic,

ac nu, forðæm hit gefremedon is –

Ic ne wille ‏hit beon þe laðlice

þæt ic sægde þæt þæt ic hæfde on gemynde:

Hu lif gesælig is, hwonne ic eom inne sele ‏þinre.

Oft ic anhaga, are gebide, miltse ‏þinre,

for-‏þæm gesæligne oft on min breost-cofan

ic ne wille bindan fæste, and nis nu cwicre nan

‏þe he meahte me cwiðan, oððe asecgan:

eagan ‏‏þine – beoð hie grene oððe hæwene?

Ac ic to soðe wat: beoð hie gesæligost eagena

geond wide worulde, feor oððe neah.

A Blisful Daye of Seynte Valentyne to ‏þu ealle!