Classic Poem

The year was the sixth of Constantine's sway
Since he was raised up in the Roman kingdom
To be battle-lord and leader in war.
He was eager for praise, defender of peoples,
Unto men merciful; his princely might
Increased under heaven. He was true king,
War-lord of peoples. God prospered him
In glory and might so that for many
Through all the earth he became a comfort,
Defending the folk, when against the foe
He took up weapons.
He was threatened with war,
Tumult of battle. The Hunnish tribe
And the Hreth-Goths also assembled a host.
Fierce in strife marched the Franks and the Hugas;
Bold men were they and ready for battle.
War-spears glittered and woven mail;
With shout and shield they raised their standards.
The men of war were openly mustered,
The clan was gathered, the folk fared forth.
The wolf in the wood sang his song of war,
Hid not his hope of carnage to come.
The wet-winged eagle clamored and cried
As he followed the foe. Straight through the cities
The greatest of battle-hosts hasted to war
In hordes as many as the Hunnish king
Might anywhere muster of neighboring men,
Mail-clad warriors. The mightiest of armies
Went forth to battle in bands made strong
With mounted legions, till in foreign land
They boldly camped on the Danube's bank
Near the river's torrent with tumult of men.
Fain would they conquer the kingdom of Rome,
Plunder and waste it. The approach of the Huns
Was known through the cities. And Caesar bade
Against the fierce foe's flying arrows
Summon the warriors straightway to strife,
Bring men to battle under the sky.
Straightway the Romans, strong in might,
Were weaponed for battle though their war-band was less
Than rode round the ruthless king of the Huns.
Then shields resounded and war-wood sang;
The king with his troops advanced to attack.
The raven clamored cruel and dark.
The host moved forward; horn-bearers leaped;
Heralds shouted; horses trod earth;
The army assembled, the stalwart to strife.
Then the king was affrighted, shaken with fear,
When he beheld the foreign foe,
The army of Huns, the horde of the Hreth-Goths,
Who there at the Roman Empire's end
On the river's margin mustered their host,
A countless force. The Roman king
Endured heart-sorrow. No hope had he
Of winning the battle for want of strength.
He had too few warriors, trusted comrades,
Against that overmight of stalwart men.
There the army encamped, eorls round their prince,
Near to the river for the night-long time
After first they beheld the march of the foe.
Then to great Caesar as he lay in slumber
Asleep with his train was a vision revealed.
To him appeared a beauteous Presence,
In man's shape made manifest,
White and shining, more fair of form
Than early or late he beheld under heaven.
He started from slumber, did on his boar-helm,
And straightway the herald, fair heavenly form,
Spoke unto Caesar, named him by name,
And the veil of darkness vanished away:
" O Constantine, the King of angels,
Leader of nations and Lord of fate,
Proclaims a compact. Be not afraid
Though these foreign tribes threaten with terror,
With hard battle. To heaven look up,
To the Prince of glory. There find support
And a token of triumph. "
Straightway the king
Opened his heart to the angel's bidding
And looked on high as the herald bade,
Fair weaver of concord. Clothed with treasure
O'er the roof of clouds he beheld the Cross
Adorned with gold; its jewels glittered.
The radiant Tree was written round
With gleaming letters of glowing light:
" With this sign thou shalt halt the hostile host,
And crush the foe in this perilous fray. "
Then the radiance faded faring on high,
And the angel with it, to the host of the holy.
The king was the blither, the captain of heroes,
And the freer from sorrow in his inmost soul
By virtue of that vision so wondrous fair.
Then Constantine, the glorious king,
Protector of princes and Giver of gifts,
War-lord of armies, bade quickly work
And shape a symbol like the Cross of Christ
As he saw that sign revealed in the heavens.
He bade at dawn, at the break of day,
Rouse the warriors to the weapon-storm,
Lift high the standard, the Holy Tree,
In the thick of the foe bear the Cross before them.
Loud o'er the legions the trumpets sang.
The raven rejoiced; the wet-winged eagle
Gazed on the struggle, the cruel strife;
The wolf, woodland comrade, lifted his wail.
Battle-terror was come. Then was crashing of shields,
Crush of heroes and hard hand-swing,
The slaughter of many, when first they met
The flying darts. Against the doomed
The stalwart fighters with strong hand
Sent storms of arrows, their battle-adders,
O'er the yellow shield on the savage foe.
Stout-hearted they stormed, fiercely attacking;
Broke through the shield-hedge; drove home the sword.
Before the legions the banner was lifted,
The war-song was sung. Helmets of gold
And spear-points flashed on the field of war.
The pagans perished; peaceless they fell.
Then headlong fled the Hunnish folk
When the Roman war-lord waging the fight
Bade lift on high the Holy Tree.
Heroes were scattered; some war took;
Some barely survived in the bitter fight;
Some half-alive fled to a fastness,
Sheltered themselves in the stony cliffs,
Beside the Danube defended a stronghold;
And some at life's end drowned in the river-depths.
Then the heroes exulted pursuing the heathen
Until evening came from the dawn of day;
Ash-spears flew, their battle-adders.
The host was cut down, the hated horde;
Of the Hunnish troops but few returned home.
So was it clear that the King Almighty
Awarded to Constantine in that day's work
Fortune in battle, glory and fame
And an earthly kingdom, through the Holy Cross.