in Caedmonic poetry. I use the word "Caedmonic" to cover the
poetry which used to be attributed to Caedmon, and which was probably
written under his influence. That he did write much I have shown in
Chapter I.

I cannot give the poem at full length, but in parts quote from it, and
in part give the gist of it. It begins with a description of the Happy
Land which is the home of the Phoenix. Far away in the East it lies,
that noblest of lands, renowned among men. Not to many of the
earth-owners is it given to have access to that country. God's power
sets it far from the workers of evil. Beautiful is that plain, with joys
endowed and with the sweetest smells of earth. Peerless is the island,
set there by its noble Maker. Oft is the door of Heaven opened for the
blessed ones and the joy of its music known of them. Winsome is the
plain with its wide green woods. And there is neither rain nor snow,
nor breath of frost nor flame of fire, nor the rush of hail, nor the
falling of rime, nor burning heat of the sun, nor everlasting cold, but
blessed and wholesome standeth the plain, and full is the noble country
of the blowing of blossoms.

The glorious land is higher than earth's highest towering mountain,
lying serene in its sunny wooded fairness. Ever and always the trees are
hung with fruits, and never comes the withering of the leaf. No foes may
enter that land, and there is no weeping nor any sorrow, nor losing of
life, nor sin, nor strife, nor age, nor care, nor poverty. When the
Flood covered the earth, this Paradise was shielded from the rush of
angry waters, happy through God's grace and inviolate; and so shall it
remain even to the day of the coming of the Judgement of the Lord.

In this fair country there abides a bird of wondrous beauty and strong
of wing. For him there shall be no death while the world shall last.
Ever he watches the course of the sun, eagerly looks for the radiant
rising over ocean of the noblest of stars, the first work of the Father,
the glowing token of God. At the coming of the sun he flies swift-winged
toward it, singing more wondrously than any son of man hath heard since
the making of heaven and earth. Never was human voice nor sound of any
instrument of music like unto the song. And so twelve times by day he
marks the hours, as twelve times by night he has marked them by his bath
in the glorious fountain, and his drink of its cool clear water.

A thousand years go on, and the burden of yea