ay together
these soothfast words, for his father's soul, who brought him forth,
and for his mother's soul, who bore him to be man, and for his own
soul, that it be the better. Amen!" [11]

With these words Layamon introduces us to his book and to himself; in
fact they contain the sum total of our information about his life. But
they put us at once into sympathy with the earnest, sincere student,
who wrote, not like Geoffrey and Wace, for the favour of a high-born
patron, but for the love of England and of good men and his few
hardly-won and treasured books. Of these books Wace's _Brut_ received
the lion's share of his attention, and he made little or no use of the
others that lay before him.

He followed Wace's poem in outline, but he succeeded in extending its
15,300 verses to 32,241, by giving a free rein to his fancy, which he
often allowed to set the pace for his pen. For Layamon in his retired
parish, performing the monotonous and far from engrossing duties of a
reading clerk,[12] lived in reality a stirring life of the imagination.
Back in the Saxon past of England his thoughts moved, and his mind
dwelt on her national epic heroes. Not only in his language, which
belongs to the period of transition from Anglo-Saxon to Middle
English, but in his verse [13] and phraseology, he shows the
influence of earlier Anglo-Saxon literature. The sound of the _Ode on
Athelstane's Victory_ and of _Beowulf_ is in our ears as we read his
intense, stirring lines. Wars and battles, the stern career of a Saxon
leader, the life of the woods and fields attracted him far more than
the refinements of a Norman court, and by emphasising the elements
that were most congenial to himself he developed an entirely different
picture from that presented by either Geoffrey or Wace. Writing with
intense interest, he lives and moves and has his being among the
events that he is narrating, and is far too deeply absorbed in his
story to limit himself to the page that he has before him. Given a
dramatic situation, the actors become living personalities to him, and
he hears impassioned words falling from their lips in terse phrases
such as he never found in the lines of Wace. Uther Pendragon, in a
deadly battle against the Irish invaders under Gillomar and Pascent,
slays Gillomar, then overtakes Pascent:--

"And said these words Uther the Good: 'Pascent, thou shalt abide; here
cometh Uther riding!' He smote him upon the head, so that he fell
down,