Lo! I have learned of the loveliest of lands
Far to the eastward, famous among men.
But few ever fare to that far-off realm
Set apart from the sinful by the power of God.
Beauteous that country and blessed with joys,
With the fairest odors of all the earth;
Goodly the island, gracious the Maker,
Matchless and mighty, who stablished the world.
There ever stand open the portals of heaven
With songs of rapture for blessed souls.
The plain is winsome, the woods are green,
Widespread under heaven. No rain or snow,
Or breath of frost or blast of fire,
Or freezing hail or fall of rime,
Or blaze of sun or bitter-long cold,
Or scorching summer or winter storm
Work harm a whit, but the plain endures
Sound and unscathed. The lovely land
Is rich with blossoms. No mountains rise,
No lofty hills, as here with us;
No high rock-cliffs, no dales or hollows,
No mountain gorges, no caves or crags,
Naught rough or rugged; but the pleasant plain
Basks under heaven laden with bloom.
Twelve cubits higher is that lovely land,
As learned writers in their books relate,
Than any of these hills that here in splendor
Tower on high under heavenly stars.
Serene that country sunny groves gleaming;
Winsome the woodlands; fruits never fail
Or shining blossoms. As God gave bidding
The groves stand for ever growing and green.
Winter and summer the woods alike
Are hung with blossoms; under heaven no leaf
Withers, no fire shall waste the plain
To the end of the world. As the waters of old,
The sea-floods, covered the compass of earth
And the pleasant plain stood all uninjured,
By the grace of God unhurt and unharmed,
So shall it flourish till the fire of Judgment
When graves shall open, the dwellings of death.
Naught hostile lodges in all that land,
No pain or weeping or sign of sorrow,
No age or anguish or narrow death;
No ending of life or coming of evil,
No feud or vengeance or fret of care;
No lack of wealth or pressure of want,
No sorrow or sleeping or sore disease.
No winter storm or change of weather
Fierce under heaven, or bitter frost
With wintry icicles smites any man there.
No hail or hoar-frost descends to earth,
No windy cloud; no water falls
Driven by storm. But running streams
And welling waters wondrously spring
Overflowing earth from fountains fair.
From the midst of the wood a winsome water
Each month breaks out from the turf of earth,
Cold as the sea-stream, coursing sweetly
Through all the grove. By the bidding of God
The flood streams forth through the glorious land
Twelve times yearly. The trees are hung
With beauteous increase, flowering buds;
Holy under heaven the woodland treasures
Wane not nor wither; no failing bloom,
No fruits of the wildwood, fall to earth;
But in every season on all the trees
The boughs bear their burden of fruit anew.
Green are the groves in the grassy meadow,
Gaily garnished by the might of God.
No branch is broken, and fragrance fair
Fills all the land. Nor ever comes change
Till the Ruler Whose wisdom wrought is beginning
His ancient Creation shall bring to its end.
In that woodland dwelleth, most wondrous fair
And strong of wing, a fowl called Phoenix;
There dauntless-hearted he has his home,
His lonely lodging. In that lovely land
Death shall never do him a hurt,
Or work him harm while the world standeth.
Each day he observes the sun's bright journey
Greeting God's candle, the gleaming gem,
Eagerly watching till over the ocean
The fairest of orbs shines forth from the East,
God's bright token glowing in splendor,
The ancient hand-work of the Father of all.
The stars are hid in the western wave,
Dimmed at dawn, and the dusky night
Steals darkly away; then, strong of wing
And proud of pinion, the bird looks out
Over the ocean under the sky,
Eagerly waiting when up from the East
Heaven's gleam comes gliding over the wide water.
Then the fair bird, changeless in beauty,
Frequents at the fountain the welling streams;
Twelve times the blessed one bathes in the burn
Ere the bright beacon comes, the candle of heaven;
And even as often at every bath
Tastes the pleasant water of brimcold wells.
Thereafter the proud one after his water-play
Takes his flight to a lofty tree
Whence most easily o'er the eastern ways
He beholds the course of the heavenly taper
Brightly shining over the tossing sea,
A blaze of light. The land is made beautiful,
The world made fair, when the famous gem
O'er the ocean-stretches illumines the earth
All the world over, noblest of orbs.
When the sun climbs high over the salt streams
The gray bird wings from his woodland tree
And, swift of pinion, soars to the sky
Singing and caroling to meet the sun.
Then is the bearing of the bird so fair,
Its heart so gladsome and so graced with joy,
It trills its song in clear-voiced strain,
More wondrous music than ever child of man
Heard under heaven since the High-King,
Author of glory, created the world,
The earth and the heavens. The music of its hymn
Is sweeter than all song-craft, more winsome and fair
Than any harmony. Neither trumpet nor horn,
Nor melody of harp is like to that lay,
Nor voice of man, nor strain or organ music,
Nor swan's singing feathers, nor any pleasant sound
That God gave for joy to men in this mournful world.
So he hymns and carols with joyous heart
Until the sun in the southern sky
Sinks to its setting. Then in silence he listens;
Thrice the wise-hearted lifts his head,
Thrice shakes his feathers strong in flight,
Then broods in silence. Twelve times the bird
Notes the hours of night and day.
So is it ordained for the forest dweller
To live in that land having joy of life,
Well-being and bliss and all the world's beauty,
Till the warden of the wood of this life's winters
Has numbered a thousand. Aged and old
The gray-plumed is weary and weighted with years.
Then the fairest of fowls flies from the greenwood,
The blossoming earth, seeks a boundless realm,
A land and lodging where no man dwells;
And there exalted over all the host
Has dominion and rule or the race of birds,
With them in the waste resides for a season,
Swift of pinion and strong in flight
He wings to the westward, heavy with years.
Around the royal one throng the birds,
Servants and thanes of a peerless prince.
And so he seeks out the Syrian land
With a lordly following. There the pure fowl
Suddenly leaves them, lodging in shadow
In a woodland covert, a secret spot
Sequestered and hidden from the hosts of men.
There he takes lodging in a lofty tree
Fast by its roots in the forest-wood
Under heaven's roof. The race of men
Call the tree Phoenix from the name of the fowl.
Unto that tree, as I have heard tell,
The Great King has granted, the Lord of mankind,
That it alone of all tall trees
Is the brightest blooming in all the earth.
Nor may aught of evil work it a harm;
For ever shielded, for ever unscathed,
It stands to the end while the world standeth.
When the wind lies at rest and weather is fair,
And heaven's bright gem shines holy on high,
When clouds are dispersed and seas are tranquil
And every storm is stilled under heaven,
When the weather-candle shines warm from the south
Lighting earth's legions, then in the boughs
He begins to form and fashion a nest.
His sage heart stirs with great desire
Swiftly to alter old age to youth,
To renew his life. From near and far
He gleans and gathers to his lodging-place
Pleasant plants and fruits of the forest,
All sweetest spices and fragrant herbs
Which the King of glory, Lord of beginnings,
Created on earth for a blessing to men,
The sweetest under heaven. So he assembles
In the boughs of the tree his shining treasures.
There in that waste-land the wild bird
In the tall tree's top timbers his house
Pleasant and lovely. And there he lodges
In that lofty chamber; in the leafy shade
Besets his feathered body on every side
With sweetest odors and blossoms of earth.
When the gem of the sky in the summer season,
The burning sun, shines over the shades
Scanning the world, the Phoenix sits
Fain of departure, fulfilling his fate.
His house is kindled by heat of the sun;
The herbs grow hot, the pleasant hall steams
With sweetest odors; in the surging flame,
In the fire-grip, burns the bird with his nest.
The pyre is kindled, the fire enfolds
The home of the heart-sick. The yellow flame
Fiercely rages; the Phoenix burns,
Full of years, as the fire consumes
The fleeting body. The spirit fades,
The soul of the fated. The bale-fire seizes
Both bone and flesh.
But his life is reborn
After a season, when the ashes begin
After the fire-surge fusing together
Compressed to a ball. The brightest of nests,
The house of the stout-heart, by force of the flame
Is clean consumed; the corpse grows chill;
The bone-frame is broken; the burning subsides.
From the flame of the fire is found thereafter
In the ash of the pyre an apple's likeness,
Of which grows a worm most wondrous fair,
As it were a creature come from an egg,
Shining from the shell. In the shadow it grows
Fashioned first as an eagle's young,
A comely fledgling; then flourishing fair
Is like in form to a full-grown eagle
Adorned with feathers as he was at first.
Brightly gleaming.
Then is beauty reborn,
Sundered from sin, once more made new;
Even in such fashion as men, for food,
Bring home in harvest at reaping time
Pleasant fare, the fruits of earth,
Ere coming of winter lest rain-storms waste;
Find joy and strength in their garnered store
When frost and snow with furious might
Cover earth over with winter weeds:
From these grains again grow riches for men
Through the sprouting kernels, first sowed pure seed;
Then the warm sun in Spring-time, symbol of life,
Wakes the world's wealth and new crops rise,
Each after its kind, the treasures of earth.
Even so the Phoenix after long life
Grows young and fashioned with flesh anew.
He eats no food, no fare of earth,
But only a drop of honey-dew
Which falls in the midnight; thereby the Phoenix
Comforts his life till he comes again
To his own habitation, his ancient seat.
Beset with his sweet herbs, proud of plumage,
The bird is reborn, his life made young,
Youthful and gifted with every grace.
Then from the ground he gathers together
The nimble body that the bale-fire broke;
With skill assembles the ashy remnants,
The crumbling bones left after the blaze;
Brings together there bone and ashes
And covers over with savory herbs
The spoil of the death-fire, fairly adorned.
Then he takes his departure, turns to his home,
Grasps in his talons, clasps in his claws,
What the fire has left; joyously flying
To his native dwelling, his sun-bright seat,
His happy homeland. All is renewed,
Life and feathered body as it was at first
What time God placed him in that pleasant plain.
He brings there the bones which the fiery surges
Swallowed in flame on the funeral pyre,
The ashes as well; and all together
Buries the leavings, ashes and bone,
In his island home. For him is renewed
The sign of the sun when the light of heaven,
Brightest of orbs, most joyous of jewels,
Over the ocean shines from the East.
Fair-breasted that fowl and comely of hue
With varied colors; the head behind
Is emerald burnished and blended with scarlet.
The tail plumes are colored some crimson, some brown,
And cunningly speckled with shining spots.
White of hue are the backs of the wings,
The neck all green beneath and above.
The strong neb gleams like glass or gem;
Without and within the beak is fair.
The eye is stark, most like to stone
Or shining jewel skillfully wrought
In a golden setting by cunning smiths.
All round the neck like the ring of the sun
Is a shining circlet fashioned of feathers.
Wondrously bright and shining the belly,
Brilliant and comely; over the back
Splendidly fashioned the shield is spread.
The fair bird's shanks, its yellow feet
Are patterned with scales. 'Tis a peerless fowl
Most like in appearance to a peacock proud,
As the writings say; neither sluggish or slow,
Torpid or slothful, as some birds are
Heavily winging their way in the sky;
But swift and lively and very light,
Fair and goodly and marked with glory.
Eternal the God who grants him that grace!
Then from that country the Phoenix flies
To seek his homeland, his ancient seat.
He wings his way observed of men
Assembled together from south and north,
From East and west, in hurrying hosts.
A great folk gathers from far and near
To behold God's grace in the beauteous bird
For whom at Creation the Lord of all
Ordained and stablished a special nature,
A fairer perfection beyond all fowl.
Men on earth all marvel in wonder
At the fair fowl's beauty inscribing in books
And skillfully carving on marble stone
When the day and the hour shall exhibit to men
The gleaming beauty of the flying bird.
Then all about him the race of birds
In flocks assemble on every side,
Winging from far ways, singing his praises,
Hymning their hero in fervent strains;
Around the Phoenix in circling flight
They attend the holy one high in air,
Thronging in multitudes. Men look up,
Marvel to see that happy host
Worship the wild bird, flock after flock,
Keenly acclaiming and praising as King
Their beloved lord; joyously leading
Their liege to his home; till at last alone
He swiftly soars where that blissful band
May not follow after when the best of birds
From the turf of earth returns to his homeland.
So the blessed bird after his death-bale
Enters once more his ancient abode,
His fatherland fair. Leaving their leader
The birds sad-hearted return to their home,
Their prince to his palace. God only knows,
The Almighty King, what his breed may be,
Or male or female; and no man knows,
But only the Maker, the ancient edict
And wondrous causes of that fowl's kind.
There blessed abiding the bird has bliss
In the welling streams and the woodland grove
Till a thousand winters have waxed and waned,
And again life ends as the bale-fire burns,
The ravaging flames; yet he rises again,
Strangely, wondrously wakened to life.
Therefore drooping he dreads not death,
Dire death-pangs, but ever he knows
After the fire's force life refashioned,
Breath after burning, and straight transformed
Out of the ashes, once more restored
Unto bird's form from youth is reborn
Under sheltering skies. He is himself
Both his own son and his own dear father;
Ever the heir of his former remains.
The Almighty Maker of all mankind
Has granted him wondrously once more to be
What before he was, with feathers appareled
Though fire clasp him close in its grip.
So each blessed soul through somber death
After his life-days of sore distress
Gains life everlasting, knowing God's grace
In bliss never-ending; and ever thereafter
Resides in glory as reward for his works.
The traits of this bird clearly betoken
Christ's chosen thanes, how on earth they thrill
By the Father's grace with a gleaming joy
In this perilous time, and attain thereafter
Bliss on high in the heavenly home.