Altenglische legenden.

                                
                                  "Seuene, seide þe child a-pliht;
                                
                                  Þe hexte heuene þat may be,
                                
                                  Þat is þe holy trinite:
                                
                                  Þer is þe fader and þe sone,
                                  Line 55 
                                
                                  Þe holygost to-gedere wone, [A. And þe h.] 
                                
                                  Þreo persones in o godhede,
                                
                                  As clerkes in heore bokes rede.
                                
                                  Þe oþer heuene nis not lowe; [A. is.] 
                                
                                  Þe hexte þat eny mon of knowe
                                  Line 60 
                                
                                  Is at a lowere degre, [A. lower,] 
                                
                                  As ȝe nou mowen I-se;
                                
                                  Þulke Joye ne may telle no mon
                                
                                  Til domes-day, whon we gon hom.
                                
                                  Þe þridde heuene semeþ cristal,
                                  Line 65 
                                
                                  Ful of Joye and swete smel;
                                
                                  To mon and wommon þat place is diht [Die and. Mss. l. For confessours.] 
                                
                                  Þat serueþ god wiþ al heore miht.
                                
                                  Þe feorþe heuene is gold iliche,
                                
                                  Ful of precious stones riche;
                                  Line 70 
                                
                                  To Innocens þat place is diht;
                                
                                  Þer is day, and neuer niht.
                                
                                  Þe fyfþe heuene is long and brod:
                                
                                  Þat is þe folfullynge of godes monhod. [A. folfillyng.] 
                                
                                  Ȝif þat godes monhod nere,
                                  Line 75 
                                
                                  Al þis world forlore were;
                                
                                  Þorw þe passion of godes monhede
                                
                                  Heuene blisse schal ben heore mede.
                                
                                  Þe sixte heuene is holi chirche,
                                
                                  Ful of angles, þer-inne worche;
                                  Line 80 
                                
                                  Heo syngeþ of god boþe day and niht,
                                
                                  Of his strengþe and of his miht.
                                
                                  Þe seuenþe heuene, seiþ þe storie,
                                
                                  Is paradys aftur purgatorie;
                                
                                  Whon soules han don heore penaunce,
                                  Line 85 
                                
                                  Þer þei schul resten, wiþ-oute distaunce.
                                
                                  Heer beþ seuen heuenes, sir Emperour, a-pliht".
                                
                                  "Hou feole ordres, seide þe Emperour, beþ angles briȝt?"
                                
                                  Þe child onswerde him aȝen:
                                
                                  "Niȝene ordres, sire, þer ben: [A. þen st. þer.] 
                                  Line 90 
                                
                                  Þe furste ordre is Cherubin,
                                
                                  And þat oþer Seraphin,
                                
                                  Þe þridde is cleped Trones,
                                
                                  Þe feorþe Dominaciones,
                                
                                  Þe fyfþe is Principatus,
                                  Line 95 
                                
                                  Þe sixte is Potestates,
                                
                                  Þe seuenþe Virtutes is,
                                
                                  Þe eihteþe Angelica iwis,
                                
                                  Þe niþe ordre is Archangeli:
                                
                                  Eueri prince haþ his parti,
                                  Line 100 
                                
                                  Mony þousend angles to heore baneere,
                                
                                  To serue god boþe feor and neere.
                                
                                  Þe tenþe ordre schal monkuynde ben,
                                
                                  Forto fulle þe place aȝen [A. forte.] 
                                
                                  In heuene bi þat ilke syde
                                  Line 105 
                                
                                  Þat Lucifer lees for his pruyde;
                                
                                  Þer schal þe monhede of god almiht
                                
                                  Ben vre prince, and þat is riht;
                                
                                  Abouen alle oþure he schal be, [A. al.] 
                                
                                  Wiþ his fader, in trinite.
                                  Line 110 
                                
                                  Of muche Joye he may telle
                                
                                  Þat þere wiþ-outen enden may dwelle,
                                
                                  Þat his oune broþer may se
                                
                                  Wiþ his fader in maieste!"
                                
                                  Þen seide þe Emperour: "þis leue I wel
                                  Line 115 
                                
                                  Þat þis is soþ, eueridel.
                                
                                  But tel me, child, I þe pray,
                                
                                  What made god on þe furste day?"
                                
                                  "On þe monenday, verreyment,
                                
                                  God made þe firmament,
                                  Line 120 
                                
                                  Sonne and mone schyne brihte,
                                
                                  Mony sterres, þeron Idihte.
                                
                                  On þe tewesday, Ich vnderstonde,
                                
                                  God made þe see and þe londe,
                                
                                  Welles feole and watres fresche, [A. fele, fresch.] 
                                  Line 125 
                                
                                  To tempre þe eorþe hard and nesche; [A. nesch.] 
                                
                                  Herbes he made, treo and gras,
                                
                                  And oþer þing, what his wille was.
                                
                                  Vppon þe wedenesday made god almiht [A. wednesday.] 
                                
                                  Fisch in flod and foul in fliht,
                                  Line 130 
                                
                                  And bad hem aboute þe world wende,
                                
                                  Forto helpen al monkynde. [A. forte.] 
                                
                                  On þe þoresday god made beestes fale,
                                
                                  Monye diuerse, bi doune and dale,
                                
                                  And ȝaf þe eorþe to heore foode,
                                  Line 135 
                                
                                  And bad hem torne monkuynde to goode
                                
                                  On þe fryday god made Adame,

About this Item

Title: Altenglische legenden.
Author: Horstmann, Carl, ed. b. 1851.
Canvas: Page 342
Publication: Heilbronn,: Gebr. Henninger,; 1881.
Subject terms: Saints -- Legends; English poetry; Legends

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Collection: Corpus of Middle English Prose and Verse
Link to this Item: https://name.umdl.umich.edu/afw1383.0001.001
Link to this scan: https://quod.lib.umich.edu/c/cme/afw1383.0001.001/513:4

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Manifest: https://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text/api/manifest/cme:afw1383.0001.001

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Full citation: "Altenglische legenden." In the digital collection Corpus of Middle English Prose and Verse. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/afw1383.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 20, 2025.

Altenglische legenden.

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