The battle of Brunanburh was a Anglo-Saxon victory by the Armies of Ethelstan King of England and his Brother Edmund over the combined armie...
The battle of Brunanburh was a Anglo-Saxon victory by the Armies of Ethelstan King of England and his Brother Edmund over the combined armies off Olaf the third Guthfrithson The Norse Gael King of Dublin Constatine the second King of Alba and Owen the first This battle was meant to be one of the greatest battle the Anglo-Saxons fought in till the great loss of 1066 to the Norman the Battle occured Around 937 AD Hope you enjoy the video as i am a big fan of Old English an i think this language should be spoke across England as a second language. Translation of the Poem Then Aethelstan, king, Thane of eorls, ring-bestower to men, and his brother also, the atheling Edmund, lifelong honour struck in battle with sword's edge at Brunanburh. Broke the shieldwall, split shields with swords. Edward's sons, the issue of princes from kingly kin, oft on campaign their fatherland from foes defended, hoard and home. Crushed the hated ones, Scots-folk and ship-men fated fell. The field flowed with blood, I have heard said, from sun-rise in morningtime, as mighty star glided up overground, God's bright candle, - the eternal Lord's - till that noble work sank to its setting. There lay scores of men destroyed by darts, Danish warrior shot over shield. So Scots also wearied of war. West-Saxons went forth from morn till night the mounted warriors pursued enemy people, the fleeing forces were felled from behind with swords new-sharpened. The Mercians spurned not hard hand-play with heroes that accompanied Anlaf over sea's surge, in ship's shelter sought land, came fated to fight. Five lay dead on the killing field, young kings put to sleep with the sword; so also seven of Anlaf's eorls, and unnumbered slain among sea-men and Scots. So was routed the Northmen's lord, by need forced to take ship with few troops. compelled to sea , the king set out on fallow flood, saved his life. So also the wise one fled away to his northern country, Constantine, hoary battle-man; he need not boast of that meeting of swords. He was severed from kin, forfeiting friends on that field, slain at war, and his son left on the death-ground, destroyed by his wounds, young warrior. He need not brag, the white-haired warrior, about sword-wielding, the artful one, nor Anlaf either; With their army smashed they need not sneer that their battle-work was better on the battlefield where banners crashed and spears clashed in that meeting of men, that weapon-wrestle, when on the death-field they played with Edward's offspring. The Northmen went off in nail-bound ships, sad survivors of spears, on Ding's mere, over deep water seeking Dublin, Ireland again, ashamed in their hearts. So both brothers together, king and atheling, their country sought, the land of Wessex, in war exulting. They left behind them sharing the lifeless the dusk-dressed one, the dark raven, with hard beak of horn, and the hoar-coated one, white-tailed eagle, enjoying the carrion, greedy war-hawk, and that grey beast, the wolf of the wood. Nor was more slaughter on this isle ever yet, so many folk felled, before this sword battle, as say the books, the old wise men, since from the east Angle and Saxon arrived together over broad briny seeking Britain, proud warriors who worsted the Welsh, eager for glory, and gained a land. Less
