by Erin G
This is a guided meditation and poetry reading. As the medieval authors remind us, winter can be cold and dark, but it is also a time of joy, celebration, and contemplation. This meditation contains two passages in Old English, and one in Middle English.
Transcript
Hello friend, Welcome to winter. This is a guided meditation about the coldest darkest days of the year. Today we meditate with three descriptions of winter from medieval England. The first two are composed in Old English, That form of the language that was spoken around a thousand years ago. The third is in Middle English, The language that emerged after the Norman Conquest and which sounds much more like the one we use today. All three reflect on the extremes of the winter season, On the chilly weather and the sense of isolation long nights can bring. But they also remind us of the way people draw together at this time of the year in a spirit of merriment, Thanksgiving and cheer. Before we begin, Settle yourself into a comfortable position either seated or lying down. Place your hands on your knees or lay them gently by your sides. Close your eyes and take three deep breaths. Breathing in and out. Breathing in and out. And one more, Breathing in and out. I will read the first two texts in Old English and then in Modern English. Don't worry if they make little sense to you at first. Let the sounds come and go. Let the words flow around you. Notice any thoughts or feelings that might arise but hold them lightly. Let them go when you can and return to the sound of my voice. One of the earliest histories we have from medieval England was written by a man called Bede. Bede was a monk in the north of England and a prolific author. His history of the English people, The Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, Was completed in the year 731. Written in Latin, It was later translated into Old English. In this work, He tells the story of how missionaries from Rome came to England in the middle of the 7th century to convert the pagan people who lived there. The missionaries preached to the king of the Northumbrians, Edwin, Who debated for a long time on which faith he should follow. The king's advisors likewise debated the issue, With one memorably comparing paganism, With its lack of a clear afterlife, To a sparrow flying into the king's hall. Inside, He said, There is warmth and laughter, But outside, Only the cold winter. This is what he says. Fis lic be is jesewen, Thoo kooning, Fis an wealdelif maana on e ortha. Tho with met nesa thara tida faeus uncuth is, Swil chiswa thoo at swasendum site med thinem healdor maanum unthengum o winter tida. Unseefur unlad unthin heale yuwirmid unhit rina unsnuwe unstirme utta. Koonen sperwa, Und radlice thadhus thorflaeo. Kooneth thor othrae dura in, Thor othrae ut yuwita. Chwat, Heon la tid, Thae heina bidh, Nibidh rina mis istormadha vintras. Ach, Tha bidh an eagin brin, On that lasta fach a he sona o vintra on thona vintoreth keemeth. Swa, Thoneth is maana lif, Tho med mihclum fache atiweth, Chwat thar fore ganga, Odahn chwat thar achtu fillige wae no cynon. Fardhl on syth theo laar o O ich kühlichere und jeriesenlichere bringe, Fas'werde es dat we thare fürgen. O King, It seems to me that this present life of man on earth, In comparison to that time which is unknown to us, Is as if you were sitting at a feast in the winter with your Ealdorman and Thanes, And a fire was kindled and the hall warmed while it rained and snowed and stormed outside. A sparrow came in and swiftly flew through the hall. It came in at one door and went out at the other. Now, During the time when he is inside, He is not touched by the winter's storms, But that is the twinkling of an eye and the briefest of moments, And at once he comes again from winter into winter. In such a way the life of a man appears for a brief moment, What comes before and what will follow after we do not know. Therefore, If this teaching offers anything more certain or more fitting, It is right that we follow it. Winter often serves as a metaphor for uncertainty or loneliness in the literature of early medieval England. In a poem known as The Wanderer, Winter symbolises the chill of exile, The cold separation from one's home and family. Often the solitary man enjoys the grace and mercy of the Lord, Though he, Careworn, Has long been forced to stir by hand the ice-cold sea on many waterways to travel the exile's path. Fate is relentless. So spoke a wanderer who called to mind hardships and cruel wars and the deaths of lords. Often the solitary man enjoys the grace and mercy of the Lord, Though he, Careworn, Has long been forced to stir by hand the ice-cold sea on many waterways to travel the exile's path. Each torso the worth that beeth in a orle in drichten theow, That he his ferdloken faste binde, He alde his horikofen, He jes swa he wille. Frequently have I had to mourn alone my cares each morning. Now no living man exists to whom I dare reveal my heart openly, And I know it for a truth that in a man it is a noble virtue to hide his thoughts, Lock up his private feelings, However he may feel. Now I am abandoned by the GDP witch-tat too, Only as I would elsewhere try to help friend, For thon dom ye orne, Dre o ygne oft, In hir breas gofum bindeth fast. Swo eich modsefan mine seilde, Oft ee arum tserich, Ethle bidalen, Dhreil magum feor, Fetterum salen, Se dan ye aru yu, Goldwine mine, Rusin heolstere biwa, An eich hean thonan, Wod winter tserich, Ofer wadhma ye bind. Soch dhre sele dreore, Sinches brechtan, Wadh eich feor odh e nea finden meachte, Sona se in meagil heale, Min mine wisa, Odh e meag freon lasne, Frefran wadde, Wama midwine. A weary heart cannot oppose inexorable fate, And anxious thoughts can bring no remedy, And so those jealous of their reputation often bind fast their sadness in their hearts. So I, Careworn, Deprived of my native land, Far from my noble kin, Have often had to tie in fetters my own troubled spirit, Since long ago I wrapped my lord's remains in the darkness of the earth, And from there journeyed, Sorrowful as winter, Over the icy waves, And suffering sought the haul of a new patron, If I in any land might find one willing to show me recognition in his mead-hall, Whom I comfort my loneliness, Tempt me with pleasures. So I, Careworn, Deprived of my native land, Far from my noble kin, Have often had to tie in fetters my lord's remains in the darkness of the earth, And so those jealous of their reputation often bind fast their sadness in their hearts. So I, Careworn, Deprived of my native land, Far from my noble kin, Have often had to tie in fetters my lord's remains in the darkness of the earth, And from there journeyed, Sorrowful as winter, Over the icy waves, And suffering sought the haul of a new patron, If I in any land might find one willing to show me recognition in his mead-hall. Then the joyless man wakes, And sees instead the pale waves, The sea-birds bathing, Stretching out their wings, As snow and hail and frost fall all together. The heart's wounds seem by that yet heavier, Grief for the dear one gone. Care is renewed when memories of kinsmen fill the mind, He greets them gladly, Contemplates them keenly, But his old friends swim frequently away. The floating spirits bring him all too few of the old well-known songs. Care is renewed for him who must continually send his weary spirit over the icy waves. If the grief rapitudes fill about him the ill- HEALEDE, Untinting liturgy JOO glai then the love by the gods may lie for us quietly like a story and light. Hwar quam meag, Hwar quam agho, Hwar quam ma thungiva, Hwar quam simla jesetu, Hwar sind an sele dreamas, Eala beorhtbune, Eala birnwiga, Eala theodnes drim, Hw seo drag yuwa yena und nichtelm swaheo no waru. He who has wisely thought and carefully considered this creation and this dark life, Experienced in spirit, Has often pondered many massacres in far-off ages. He might say these words, Where is the horse now? Where has the hero gone? Where is the bounteous lord? And where the benches for feasting? Where are all the joys of the hall? Alas for the bright cup! Alas the armoured warrior! Alas the glory of the prince! That time is over, Passed into the night, As if it had never been. Thas stand leodau stormas gneisath, Rhydh reo sendeth rusen bindeth, Wintres warma, Fone wan cimeth, Neepeth nich shua, Nordhan on sendeth, Reo haer fara, Halethm on andan. Eol is eor fodlitch, Eor than vitcheth, On wendeth wird ye sheth, Weord underhevenem. Heir byth feo lanna, Heir byth freon lanna, Heir byth monn lanna, Heir byth mar lanna, Eol thys eorðan ye stel, Idim weorðeth. Swag whaf snottor on mordor, Yesath him sundor at brunn. Storms now strike against these stony slopes, The falling tempest binds in winter's vice the earth, And darkness comes with shades of night, And from the north fierce hail is felt to fall in malice against men, And all is hardship on earth, The immutable decree of fate alters the world which lies beneath the heavens. Here property passes away, Here friendship passes away, Here man himself passes away, And kinsmen pass away, And all this earthly structure comes to naught. Thus spoke the thoughtful sage as he sat apart. Winter is both internal and external in this poem, It is a state of mind as well as a physical reality. Here winter is a reminder of the ever-changing nature of the world and the transience of human experience. All is fleeting, The poet reminds us, Joy and warmth may disappear, But so too will the dark and the cold. But winter is also a time of feasting, A time of light and merriment. As this poem from the later Middle Ages reminds us, Winter brings with it a new year. It is a time to celebrate with those closest to us, And to enjoy the simple pleasures of the feast and the fire. New is yore a-comin' with gentle cheer, Of mirth and gomin' he has no peer, In every land where he cometh ne'er is mirth and gomin' he dar well say. Hey-ay, Hey-ay, Might we merry as we may. Now is comin' the messenger of yore to Lord, Say, New Year, Bid us us all be merry here, And make us merry as we may. Hey-ay, Hey-ay, Make we merry as we may. Therefore every man that is here sing a carol on his manner, If he can none we shall him lair, So that we be merry away. Hey-ay, Hey-ay, Make we merry as we may. Whosoever make his heavy cheer, Wear he never to me dear, In a ditch he would he wear, To dry his clothes till it were day. Hey-ay, Hey-ay, Make we merry as we may. Mend the fire and make good cheer, Fill the cup, Sir butler, Let every man drink to his fare, Thus endes me carol with care away. Hey-ay, Hey-ay, Make we merry as we may. Take a deep breath in and a deep breath out. Begin to notice the sounds around you. Notice the feeling of your legs on the chair or the cushion. Notice the light dancing on your eyelids. When you're ready bring some movement into your body. Wiggle your toes, Wiggle your fingers, Roll your shoulders and open your eyes. Thank you for meditating with me today. I wish you a festive and reflective winter season.
4.8 (86)
Holly
February 24, 2026
A beautiful reading! Listening to the lovely flow of the language made me wonder why we abandoned it for the harsher sounds of today. Thank you for keeping it soft, slow and meditative.
Claudia
September 25, 2024
So interesting that I didn’t want to fall asleep but the gentle cadence of her voice made it impossible not to. Big thumbs up!
Ambar
August 1, 2023
So cool! What a good voice and pronunciation (as if I knew how old English should sound). Thank you!
Dana
March 1, 2023
Thank you so much for this gift of language! I’ve been trying to study Old English on my own and this really filled my cup with joy! 💕
