A Fourteenth Century Tale: The Slaying of the Grendelving (AKA the Jabberwock)

Grendelvengthe (Ungreithly called Jabberwockie)

By Louis Kervaill

Bredeliche wast & slythy spreren

Gimelèd & gore on þe waben.

The swappelingès misel weren.

The momè gwin outgraben.

Warè the Grendelving, my sone.

His jowès gnaue, his clauès cacche.

Bifle the Galgol-Foule & shone

The wragious Lodersnacche.

He nom his guthrew swerd in honde.

Longe the eglich fend he soghte.

He rested hym by the Tre Toum-Tym

And ther stod in a thoghte.

He stod with pithèsherwe in mode

Tho Grendelving wiþ ye on flame

Blastè thurgh that shoufengèd wode

And blumelèd in grame.

Oon, two, oon, two, he hadde hym so.

Þe guþrew mechè dide snixnak.

He lefte hym dede & with his hede

Galomphaunt sterte abak.

And hastow slayn þe Grendelving?

Heleth & sone, I clippè thee

Fairaclous Dai! Oho, aihai!

He holough high in gle.

Bredeliche wast & slythy spreren

Gimelèd & gore on the waben.

The swappelingès misel weren.

The momè gwin outgraben.

Anonymous: Litany Against Fear (from Biblical Hebrew)

(Note for people who haven't read Dune: this is just me screwing around)

Discovered unvocalized in a Qumran fragment. A vocalized version was found palimpsested in Aharon Ben Asher's recipe book.

Audio recording of the "original" text chanted in Tiberian Hebrew:


Prayer of the Sons of Gesserit
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

A prayer of the Sons of Gesserit at a time of trouble.
I must not fear. For fear is the mind's murderer.
Fear is the little death that turns 
To end my life over and over.
Without fear, I will die only once. 

The Original:

תְּפִלָּ֖ה לִבְנֵ֥י כתיב הגשרים קרי הַגְּֽסֵּרִי֑ת בְּעֵ֖ת הַֽצָּרָֽה׃ 

אַ֖ל אֶפְחָ֑דָה                 כִּ֣י פַ֔חַד ה֖וּא הוֹרֵ֥ג הַלֵּֽב׃

פַּ֛חַד ה֖וּא הַמָּ֥וֶת הַֽקָּט֑וֹן הַמִּֽתְהַפֵּ֖ךְ לַֽהֲמִיתֵֽנִי׃ 

כְּאֵ֕ין פַּ֖חַד אָמ֑וּת          רַ֖ק פַּ֥עַם אֶחָֽת׃

From Frank Herbert's Dune: The Litany Against Fear (Translated into Old English and Old Norse)

Why did I end up doing this? It's a long story, involving a tattoo and a friend meeting someone in a bar. But half of the answer is "because it's fucking fun".

Both of these translations are in verse. The Old English is rendered into the usual verse-line you'd expect. The Old Norse is rendered into lines of Málaháttr. (I originally wanted to do it into a Skaldic meter, but then I realized what a mess I was getting into.) For some reason, it felt less jarring to render this into Old Norse than Old English. And not just because I couldn't find any way not to alliterate on the same morpheme in the first line. The mood of lines like this seems like it has more precedent to build on in Norse.

For the Old English, the scansion relies on an archaic metrical value of symbel as if it were *syml without vocalic parasiting.

"I shall not fear. Fear is the mind-killer...."

Old English


Iċ ne forhtiġe wiht.
　Fyrhtu biþ mōdbana.
Fyrhtu biþ smældēaþ
　þe mē on symbel dīedeþ
Swelte iċ unforht
　āne sīðe

Old Norse


Ekki mun ek óttask.
　Ótti er móðbani.
Ótti er smádauðinn
　er optliga deyðir.
Óttalauss dey ek
　einu sinni.

In Anglo-Saxon Runes


In Medieval Norse Runes

Mazon Afer: Confessio Infidei (From Latin)

Confession of Unfaith
By Mazon Afer
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

If I worshipped stupidity
Then you would be a god to me,
But fuck if I am joining you.
Now, ὕπαγε ὀπίσω μου. 

The Original:

Confessio Infidei

Sī venerārer stultitiam tū mī deus essēs
Sed retrō mē sīs. Nōn tibi cultor erō. 

Mōdor Gōs: Bæ Bæ Sweart Scēap (Ænglisc)

Bæ Bæ Sweart Sceap
Mōdor Gōs
Ġeþēodde A.Z. Formann

Bæ bæ sweart sċēap
Hæfst þū ǣnġe wulle?
Gēa lēof, gēa lēof,
þrī saccas fulle.

Twā mīnum hlaforde
Ond āne his wīfe
Ac nāne þam earman ċilde
Būtan cotlīfe.

Frumlēoþ:

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, marry, have I,
Three bags full;

One for my master,
One for my dame,
But none for the little boy
Who cries in the lane.

Mōdor Gōs: Jack ond Jill (Ænglisc)

Æþel ond Æþelrēd 
Mōdor Gōs
Geþēodde A.Z. Formann

Tō hylles toppe
For wæterstoppan
Clamb Æþel mid Æþelrēde
Æþelrēd ofhrēas
his hrycg adrēas
and Æþel fēoll æfter and blēdde.

Frumlēoþ:

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To fetch a pale of water
Jack fell down
And broke his crown
And jill came tumbling after

Mōdor Gōs: Ēa diðel-diðele (Ænglisc)

Ēa diðel-diðele
Mōdor Gōs
Ġeþēodde A.Z. Formann

Ēa diðel-diðele
catte ond fiðele. 
Ofer mōnan hlēop cū mid fisċe
ond se hundel lōh 
hira plegan þe drōh
þenden hlædel oþarn mid disċe


Frumlēoþ:

Hey diddle diddle

The cat and the fiddle

The cow jumped over the moon

The little dog laughed

To see such a craft

And the dish ran away with a spoon.