¹ The Life of Saint Cuthbert.

Chapter One: Prayer to Saint Cuthbert. #

¹ O Father of the English, peer of the Angelic Fathers,
You, holy Cuthbert, gentle to the lowly, stern to foes!
For you I sigh; you I seek in hope, in prayer, in mind.
We know that he who seeks your aid will be another man:
The sad one is made glad, the weeper smiles, the needy blessed;
Now, glad one, be present, a pitier of the wretched.
I am plainly sorrowful; what I have lived has fled in vain.
Fled indeed, I say; in life I have fixed nothing useful.
How I have sinned! weeping my sins, I have repeated them.
What good have I left, detesting no iniquity at all?
O me, the sinner! sinning I have scorned the Thunderer:
As often as I scorned him, I blotted myself from heaven.
Hateful to heaven and to earth, why do I pant, alive?
Postponing Christ, I have chosen the abyss of death.
Every crime plunges me into the pit’s deep floor.
I shudder at myself, sinning, who have done such things.
I cannot bear myself as such, seeing my animal self.
Washed in God’s font, I was renewed, and warmed with oil;
Radiant I came forth; but soon took back my filth.
How wretched I am! I have sinned; I heaped sins upon sins!
How wretched I am! where shall I go? a new Adam falls in me.
Alas, alas, again I cry alas! a son of Eve!
I cannot endure myself, nor can I leave myself.
You, Father, are a place of refuge; let me draw near.
Come yourself more swiftly here, pitying the wretched;
Look upon one who languishes, trembling at the death of sin.
Entreat Jesus, that he may deign to visit me, the stricken:

² Wounded by sin’s dart, I pant for a remedy;
Bring, I pray, the antidote; physician, medicine of sorrows,
Stretch forth your hand, I beg; soon you will make me rise healed.
Stretch it forth, that a second baptism may render me clean.
My hope after Christ, drive away by prayer all evil.
I beg you will help me, and soon I will stand faithful to you.

Chapter Two: How he was foretold by a three-year-old boy to be a future bishop. #

¹ Ask for me the breath of that fate once told you mystically;
What you, a boy of eight, learned from a three-year-old’s mouth,
You feel his words, though telling, contrary to your rank;
“Bishop Cuthbert, it surely does not suit you to play;
Cease now to persist in the constant trifles of sport.”
With the voice of a new prophet you repress the pursuit of levity.
When a mere infant prophesies such things to you,
What is spoken to you through him, virtue attends on you.
From then on you stand ever, firming your heart in Christ the master.
Me, pious Cuthbert, I pray, turn back to better things:
And you, blessed of God, made apt for sacred uses,
I devoutly pray, repress in me my wicked motions:
Repress for virtue whatever harms both it and salvation:
May the Author of gifts, the breath, the source of good things,
Who was your teacher and your guide through hardships,
Teach me to fix a wavering mind on holy things;
May he protect and rule me, and dwell with me for ever.

Chapter Three: How, being lame, he was healed by an angel. #

¹ A cruel force, pent up with pain, barred your going;
Lame you scarce could walk, and soon could not at all.
Presently heavenly medicine restored you,
When Raphael’s balms from heaven cherished you.
He seeks you, speaks, touches, teaches, and heals:
You, thus healed, heal now my torments;
Bearing which my soul is weighed down, thrust to the depths.
Nothing is more painful than the wounds of sins beneath the breast.
Grant that the Maker of the world may heal me of these ills:
Grant it, I beg; if you seek, you will soon obtain it.

Chapter Four: How he delivered vessels from a storm. #

¹ Then five vessels, slipping ever nearer to death,
Endured the winds and the sea’s violent waves.
Now they appear far off, like birds swimming the deep;
Now the parted sea bared the abyss to the wretches:
Certain of their deaths they stiffened, covered with brine:
You, growing in merits, a youth, stand upon the shore,
Stand wholly moved by the very depths of pity,
And stretched upon the ground send prayers above the stars;
And while you pour out prayers the tempest ceases on the waves;
The blasts are turned, and the vessels are brought back to land;
Snatched from deaths, they rejoice, cast upon the shore.
They call you holy, who watch the deed in wonder.
Me also, glorious one, I pray, friend of the Almighty,
Lead from the torments of the world through the raging void
To the harbour of the fatherland, that is, the garden of paradise.

Chapter Five: How he saw Saint Aidan’s soul carried to heaven by angels. #

¹ You were feeding the flocks, keeping watch through the night hours;
Praying intently, in mind you transcend earthly things;
You saw a holy one pass over to that place you strained toward:
Aidan rejoices in the stars amid the angelic host.
Grant that I may tend there when I pay my debt to death,
And may Michael’s hand take me up, bearing me to the heavens.

Chapter Six: How, while journeying, he received food from the Lord. #

¹ O youth of such worth! to you, journeying through the waste,
While for Christ’s cross you willed yourself to be tormented,
Fasting steadfast, a gift is given from the sky:
For at the vesper hour, while you sing psalms the longer,
Christ gives you there bread indeed, and flesh with it;
To him who gives all things you, so worthy, sing praises;
And on bended knee the prophet renders thanks.
By these gifts indeed into love of religion
You blaze like a torch, fed on heavenly food.
May the grace of the All-powerful be food to my mind;
May it feed itself, that what harms may waste away.

Chapter Seven: How he lived as a monk. #

¹ Then made a monk, you perform a monk’s deeds;
Living worthily, you are kindled by Christ’s fire.
That you may be perfect you advance from progress to progress.
You know no failing, but ever grow inwardly;
As a pool swells by a stream, or a dull fire by oil:
You stand a model of manners, a teacher of their Teacher.
You subject your pure limbs to greater rigour:
Care of the flesh burdensome, its despising sweet;
And what the world counts bitter becomes dear to you,
Thus worthy of heaven, holy in deed, mind, speech,
Joined with the world in strife, you fought to a happy end.
Ah! Cuthbert, may I live well through you;
To despise with a deep heart whatever is in the world;
Not to favour the flesh, to seek holy things, to live by rule;
That I may live for heaven, ever panting with effort.

Chapter Eight: How he received an angel as a guest. #

¹ How happy a host, to whom an angel came as guest!
His feet and hands you warm and wash, those kindly limbs;
You feed him on bread, you are fed by him on bread;
On three loaves indeed, which he brought from paradise.
Lilies they surpass in whiteness, honey in taste,
And fragrant roses are excelled in sweet odour.
Invited by these, blessed one, you long the more for the heights,
Refreshed as one fed on earth with paradise’s bread.
Guest of Christ, bring me, I pray, a living feast;
Bring them by prayer, in which you are strong, for so you take my ills:
Make my mind never empty of the living bread.

Chapter Nine: How Boisil foretold his future, and how after him Cuthbert preached. #

¹ Boisil, your guide in virtues, sings all your future;
This alone, a sad thing for you, that man foretells —
That you would take up the pontifical yoke more splendidly.
When Boisil duly passed on to the halls of life,
Discharging a prophet’s office, with zeal of piety
You persuade and forbid; you work wonders; you scan the prophets;
By heavenly power you penetrate the darkness of hearts;
With holy mouth you open heaven’s secrets to the blessed;
And what you, holy, love you cry aloud should be learned and held.
Prepare my heart, I pray, to be an altar of the sacred law;
That it may ever learn that by which sin ever weakens.

Chapter Ten: How, when he came out of the sea in which he had spent the night, the animals of the sea ministered to him. #

¹ Entering the sea to the neck through the hours of night,
You render vows of prayer piercing highest heaven;
And when you came out of the sea the natives of the sea came
At once to serve you; stretched flat they lay at your feet,
Warmed from behind by their breath and by their fur.
This done, the otters returned beneath their native waters.
The brother who saw it was seized by faintness and dread:
But your virtue heals, upon whom your blessing flows.
Servant of Christ, great seeker of virtues,
Grant me to seek heaven’s joys amid the waters of the world;
And through God’s worship to overcome the world’s tumult.

Chapter Eleven: How, cut off by a storm, he obtained food by prayer and foretold calm weather. #

¹ Cut off by the sea, when the use of food failed,
You, by holy prayers beating on the Thunderer’s ears,
Receive at your wish the ample solace of food:
You receive feasts three in number for the days;
And foretelling that the strait would be quiet on the fourth day,
You foretell no fiction; for the words come true in order.
You, though I am unworthy, I pray be present in kindly manner;
Bring down Christ’s aid through the aid you have merited;
That the Lord’s right hand may refresh me within and without.

Chapter Twelve: How he received food by means of an eagle. #

¹ Then when, fasting, you went to warn the peoples,
Christ giving, you take the feast the bird had brought.
With the fish given you, you refresh yourself with a grateful gift.
Through you, I pray, may the same Founder increase my faith;
Lest my mind waver, but steadfast refuse vain things;
And trust in Christ, who gives solace to his servants.

Chapter Thirteen: How he extinguished by prayer both a phantom and a real fire. #

¹ You, illustrious father, the demon and the fire both feared:
The fire he feigned your tear with prayer restrained;
And in faith of Christ you drove off the true flames.
Through you may Satan and lust, both foes, flee from me;
May fervour expel fervours, and love drive out loves;
But the holy expel the unjust, the new the old from the heart;
And may it cleanse my heart, which heavenly dew may flood.

Chapter Fourteen: How he healed a madwoman before he was even present. #

¹ How shall I tell how once a woman, by a savage demon,
Was robbed of sense by madness, and driven by furies;
By movement, cries, gestures, gnashings of the mouth;
She was a horror to all and a terror beyond measure,
Tearing her limbs with bites and her coverings wholly,
Dreadfully driven to undergo the utmost pains:
Whom, pitying deeply, when you, man of piety, draw near,
At your approach the foe at once leaves the body’s temple.
You, venerable father, the black spirit dreading,
Fled terrified from you, though absent, mighty in signs;
It could not bear your coming, trembling as at a hundred stripes.
The woman is made whole, comes to meet you, receives you as guest;
And wonders at you, praises, serves, venerates you.
Man, pious in virtues, ask Christ’s assent for me;
That he may defend me, nor repay what my sins deserve:
May he keep me, helped from heaven, safe on every side;
Lest, suffering the dire wrath of the torturer, I be torn,

Chapter Fifteen: How he grew more renowned for signs and miracles. #

¹ From this the grace of signs, witness to your deeds of soul,
Grew to increase, through you medicine to the suffering;
Praying, foretelling, present, absent, blessing,
By exorcising, and at once commanding by the word,
You drive off sicknesses, spectres, beasts, portents, madnesses:
How great a teacher! stern to those, to these gentle as a lamb;
Born for virtue, just, pious, and temperate;
Harsh to the sinner, kind to one confessing sins,
You burn with justice, so as to keep what is fitting for all;
You flow with a pious heart, and so you heal sins’ wounds;
Often indeed accustomed to pour out tears for the sinner;
Avenging sins, while the penitent discloses them to you,
You bear with the contentious, endure the impatient;
Bearing reproach you are silent, and silent conquer the talkative;
So by bearing you make all rebels peaceful toward you.

² Prolonging the hours of praying and of watching,
You join nights to prayers, and days with night:
Through nights three or four, sleepless,
When you celebrate Mass you stand made a victim at them.
Poured out in prayers far from the earth,
To Christ you are sacrificed, weeping with heart on high;
You lift your heart more than the throat’s loud cries;
You perform the rites more by weeping than by sweet singing:
Embraced by such great commands of the Thunderer
You bend the perverse, and bind all good men to you.
Grant, man of virtue, that I follow these examples of salvation:
Grant, good one, grant I say, that I do good and leave ill:
Grant that praying I may weep, and weeping sweetly pray;
That, now carnal, through you I may become spiritual,

Chapter Sixteen: How he lived as a solitary on Farne. #

¹ Then you seek holier things, scorning earthly things on all sides:
In Farne’s hiding-place you long to be famous in heaven;
Hidden from earth, shunning the tumult of affairs.
Your care above is by hope to foretaste things to come;
Tasting this you have leisure, appease Christ with tear and prayer.
You live absorbed thereby, taken with great sweetness:
You live and persist, nothing turns you from these things.
This secret place the prince of hell held with his fierce host,
But driven out from then on he is made a stranger
To the seat in which you, most holy, now dwell.
With Christ’s breastplate, and the friendly helm of salvation,
And the word’s sword you press the proud foe’s neck.
Thus armed and proved, you build your camp here.
So may you make me scorn the world’s cares, soon to perish with it,
Tasting the heavenly life:
Make me thirst greatly to see the Ruler’s face,
Whom at last I may see, blessing the saints through the ages.

Chapter Seventeen: How he obtained water from the hardest rock. #

¹ A spring given from the rock flowed grateful to your gift:
It leaps from the stone with a measure fitted to you;
From it you drink, from it rejoice, from it sing praises from the heart.
Its taste you love more than delightful must,
And prefer it to cups of sweet wine.

Chapter Eighteen: Of the miracle which customarily happens from that same spring. #

¹ This spring indeed works this wonder in our time:
By some it is drunk, to others drinking is denied.
For it gives to the guiltless, but gives no drink to the guilty:
The guiltless drinks from it; the thirsty pirate returns still thirsting,
And at last it dries up so that the guilty may not drink.
Man of such merit, by prayer that pleases the All-creating,
Soften the stones of my mind with flowing tears:
Whatever filth it holds, may this compunction of heart wash away,
That I may drink from the spring by which I may live for ever.

Chapter Nineteen: How he drove the birds from his harvest by a word. #

¹ Living after the fathers’ manner, by the labour of your hands,
You had entrusted to the soil hope of food, your prayers for the future:
But a flock of winged plunderers harmed your crop,
Which forbidding you drive by command from those ears:
And after that they never touched your harvest more.
So, the proud spoiler driven off by Christ’s word,
Make the holy seed root deep in the heart;
From which faith may grow, and growing flourish green.

Chapter Twenty: How the ravens made amends for the wrong they had done him by prayers and gifts. #

¹ Two ravens, tearing apart, unroof the shelter’s roof,
Rend it, and ruin it for their brood’s nests:
You command, and they yield, for after your bidding they depart:
But as you dig the fields, after three turnings of the sun,
One stands by, sad, making lament with telltale motion;
He grieves with his voice, clings downcast to the ground;
Lies lamenting, by which he wins your heart;
And lies before your feet, to regain his former dwelling.
You assent; from there he went swiftly and called back his mate.
They bring their own grease with which to anoint your shoes;
And after this, faithful, they keep the dwellings of their nest.
So may you repress whatever I have done contrary to law;
Grant me to mourn the sins I have committed;
May I be found guiltless while I run through this life,
In God’s kingdom may a seat of rest be mine.

Chapter Twenty-One: How the sea brought him the timber neglected by the brothers. #

¹ The brothers forgot the timber asked for before,
Which the sea’s wave indeed brings you and lays on that spot,
Where it had been due to be placed for support,
In that measure which the hut was to hold.
So what is made rejoices to submit its laws to you;
Grateful to the Maker, for you had given service.
Now, dear to God, graciously help me;
That I may live rightly, bend Christ back to me, I pray:
Make flesh be subject to mind, mind subject to the Almighty:
So, well changed, may I one day be blessed.

Chapter Twenty-Two: How, though far removed, he was frequented by many. #

¹ As a city set on a hill, your life stands out on every side;
It cannot be hid, though hidden away on Farne.
Fame makes known him whom the place sets remote from the world.
Those whom evils pressed came to you for relief:
Part who had done ill, part who had suffered
In mournful breast the serpent’s fierce temptations,
That they might be restored; each confesses to you with groans;
Nor were they cheated of hope, for they returned restored.
None returns sad, nor carries back the heart’s turmoil;
A solace to the sad, a ready relief to the troubled,
A light to the tempted, hope of help to the afflicted
You had become, having attained the heights of virtue;
For you knew well how to set forth the joys of Christ,
And how fleeting with time is the world’s luxury.
The thousand snares by which that foe deceives
You laid plainly open, and opening taught to beware:
Saying, the man bare of love will be caught in these straps;
He who is made firm by it, and strengthened by holy faith,
Will pass over free, nor can he be held by deceit.
How many and how great the ills with which the fierce demonic power
Tried to wound you, how often it rolled you from the rock,
And hurled stones, and hurling made ready to kill:
But it neither hurt you, nor could it terrify.
Holy love abides in anyone loving so greatly;
It drives fear from the heart, and ever grants quiet.
Lest the black spirit deceive me, holy father,
Be my helper, and through all things my guard;
Grant me to love Christ, who crushes every evil;
And may I be strong in faith, the prince of death being conquered.
Grant me to be able to follow what is good, right, and just;
I will follow you wholly from desire, sluggishness cast off;
And holding this way may I merit life after death,
That through you, with you, happy I may be placed for ever.

Chapter Twenty-Three: How Abbess Ælfled and her maid were healed by his girdle. #

¹ Her body pressed by ills, the nun Ælfled
Could be restored by the care of no physicians.
O holy Cuthbert! your gifts’ sharp power puts ill to flight;
By the girdle you sent you drove away the disease:
Girding herself with it she is healed by your mighty merit.
A little while after, another maid languished,
Nearly driven to death, crushed by pain of the head:
But the same girdle’s power drives off the harm;
For soon she is healed, once her head is bound with it.
But wondrously, the girdle, after those two gifts of power,
Could nowhere there nor anywhere ever be found.
You, pious one, you, so great, with your healing piety,
Take away my languor, lest I labour to a dire death,
The languor of sin, harsher than all languors.
Alas, how great the burden of my sins!
Nothing is heavier for the soul than this weight’s load:
It slides toward ruin, plunges the wretched into hell.
From these evils, I pray, father, deliver me, spiritual one:
Groaning beneath so great a mass, may I be lifted, I beg, by your holy prayer.
Compassionate to the lowly, you are made equal to them too:
You bring joys to the weeper, a poor man to yourself, rich to the needy;
Hunger you dispel with food, cold with clothing:
Piety makes you a mother, censure a father;
Rejoicing with the joyful, sad and grieving with the grieved;
You correct errors, calming furies into peace;
You lift the necks of the oppressed from the load of labours;
Stern in word, you spare none of the proud:
The favour of the powerful brings you no flattery;
But your zeal, renowned one, rebukes each man’s sin:
Holy, catholic, prudent, pious and chaste,
What you do outwardly is witness to what is within:
For the worker’s miracles are witnesses of his mind.
O you! man mighty in such great merits;
Loose by your prayers the bonds of my sins:
Grant me to learn in you, thirsting, to grow in all things celestial,
And sharing in good things to follow the acts of religion;
By some part, may I climb the heights of virtues.

Chapter Twenty-Four: How he foretold to Ælfled the death of her brother King Ecgfrid and his own pontificate. #

¹ While as a suppliant the holy royal virgin asks you,
Foreseeing prophet, imploring what shall be,
You sing the things to come of her brother’s sad death;
Which the Britons mourned after the year’s end,
And what laws would be, under whom the sceptre would be;
And you foretell with sacred mouth that you will be a bishop.
Which yet you dreaded, since you yourself wished more
To dwell in secret, and quiet to be free for Christ,
Than to be raised high, than to be harassed by cares;
Grant me now to shun the world’s vexations;
That scanning God’s commands, possessed of holy rest,
I may ponder them, nor loose my heart from them.
Here is labour, here love, zeal, meditation, cry,
This sleepless work: let all that disturbs be far away.

Chapter Twenty-Five: How he lived when forced to undertake the bishopric. #

¹ Now by Christ’s nod come to pass what you foretold:
King, nobles, monks too, and bishops
Plead, weep, implore, and outright pray,
And bend the knee, shaken with suppliant weeping.
Scarce from your retreat and the sweet seat of quiet
Do they draw you, father, forced to bear the cares,
Drenched in tears they seize you for a shepherd’s use.
Now made bishop, you adorn a bishop’s deeds beyond measure;
As doer you fulfilled what as teacher you used to say:
Burning with no small zeal for gaining souls,
You remain the flock’s order, mirror, way, rule of law,
Light and path of manners, ladder of right, light of souls,
Teacher of honour, and guardian of sobriety,
Form of justice, and holiest standard of righteousness;
Example to each, you remain a monk everywhere;
As formerly alone, so now mingled with crowds the same;
You stand a monk in face, life, word, food, and garb.

Chapter Twenty-Six: How, though absent, he knew in spirit the death of King Ecgfrid. #

¹ That the seer’s foretold oracles should come true,
While the king laid waste the Picts and slew the wretches,
He, surrounded, was slain by the raging sword.
You marked out before many the hour of his death;
Though you were distant by the bounds of many lands:
That you speak true the messengers of events attest;
For at the moment the king fell by the bloody sword,
With what a sad heart you taught those present the fact.
That I may see, pure one, the future life’s secrets,
Drive from my heart’s sight whatever filth is in it.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: How he obtained for Herebert that he should depart to the Lord with him. #

¹ With what effort, I ask, shall I relate greater things?
How holy love burns with noble fire among the saints,
And from two the same spirit unites one heart?
Herebert, joined heart to heart, joining himself to you,
Follows you, a hermit resplendent in life:
For living he follows you and honours you teaching;
He so honours your words that he will not depart from them.
Once a year he comes to you with great ardour,
And so grows by your words, as a torch by turning;
Hope is increased, flesh serves, mind rules;
He utterly scorns what he sees fleeting in the world;
He strains to the eternal, foretastes the heavenly in loving,
While you two spoke words of eternal quiet.
At last, Cuthbert, you sing thus to your comrade: “Herebert,
At this moment, remember to discuss what you wish,
And to ask of me what you seek to know;
From here we shall depart, not to return again;
Now we shall go, but afterwards we shall not see each other;
There will be no more seeing of this body,
For by Christ’s judgement I shall soon be loosed from it;
I shall lay down the flesh, and pass beneath life’s crown.”
Hearing this, Herebert grows sad at heart;
Cast on the ground he weeps, and prays with vows and cries;
“I beg you, venerable one, deign to remember your dear one:
By God’s pity grant me to share in that prize;
Climbing heaven’s heights, do not leave me on earth;
With you from the world let me depart to a good end,
And be joined to you when I fulfil life’s office.”
The lofty bishop, moved to his heart’s depths,
Runs to meet this vow with his whole heart.
You entreat Christ that he take this man too with you,
And bid him be raised above the stars in like service.
Without delay you felt Christ’s gifts yield to you;
Felt, I say, taught by the friendly Spirit:
“Brother,” you say, “rise, do not press your heart with grief,
But rather rejoice, and rejoicing applaud in all things;
You yourself shall go as companion of that way, dear comrade:
Both festive, living better after death,
Entering the heavens we shall feast there in triumph.”
All things came to pass as they had been spoken by you;
You parted each to where he would, each to his own place;
You did not see each other with fleshly eyes in the fields,
But what you sought, asked, loved, snatched from here together,
Received from the world into heaven alike,
You reign together in that same moment for ever.
Dweller now in heaven, bring aid, I pray, to a faithful mind;
May I tread down earth’s depths in mind, seek what is above the sky,
Live not in the world but in heaven with a clean heart;
Grant by virtue of prayers that I may live with you.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: How he healed a count’s servant. #

¹ A certain man rendering service to a certain count,
Pressed by grievous wasting, lay faint to the end;
Now not like one ailing but one dying:
But the conquered plague yields to your blessed water,
Given to the sick man by a certain one to drink;
Poured into his mouth, the wasting flees driven back;
He rises and exults, the whole house rings with praise.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: How he healed a count’s wife. #

¹ Going round the villages, you shepherded the flocks as pastor:
A glad day is rendered to the count by your gentle visit:
For his wife he had suffered grief enough,
Whom a strong sickness was forcing to death’s threshold;
And measureless pain had taken sense from her body.
Scarce did the laboured breath warm back in her breast;
But you restore the wretch, through water which you bless:
By that water’s touch a wondrous thing is done for her:
For that same hour drives off the deathly harm.
The woman stands whole before you, and serves at table;
A ready servant to you, through whom she returned to health.
A pitiable girl lay sick with pain in the house,
Whose head and side had been great torments.
Her, when you anointed with Christ’s consecrated chrism,
She who had languished sick is made whole in strength.

Chapter Thirty: How a sick man was healed by bread sent by him. #

¹ A man stricken by disease, eaten by much pain,
Wasted to death; his anxious plight calls a gathering,
A gathering of dear ones to whom there is cause of grief:
When suddenly bread — but not void of power,
Indeed a sacred gift — one of them brings forth:
He brings it forth and says, “Cuthbert blessed this;
Wondrous power through it, I believe, will appear in the sick.”
Soon a portion of the blessed bread is mixed in water;
Then when, believing, they gave the sick man to drink,
By a tiny taste he is renewed from that languor:
He rises and walks, and scarce believes himself;
So much he wonders that he is so suddenly renewed.

Chapter Thirty-One: How he healed by a blessing a young man brought to him on a bed. #

¹ And when with pious care through pastoral right
You survey the places of your entrusted people, watchful yourself,
See, borne to you on a bed, miserably tormented,
One sick man is present, almost a corpse in body alone,
For nearly driven forth, torn from its seat, was the spirit,
And this wretched, wasted frame lay:
You, pitying him, suppliant in prayer, by the cross’s power
Restore the feeble one to life, healing him.
He who was carried returns himself, restored to health.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Of the half-dead boy healed by him. #

¹ Now malicious plague, laying waste with deadly slaughter,
Struck down thousands, stripped the soil of its tiller.
You, hope, care, and solace of your charge,
With lavish gifts, Cuthbert, scatter healing;
And a mother under your care, weeping the doom
Of her son doomed to die, moved you with her weeping:
For you blessed, and likewise gave a holy kiss
To the half-dead little one, now to be restored to life,
Thus speaking to the mother, that she should not weep sadly;
“Fear nothing grievous, for this little one shall live,
And none of yours shall pass his last day
By this plague of sickness, by which none of them shall die:”
As these words are said, events follow in order;
The child is healed, the mother is renewed with joy.
You, holy, pious, good, bishop, father and patron,
Who have healed so many, raised so many pressed down,
Be my protector, be my restorer from stain;
Be my safeguard, and medicine at Christ’s bidding,
Sustain me, pressed by sins, with pious help.
Holy father, for me bring forth your holy prayers;
Bring forth prayers, I beg, asking aid for the stricken,
Ask God for me; I commend myself to you for healing;
Without delay you will heal, if you, holy, ask for me;
No trouble from that, if by your asking I am blessed.

Chapter Thirty-Three: How, while eating, he saw a certain soul carried to heaven by angels. #

¹ Sitting sober at table you weigh heavenly things;
While you feast you are borne above the stars in desire:
Withdrawn from the meal you are wearied in your whole body:
The matter changes your face, your right hand leaves the knife;
Your heart trembles with dread, heavenly power poises your mind.
Marvelling at these things, the pious servant of virtues,
The royal virgin indeed who then sat beside you there,
Scarce daring to ask that you deign to eat, being so withdrawn,
Asks suppliantly what cause had subdued you to trembling.
With gentle mouth you reply, “surely I saw great things,
How blessed a soul is lifted from earth’s depths,
Thronged by saints, to whom heaven’s gate is opened,
Joined to glad choirs it is clothed in blessed hours.
It was a humble part of the flock which you pasture well;
Tomorrow you shall tell me its name and the omen of death,
When I have offered the gift to the Lord at the holy altar.”
Now, morning come, nothing of the words proves vain;
To you intent on the rites the virgin says, “remember
That Hadguald, who happened to fall from a tree;
Fallen, he died; pray Christ that rest be his:”
Thus, pious one, thus in you is clear the grace that shines.
You discern his taking up, and his triumph to the stars:
What, when, and what things she should tell you, you foretell alike.
Now to me, aid me, father of so great merits:
Obtain strength with which to drive foul things from my heart;
May my mind take Christ that it may fit me with virtues;
Take, that gaining these I may pursue the saints’ deeds,
Whose lot after death I may take through the ages.

Chapter Thirty-Four: How he changed water into wine. #

¹ Divine power gives you wine from water;
You made wine of the water which you drank from the spring;
Others tasting celebrate the wine’s miracle.
Turn my ways into better, I pray:
Drop on me from on high, that I may taste, the better things.
Grant me to taste more and more, as you tasted, of Christ,
The sacred sweetness, and with it love of that sweetness.

Chapter Thirty-Five: How after two years of his episcopate he returned to the solitary life, and how the sea hindered the brothers who disobeyed him. #

¹ For two years yourself enlightening the Britons,
By episcopal right you performed the duties of care:
Soon, after the prophets’ manner, foreknowing your hour of death,
The honoured feast of Christmas being past,
You lay down your cares, and go to the caves.
Farne indeed you seek again, the seat and place of quiet,
Stripped of all things, that you might safely reach the sky.
Once it happened, after words of friendly greeting,
To the company of brothers you speak jokingly yet wittily:
“Let that goose be boiled in water, which is seen hanging;
Eat it when boiled, and after the meal return by boat.”
But postponing the goose, the monks not eating it,
Provoke the sea’s wrath, which hinders their going.
The sea rages everywhere, and did not let them return:
Nor do they know at heart the cause of this offence.
When the sun had swept the sky for seven days,
You, pious bishop, relieve the sad ones with solace:
And, “what,” you say, “is strange, if the sea is dire to you?
This element now avenges our contempt;
A hostile force rages, because the goose was not eaten:
Obey at last, brothers, and eat it;
That by obeying you may overcome the sea’s threats by boat.”
When that much-praised fowl was already cooking in the fire,
The boiling of its flesh to be food for the monks.
Without delay the sea leaves its turmoil and the wave its swell;
The clouds thin, and the settled winds grow calm.
For the brothers, fed on the fowl you commanded,
When they saw the strait calm, glad with soothed murmur,
Mount the little boat, and regain their cell across the waters.
Marvelling at the deed, and venerating you in it,
Fellow of the saints, grant that I may not forget
The sacred precepts by which I may gain the heavens.

Chapter Thirty-Six: What great temptations he bore in his sickness, and what he commanded about his burial. #

¹ After two months you fall upon sickness’s swords;
Wearied in flesh, and prepared for heaven by pain:
For three weeks you lay faint with languor,
Yet sick you would not take offered service.
Now the sun had circled the sky for five days,
And no man visited you, for the sea allowed no visiting:
It shuddered with waves, and raged swelling with gusts.
Struggling with this delay, you bear graver temptations:
Now the ancient serpent came against you more wicked;
But to you the victor these wars were honour.
After the sea was calmed the company of brothers returns to you:
That you, too afflicted, took no food
Through so long a space your loving ones’ weeping laments.
Then drawing back the straw bedding beneath you,
Showing five onions indeed, you spoke these words:
“Here is food, here is drink, tasting these I am refreshed,
When thirst burned, and my mouth grew stiff with thirsting,
Gnawing a little I was refreshed by their juice.
You sweet sons, brothers proved in love,
With the thing now complete, hasten back to your dwelling;
Pray for me, since even now I know I am
To be loosed from the body, I hope to be borne above the stars.
From here in God’s light I shall surpass the light of day:
Here in good peace I shall gleam with life’s crown:
That the pious one will give, who denies what is just to none;
The King for whom I strove, and loved as a faithful soldier.
There is a thing, O sons, I pray, grant it to your father:
After life’s course, bury me, that is, here:
Here I ask to be buried, where I dwelt with quiet heart,
Where I was pricked in conscience, where joined to Christ in breast,
Where weeping I rejoiced, thirsting I wept for joys,
Where I sang psalms, and lived for heaven in all things:
From here too after my course shall I be raised to the sky above;
May my spirit be in heaven, my flesh rest on Farne it loved.”
Then the brothers grieve, and fall clinging to the ground,
And deeply mourn the prophet’s near death;
And that voice of the praying men resounds with sobs.
“Hear, holy father, since black grief entangles us,
Certain now of you, hear us, holy, in pity,
You who now will pass, departing to reign,
To live in heaven, but alas! to die to us.
From here together we pray, that we may find relief,
What you leave to earth, let us carry with us:
This holy body, worthy one, to be buried.
It is not fitting for Farne to hide such gifts in the earth.
A thing renowned, worthy one, must not be entrusted to darkness.”
To the suppliants you gently return answers, venerable one.
“What you ask I think will not profit you:
From this I foresee cares coming upon you;
For law-breakers, the wicked, and those who harm,
Robber, perjurer, plunderer, thief, and hardened bandit
Will make the dwelling of our body a seat of refuge,
If it itself rests with you in the tomb,
To shun punishments the wretches will seek it in flight:
For these surely, to preserve life, care, and sought-for peace,
You will strive against the strong:
Discord will breed quarrels against the merciless:
Here is much labour to overcome such tumults.”
At this the company of brothers tells him it is acceptable,
And light to bear hard things for the buried father’s body.
Compassionate to your sons, father and bishop of piety,
You give consent, moved by pity;
You grant it, saying with words all too revered,
“Since with many prayers you will overcome my wishes,
That I may lie at Lindisfarne after death in the flesh:
It pleases you to place me entombed in the church’s inner parts,
That you may be able to come here whenever you wish;
Let it be your right, to those seeking our tomb,
Whether you permit them to enter the inner place.”
These things thus permitted, the monks are comforted by them;
And give thanks to you on bended knee, prophet.
You, kindly father, I pray, venerable one, favour my wishes;
Namely that I may know what things are worthy to ask;
That asking worthy things I may obtain them by kindly piety.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: How he delivered his servant from a flow of blood. #

¹ Approaching death you sweat with joyful torment;
Wearied with fever, but refreshed with certain hope;
Worn to the point of death, you are borne to the cave of retreat;
That is, the cave of prayers, where for a long time with you
None dwelt, and to none was it allowed to enter.
But now, entreated, allowing a little service,
Here you admitted a companion, but soon restored the companion:
For Wahlstod languishing rejoiced, touching you, pious one:
While he touched you the flow of his bowels ceased.
O pious Cuthbert! may I touch heavenly things through you;
By the mind’s contact, be thus healed in thirsting.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: What commands he gave his own at the end. #

¹ Now nearer to heaven, driven by panting sickness,
You give your flock commands fitting to God’s law,
And thus leave them a spiritual farewell.
“Be peaceful, shunning the wranglings of strife,
And may the same love ever bind you with the same heart;
May it bind you in Christ, nor depart from him;
Do not be at odds while you strive in counsel.
Plainly, concord does not render counsel vain,
For it will go ill if discord fouls it:
Honour in all things those famous and dear in faith;
Hold yourselves of no more account than these sons of faith;
Observe the duties of hospitality with utmost care;
Serve them, I beg; this prepares the pious covenants of life.
Flee far from the foes of catholic peace,
Nor with the perverse and those returned to perfidy
Have consent in deed, nor fellowship in pact.
Hold this ratified, which will be pleasing after my death:
In adversity, when you are sunk in sadness,
When with doubtful fates it is uncertain what you should do,
It is preferable that you take up my dug-up bones,
And carrying them leave the place in flight,
Rather than bear the yokes of wicked schismatics,
And bow your necks to patrons of impiety.
The pious catholic teachings of the fathers, friends of peace,
Which, God granting, with me faithfully serving him,
You saw in me, which holy things indeed you learned,
Keep worthily, and keeping always love;
For although I may seem worthless, and living base,
After my death you will surely see openly
Who I am, and of what sort, how spiritual a life;
And that my teaching was a medicine of sin.”
These and more than these, saying things profitable to your own,
About to ascend Christ’s kingdom you discoursed.
That very night of rest passed in glad watches:
As light drew near, the King of light calling you,
The passage pressed on, which greatly gladdened you.
When you had duly tasted the sacred feast of life,
The saints’ feast, their firm defence,
Giving kindly praises, you raise your palms to the sky,
Palms and face, greatly thirsting for heavenly things,
So amid praises you rejoice to ascend the stars;
Rejoicing you are enriched, blessed from the mouth of Deity,
And the saints’ choir applauds you with tuneful praise.
O you! to whom the heavenly company sings hymns on feast days,
Grant me to keep the last of your words:
Grant, pious one, grant, I say, that I do not forsake your sayings,
That after death I may share your joys with you.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: How his body was brought to the church of Lindisfarne and buried there. #

¹ Then the sacred corpse, a gift venerable to the world,
Laid on a ship is conveyed over the gentle sea.
The Lindisfarne folk meet it on the shore, weeping,
And receive it with tuneful choirs, celebrating:
And in the holy places they lay the father’s remains.
These in the chancel, shut in a stone coffin,
They keep, rejoice in, embrace, venerate:
They keep a treasure, than which gold is cheaper.
Gleaming gem of heaven, I beg, do not spurn me;
From the flesh’s corruption may I wash myself, by your doing;
That with chaste ways I may live devoted to the stars.

Chapter Forty: How a demon-possessed boy was healed by soil, into which the water of his body’s washing had been poured, being thrown into water. #

¹ A boy plagued by a demon, suffering torments,
Uttered fierce cries, driven by madness:
He was wholly deprived of the goods of reason;
Whatever he touched, tearing with his teeth, he diminished.
A priest stood by, but availed nothing by praying.
Led to the places of the holy relics
Not even thus is he healed, but your honour is increased thereby,
Since through you, Cuthbert, he receives health restored.
There was water which had been poured from the sacred washing,
Which once had washed the holy body for burial:
He took part of the soil, as by the art of medicine,
And mixed it with waters, which he poured into the sufferer’s mouth:
Without delay it repressed the cries, motions, and wretched madness,
And he regained his mind, and took rest.
Morning come indeed he rises whole in that place,
And believes the better, and goes away the saner.
Man, pious in signs, repress the demons’ powers:
To unclean spirits let there be no lawful licence,
That they may rend me, or creep within in crime.

Chapter Forty-One: How his body was found incorrupt after eleven years. #

¹ When the sun in its circling had completed eleven years,
Since, in God’s peace, the time of your rest,
And your holy flesh was buried with great care,
Then, Christ judging, it pleased the brothers
To raise your most holy limbs from the earth;
Which they believe had become ash, touched by decay,
That a new chest preserving them may gather them above the soil.
But here hard corruption has no power over nature,
They are as free from decay as they had been from fault,
The whole body is there, nothing removed of flesh or bone,
Pliable in the joints, sinews firm in their frame,
It rendered it whole, as the tomb had received it,
As in the repose of sleep, so in the whole body it appeared:
And sharp decay failed the sacred garments too:
No rot indeed touched the wrappings in eleven years,
In which your holy flesh was wrapped by a glorious gift.
I pray, angelic man, friend of the almighty Father,
Wash away for me the flesh’s filth which you detest;
Lest it foully rot, if it rests in this filth;
But may I be a temple dedicated to Christ in this body.

Chapter Forty-Two: How the body of Bishop Eadbert, as he himself had desired, was placed in his sarcophagus. #

¹ Bishop Eadbert, how full of gladness,
Renowned, sang the miracles in worthy verse.
“O! how holy,” he said, “is the place which enclosed such things:
He who kept this, which he consecrated with virtue:
From this I truly know that soon that place will be able to remain
Not long empty of burial,
How well will he rest, whom chance entombs in it!
Greatly blessed is he to whom that place is a sepulchre.”
The devout bishop, wholly absorbed in heaven,
Said much more than this, thirsting for things to come.
After this, touched by sickness, and compelled to die,
Blessed, he is made possessor everywhere of his vows:
His spirit sought the stars, his flesh rests in the sarcophagus
Where Cuthbert’s flesh, unknowing of blemish, had rested.

Chapter Forty-Three: How a sick cleric was healed by praying at his tomb. #

¹ A pitiable cleric guest wasted away, not whole;
Now despaired of, he had borne excessive torments:
Now nearly failed, whom no remedy had restored.
But your tomb indeed, Cuthbert, becomes health to him.
Scarce had the wretch, borne here, poured out weeping prayers,
That by prayer you might dispel languor or pain by death,
What end there might be to such great ills as he suffers,
When the sick man prayed, virtue soon restored him;
Heavenly power drives off the plague’s dangers from him:
That through that power health returned so swiftly
He marvels greatly, and utters praises in song.
That I may sing praises through the ages seeing the Thunderer,
Relieve me, faint, pressed by the weight of sin.

Chapter Forty-Four: How a paralysed man was healed by his shoes. #

¹ Numb to the point of death, a pitiable youth is present,
For plainly he was almost nothing but an empty body:
No limb rendered him any service,
Stripped of senses as though loosed into death;
And no force of healers’ art lessened the torment.
At last the sick man’s feet, with the shoes
Which once had covered your soles, renowned father,
While they are wrapped round, soon the harm is softened:
The sickness grows mild, he rests placidly in sleep;
And in his sleep each foot of his throbs;
Then that the health begun may pass through all his limbs,
Waking glad, trusting the sacred medicine,
Now contrary to custom he feels strength in him:
He rose, stood, walked, and sang praises,
Praises the Saviour, magnifying you for such things;
You, illustrious father, renowned for so many signs.
He who was carried returns himself on foot, renewed.
Grant me virtue, begging health for me,
And make firm the weak things of my mind, I pray, by holy prayer.

Chapter Forty-Five: How many were healed by the calf-skin which had been fixed in the corner of his oratory. #

¹ Who would not marvel that even a hide heals?
The sacred hide indeed, exposed to savage storms,
In that part of the house where you, holy,
Long used to call on Christ, calling and deserving.
This same hide, medicine of sickness to the wretched,
Desired by all, bestows itself cut in pieces
By Felgild’s gift, who, with you, Cuthbert, as patron,
As by an heir’s right, now third dweller in the seat,
Held with chaste life your sweet dwelling.

Chapter Forty-Six: Of the monk healed at his tomb. #

¹ A certain cloistered monk, dutiful in his office,
Rejoicing to bestow pure care on guests:
While intent on sacred things suddenly keen force seizes him;
For by paralysis he now becomes useless to himself:
Touched by that plague, he rises to no actions:
Miserably racked, he began to fear worse things.
His torment, kindly father, your monument
Drove off; this same man had prayed as a suppliant.
Amid the words of prayer he falls into quiet sleep;
Through sleep he felt that a right hand took the sickness away,
While it felt for him as it were the sick body’s parts.
Waking he is amazed that he is thus healed;
Without delay he rose, and filled all with wonder,
Telling this to all, and blessing God with praise.