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Michael R Burch May 2021
THE RUIN in a Modern English Translation

"The Ruin" is one of the great poems of English antiquity. This modern English translation of one of the very best Old English/Anglo-Saxon poems is followed by footnotes, a summary and analysis, a discussion of the theme, and the translator's comments.

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

well-hewn was this wall-stone, till Wyrdes wrecked it
and the Colossus sagged inward ...

broad battlements broken;
the Builders' work battered;

the high ramparts toppled;
tall towers collapsed;

the great roof-beams shattered;
gates groaning, agape ...

mortar mottled and marred by scarring ****-frosts ...
the Giants’ dauntless strongholds decaying with age ...

shattered, the shieldwalls,
the turrets in tatters ...

where now are those mighty Masons, those Wielders and Wrights,
those Samson-like Stonesmiths?

the grasp of the earth, the firm grip of the ground
holds fast those fearless Fathers
men might have forgotten
except that this slow-rotting siege-wall still stands
after countless generations!

for always this edifice, grey-lichened, blood-stained,
stands facing fierce storms with their wild-whipping winds
because those master Builders bound its wall-base together
so cunningly with iron!

it outlasted mighty kings and their claims!

how high rose those regal rooftops!
how kingly their castle-keeps!
how homely their homesteads!
how boisterous their bath-houses and their merry mead-halls!
how heavenward flew their high-flung pinnacles!
how tremendous the tumult of those famous War-Wagers ...
till mighty Fate overturned it all, and with it, them.

then the wide walls fell;
then the bulwarks were broken;
then the dark days of disease descended ...

as death swept the battlements of brave Brawlers;
as their palaces became waste places;
as ruin rained down on their grand Acropolis;
as their great cities and castles collapsed
while those who might have rebuilt them lay gelded in the ground:
those marvelous Men, those mighty master Builders!

therefore these once-decorous courts court decay;
therefore these once-lofty gates gape open;
therefore these roofs' curved arches lie stripped of their shingles;
therefore these streets have sunk into ruin and corroded rubble ...

when in times past light-hearted Titans flushed with wine
strode strutting in gleaming armor, adorned with splendid ladies’ favors,
through this brilliant city of the audacious famous Builders
to compete for bright treasure: gold, silver, amber, gemstones.

here the cobblestoned courts clattered;
here the streams gushed forth their abundant waters;
here the baths steamed, hot at their fiery hearts;
here this wondrous wall embraced it all, with its broad *****.

... that was spacious ...

Footnotes and Translator's Comments
by Michael R. Burch


"The Ruin" is an ancient Anglo-Saxon poem. It appears in the Exeter Book, which has been dated to around 960-990 AD. However, the poem may be older than the manuscript, since many ancient poems were passed down ****** for generations before being written down. The poem is an elegy or lament for the works of "mighty men" of the past that have fallen into disrepair and ruins. Ironically, the poem itself was found in a state of ruin. There are holes in the vellum upon which it was written. It appears that a brand or poker was laid to rest on the venerable book. It is believed the Exeter Book was also used as a cutting board and beer mat. Indeed, we are lucky to have as much of the poem as we do.


The author is an unknown Anglo-Saxon scop (poet).


"The Ruin" may be classified as an elegy, eulogy, dirge and/or lament, depending on how one interprets it.


The poem's theme is one common to Anglo-Saxon poetry and literature: that man and his works cannot escape the hands of wyrde (fate), time and death. Thus men can only face the inevitable with courage, resolve, fortitude and resignation. Having visited Bath myself, I can easily understand how the scop who wrote the poem felt, and why, if I am interpreting the poem correctly.


The plot of "The Ruin" seems rather simple and straightforward: Things fall apart. The author of the poem blames Fate for the destruction he sees. The builders are described as "giants."


"The Ruin" is an alliterative poem; it uses alliteration rather than meter and rhyme to "create a flow" of words. This was typical of Anglo-Saxon poetry.


When the Romans pulled their legions out of Britain around 400 BC, primarily because they faced increasing threats at home, they left behind a number of immense stone works, including Hadrian's Wall, various roads and bridges, and cities like Bath. Bath, known to the Romans as Aquae Sulis, is the only English city fed by hot springs, so it seems likely that the city in question is Bath. Another theory is that the poem refers to Hadrian's Wall and the baths mentioned were heated artificially. The Saxons, who replaced the Romans as rulers of most of Britain, used stone only for churches and their churches were small. So it seems safe to say that the ruins in question were created by Roman builders.


My personal interpretation of the poem is that the poet is simultaneously impressed by the magnificence of the works he is viewing, and discouraged that even the works of the mighty men of the past have fallen to ruin.

Analysis of Characters and References

There are no characters, per se, only an anonymous speaker describing the ruins and the men he imagines to have built things that have survived so long despite battles and the elements.

Related Poems

Other Anglo-Saxon/Old English poems: The Ruin, Wulf and Eadwacer, The Wife's Lament, Deor's Lament, Caedmon's Hymn, Bede's Death Song, The Seafarer, Anglo-Saxon Riddles and Kennings

Keywords/Tags: Anglo-Saxon, Old English, England, translation, elegy, lament, lamentation, Bath, Roman, giant, giants, medieval, builders, ruin, ruins, wall, walls, fate, mrbtr
cici Mar 2021
the night is long and I am a short woman -
moved by the breeze, gazing at the stars.
the night is long, and at length unknown,
but as a holder of giants, and the planets afar.
Timmy Shanti Dec 2020
i breathe in
i breathe out
crossing fingers
black out

down my drink
tryina think
i don't blink
why do you?

got somena hide?
take it in your stride!

ride wit me
vibe wit me
be dope wit me
got hope wit me

rubbin shoulders
breaking boulders
we giants
ain't said we compliant

hate the game
not the player
ain't no shame
say a prayer

for yoself
and for us

what's the fuss?

we be  levitatin
xmas yet?
we celebratin
24 xii MMXX

merry, gay, nice, sugar and spice xmas and new year to you, luvs!
lands of
Titans as
these Vikings
clash at
large with
their picks
and chosen
oars and
hoa ravished
atmosphere with
sea by
their front
and wind
at their
backs while
craters solemnize
the dunes
basil Jul 2020
my shoes
are only size seven and a half
so my footprints
are quite small
but i leave them places
where giants have walked
Katlyn Orthman Mar 2020
It's like a dark cloud weighing on my conscience
What a cliche thing to say in a world full of dark clouds

For all my transgressions, I beg forgiveness from the eye that sees all.
For when I am called upon by the looker
To be judged for all my doings
I will be forced to look through the face of judgement
And recognize that the truth is sanctioned in the balance of the universe
And the balance is scaled politely on the shoulders of giants
That scoure the Earth in search of gold hearts and diamond tear drops
Leaving behind nothing more than bleak hopes and dreams casted out into the darkness of nothing.
Choal westfall Mar 2020
The giants,
They fight.

They live their life blind,
Blind to those below.
Blind to the fights we have fought,
Blind to the pain we keep,
And yet they say they know.

We speak of what we think,
We speak of what we know.
We tell of how we take the blow.
They listen not.
And yet they say they know.

So we hide.
We hide the things we feel,
We hide the things we think.
Hide the wounds we dont want seen.
Let them think they know.

So inside it stays.
We fight and it grows.
So we grow and grow.
We are the giants.
Now we know.

The fights we fought,
Those we did forget.
So we forget and fight,
Fight and forget.
No one really knows.
Jake Welsh Nov 2019
a pause, rested against the mill hopper
behind the glass of an eye

these empty mornings
climb through a mindful shell- as passes a gust by bare branch

distant looming giants wade freely tantamount to possibilities
in the house of both existence and not
they flow before us like gods
from "salve" 2019
available @:
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