The Dream of the Rood and Mystical Ecstasy:

a Personal Encounter with Christ and the Cross

Shawn L. Tickle

A thesis submitted to the Graduate Faculty of

JAMES MADISON UNIVERSITY

in

Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements

for the degree of

Master of Arts

Department of English

August 1990
I wish to thank the following people who have given me a great deal as I was coming along.

You know who you are and what you have done. I will always be grateful for your help and

your kindness. This work is dedicated to you all.

Dana,

Mom,

Dad,

Melissa,

my Grandparents,

the Higginbothams,

Doug,

Mike,

Walter,

Lape,

Deegan,

Paul,

and

the Ebys.
 Abstract

Some of the most passionate religious poetry ever written exists within the body of Old

English literature. The Anglo-Saxons were a deeply religious people who expressed themselves

in bold, powerful terms. Before the arrival of Christianity in England, these people and their

poetic tradition envisioned a grand scheme of creation in which men, women, kings, and gods

were all embroiled in the fantastic struggle of existence. Their poetry had a potent heroic idiom

by way of which their history, their dreams, and the legends of their mighty heroes were

expressed.

When Christianity was brought to these people, they came to embrace it with sincerity

and deep feeling. Their many gods faded into the background of history and literature, and

Christ became their one Lord and protector, but their poetic tradition remained. Its strength was

in no way diminished, and the powerful heroic idiom became an effective artistic method for

treating Christ, the saints, and important Christian ideals. It was not uncommon in this new

religious, heroic tradition for Christ and the saints to be enshrined in glorious heroic language, in

a style almost identical to the treatments of secular heroes such as Beowulf. The Dream of the

Rood is part of this Christian, heroic tradition in Old English literature, and it is perhaps the best,

extant example of this type of religious poetry.

In the Dream , one devout man offers his personal mystical experience, his vision of the

Cross of Jesus Christ, the Savior of all mankind. The Cross has spoken to him. It has made him

part of Christ by making him part of Christ's experience on the hill of Calvary and by showing

this Dreamer the path to Christ and to heaven. The Dreamer brings this experience to life for the

reader by drawing the reader into his own mystical ecstasy, just as the Cross has done for him.
In the Dream , the Cross speaks directly to the reader, and the reader actively participates in the

mystery of the Cross, seeing, hearing, and feeling as the Dreamer does, and ultimately, as Christ

does. In this way, the Dreamer attempts to make everyone a part of the mystery of the Cross, to

bring all of mankind to Christ by way of mystical union with the Cross and with everything for

which it stands.
 Chapter One

Introduction

The Dream of the Rood has long been considered one of the greatest Old English poems,

perhaps the greatest religious lyric of the period. This powerful vision of the Cross of Jesus

Christ and of the crucifixion is surpassed nowhere in the English language. It is vivid and

passionate and conveys the full force of the poet's vision. In the middle of the night, tó midre

nihte , one man is visited in a dream by a vision of the Cross, the tree that served to bring about

both the death and the triumph of Christ. The Cross towers high above the Dreamer, touching

heaven and descending to touch the earth also. Throughout a large portion of the poem the Cross

speaks directly to the Dreamer, relating its own experiences and the experiences of Christ, telling

of the Crucifixion, and directing the Dreamer to carry the vision to the rest of the world. The

Dream of the Rood is an attempt on the part of the poet to bring this experience to life for his

audience. He wanted his reader to be able to partake of the mystery of the Cross in such a way

that it resembled a first-hand, supernatural experience. This poem attempts to create the type of

mystical ecstasy that can otherwise only be found in or equated with personal, individual

religious experience, the kind of experience often associated with personal encounters with God,

with Angels, or the like. It is the purpose of this work to demonstrate these facts, to provide the

reader with the tools necessary to examine the poem individually, and, in the translation, to

achieve a companionship with the original text that the present editor has found in no other

translation of the poem.

 The only complete, extant version of The Dream of the Rood may be found in what is

commonly known as the Vercelli Book (the Vercelli Codex, or the Codex Vercellensis). The

manuscript's name is derived from its location in the chapter library of the cathedral at Vercelli in

northern Italy (Krapp xi). The Vercelli Book is listed in that collection as Cod. CXVII, and the

actual text of the Dream begins at folio 104v and continues to folio 106 (Horgan 388). The text

of the poem and the rest of the manuscript of which it is a part are characteristic of "classical late

West Saxon." Even so, there are "non-West Saxon" elements in the poem and throughout the

codex (Swanton 2,9). "Sporadic Anglian forms" appear (Dickins and Ross 18), and Kentish

elements are to be found as well. Certain scribal practices evident in the manuscript, such as the

use of the abbreviation xƀ, characteristic of late tenth-century Canterbury manuscripts, give

critics reason to believe that the Vercelli Book is a product of Canterbury or its surrounding area,

but as Michael Swanton effectively demonstrates, these Kentish and Anglian traits are too sparse

"to be critically used" in an effort to establish that the poem itself was composed in any dialect

other than West Saxon. The existing evidence serves only to demonstrate that "the linguistic

character of the Vercelli Book version of the Dream simply conforms with the standard literary

language in which the majority of Old English poetical manuscripts are written" (7,9).

Based upon handwriting evidence, the manuscript has been dated variously from the end

of the ninth century to the end of the tenth century, but recent studies narrow this range

considerably. Most critics now place the origin of the Vercelli Book in the last half of the tenth

century--one scholar goes so far as to restrict the point of origin to a ten-year span between 970

and 980 (Krapp xvi). In addition, Swanton has demonstrated that the manuscript must have

reached northern Italy by the end of the eleventh century:

 In a blank space left at the bottom of f. 24v a later hand has recorded a

variation in the music of the Italian church service... the small Caroline

minuscule and form of notation used are now considered to have been

made by a north Italian hand about, or before, 1100. (2-3)

It is therefore thought that the Vercelli Book was inscribed, gathered, and bound somewhere in

England--perhaps in Canterbury or elsewhere in Kent (Scragg)--near the end of the tenth century

and that, somehow, it made its way to northern Italy by the end of the eleventh.

How the book got to Vercelli is still a mystery and probably always will be. There have

been many carefully reasoned theories, but none of them has been nor ever can be proven. In the

past, one of the most popular theories was offered by Albert S. Cook. He proposed that Cardinal

Guala-Bicchieri, papal legate in England, 1216-1218, brought the book from England to Vercelli

where he founded a monastery church and school, the school going on to become a university in

1228 (Dream v). His argument is perfectly reasonable and quite convincing until one remembers

Swanton's point about the manuscript's arrival in Italy during the eleventh century. If the book

was already in northern Italy by 1100, Guala certainly could not have brought it with him from

England in the thirteenth century. In place of Guala, Swanton offers another likely candidate.

He suggests that Ulf, Anglo-Norman bishop of Dorchester, might have brought the book to

Vercelli where he was examined by papal synod during 1050 (3), but like all the other possible

explanations, this theory remains only an educated guess.

In addition to the full text of the poem in the Vercelli Book, there are also fragments of

and references to the poem elsewhere. Relevant to this concern are the runic inscription on the
large, free-standing Ruthwell Cross in Dumfriesshire, England, and the inscription on the

Brussels Cross. Now residing in the Cathedral of St. Michel and Ste. Gudule in Brussels, this

cross is one of the most famous reliquaries ever made to contain a piece of the True Cross

(Dickins and Ross 13). Of the two, the Ruthwell Cross is the most important, for the poetry that

makes up its inscription corresponds almost word for word to fifteen lines from the crucifixion

narrative of the Dream text in the Vercelli manuscript, and as Bruce Dickins and Alan S. C. Ross

point out, the two lines found on the Brussels Cross "contain no more than a reminiscence of the

poem" (18). Most critics assign a very early date to the Ruthwell Cross, which, if correct, makes

the Ruthwell text one of the oldest extant examples of written English. Even though scholars

such as Albert S. Cook and Elliot V. K. Dobbie place it after the Vercelli text ("Notes on

Ruthwell" 389-90; Minor Poems cxxii), an early date seems most likely. Dickins and Ross place

the cross in the first half of the eighth century (7), and at present, most other critics suggest a

date very close to this time.

Much has been made of the Ruthwell inscription and its relationship to the Vercelli text.

Every scholar seems to have an individual opinion about what conclusions one may draw from

the two texts; however, most of them subscribe to a theory that closely resembles the following

basic interpretation. At some time, most likely the late seventh or very early eighth century,

there was an original version of the Dream , probably much shorter than the manuscript version,

composed orally or in writing, which, for whatever reasons, no longer exists in any known form.

Whether this poem was Northumbrian or not, a Northumbrian version of the Dream was quoted

by a Northumbrian artist in the runes of the Ruthwell inscription, and then, over the years, the

Dream was passed on in one version or another until it reached the composer of the Vercelli text,

inspiring him to create his own version of the Dream. After that time, diverse versions of the
poem must have continued to circulate, but today all that remain are the Vercelli text and the

Ruthwell inscription. Stanley B. Greenfield and Daniel G. Calder sum up this basic concept as

clearly and concisely as possible: "The relation between the Ruthwell inscription and the Vercelli

text is not clear, but scholars assume that the former condenses an original... preserved in West-

Saxon tenth-century form in the latter..." (194-95). Such a statement, at this point, represents

what is agreed upon and is probably as close as one can possibly come to the truth of the

situation without venturing into unsound, unsupported speculation.

Just as mysterious and troublesome as the origin and the relationship of the two texts is

the question of authorship. No one knows who the author of either version was. It was once

thought that Cædmon was the author of the original version of the Dream , the version reflected

in the Ruthwell inscription; however, most twentieth-century critics show little faith in this

theory (Cook, Dream xvi-xvii; Swanton 59). Until recently, it was accepted that Cynewulf was

the author of the Vercelli Book version; in 1975 John Gardner felt secure enough on this point to

state that "scholars are in generally agreement that the poem is his" (98).

But at present, this concept is, at best, treated with caution and skepticism. The main

points in favor of Cynewulfian authorship are

that the diction of the Dream is on the whole, Cynewulfian; that Cynewulf

had written and signed another poem on the Cross in which he handled the

vision of Constantine with evident appreciation of its beauty; and that a

somewhat extended passage at the end of the Dream is remarkably similar

in substance and tone to the personal passages which conclude the Christ
 and the Elene [two poems that undisputedly belong to Cynewulf].

(Kennedy, Earliest English 261)

Kennedy's argument sounds very good, and the support that he and many other critics have

offered is substantial. Even so, the fact remains that none of this evidence is conclusive, and as

Greenfield and Calder have shown, "there are also enough differences to suggest that although

their authors [the authors of poems once attributed to Cynewulf] may have been influenced by

Cynewulf, they could not have been Cynewulf" (164). Many scholars feel that within the Dream

there is "a discriminating play of metre over syntax and a sophisticated appropriateness of style

and sense [that] achieve a total effect unlike any other in Old English," including the works of

Cynewulf to which it has been often compared (Swanton 61). For this reason, most recent critics

take one of two approaches. Some leave the question unanswered, saying that Cynewulf might

have written it or someone heavily influenced by Cynewulf wrote it. Others feel more strongly

that Cynewulf is not the author, and many of them suggest that there were several poets writing

in a Cynewulfian style and that one of these unknown poets wrote the Dream. Collectively, this

group and its work is referred to as the Cynewulfian School. The weight of evidence seems to be

in favor of this last theory.

Indispensable to any concern for the religious background of the Dream is an

understanding of the cult of the Cross--the tradition surrounding the Cross and its veneration--

and of the issues related to it in the history of the church. The Cross has not always occupied the

central place in Christian symbolism that it occupies today, and its prominence as an object of
adoration among the Anglo-Saxons and other European cultural groups is due in large part to

their fascination with the legends that grew up around it early in the development of the church.

Three of these legends are particularly relevant to the cult of the Cross in Anglo-Saxon England

and to the Dream itself: the tradition connecting the tree of life and the tree of knowledge of

good and evil with the Cross; the legend of the vision and victory of Emperor Constantine; and

Bede's history concerning the victory of King Oswald of Northumbria over the pagan King

Cadwalla.

The first of these legends relates directly to a conventional metaphor picturing the Cross

as a tree. This typological tradition clearly connects the two trees at the center of the Garden of

Eden with the Cross of Jesus Christ. As the popularity of the Cross and its tradition grew,

various myths developed detailing its origins, and ultimately these myths came together to form

a system of traditions that accounted for the wood of the Cross from the moment of creation to

the moment of the crucifixion. "The association of the tree of life with the Cross is found all

through the Anglo-Saxon literature of the Cross... [and] the tree of knowledge of good and evil is

also paralleled with the Cross..." (Stevens 67). These traditions, existing separately and

collectively in various forms, may be quickly condensed here for the reader's consideration.

When Adam died, Seth obtained a shoot, or three seeds as some versions have it, from

the tree of life in the Garden of Eden, and he planted the shoot on his father's grave. Eventually,

the little branch grew into three trees that shared a single trunk, or a single root, a detail

reminiscent of the divine Trinity, one essence shared by three parts. This tree provided Moses

with his rod, and ultimately Solomon desired to use the massive trunk of the tree as a column in

the Temple or in his palace, but no matter where it was tried it always proved to be too long or
too short. As it was unable to serve as a support, Solomon had it set up as a bridge over a river,

and it remained in that place until the Queen of Sheba refused to set foot on the bridge, saying

that she would not cross over on it, for it would bring about the downfall of the Jewish nation.

Solomon then had it thrown into a deep pool, and it communicated its powers to the water of that

pool. Those who partook of its waters were thought to be granted healing and other similar

favors. Finally, when Christ was sentenced to die, it was from this wood, found floating in the

water of the pool, that His Cross was fashioned (Morris xi ff.; Stevens 67 ff.; Didron 367-68).

Typologically, the tree that was the Cross comes directly from the tree of life, grown

from a shoot of the tree that grows side by side with the tree of knowledge of good and evil in

Paradise, side by side with the tree that provided the fruit for the fall of Adam and Eve. This

tree, however, provides mankind with the fruit that will bring everlasting life, the fruit of life that

is Christ. The wood of the Cross has existed since the beginning of time in one form or another,

destined from the beginning to bring life to mankind by bringing death to the Son of God. This

legend powerfully links the Cross to the whole of Judaic-Christian tradition, and it develops and

firmly establishes the image of the Cross as a tree. This image is not originated by the legend;

the legend merely serves to reflect the sophistication and the importance of the tradition of which

the image is a part. This system of myths contributed greatly to the fascination and the

popularity of the Cross as a symbol and as an object of adoration.

While the legend of the Cross and the tree of life represents a tradition that developed in

large part after the Cross became an important symbol, the legend detailing Emperor

Constantine's vision of the Cross, the victory that it brought him, and the discovery of the True

Cross by his mother, Helena, is one that all but created the Cross as the sacred, central sign that it
is at present. The events surrounding the Cross during the fourth century in the time of

Constantine's reign are responsible for the great veneration of the Cross that soon followed.

Before Constantine's adoption of the symbol, the Cross was not significant to the worship or the

tradition of the church. For many, if not most, the Cross was not an emblem of glory and honor.

It was an object of shame, a low, mean thing, representing death and humiliation for the most

vulgar and common of people, and most Christians preferred to treat the method of their savior's

execution with little attention. In Constantine's day, the Cross was still being used as a form of

execution for the vilest of criminals. To die on the Cross was the ultimate humiliation and

disgrace, and it seems natural that Christians might be reluctant to adopt such a symbol. William

O. Stevens puts it best when he says,

The event of supreme importance in the history of the worship of the

Cross as an emblem of the Christian faith was the conversion of

Constantine, which occurred in the year 312. This was the starting-point

for all the adoration of the Cross in the Middle Ages, and the one event

which at a bound lifted the emblem from disgrace, and crowned it with

glory and honor. (11)

The Cross was often seen as a badge of shame for the Christians to bear, but Constantine

changed that forever. After his conversion, he formally declared that the Cross could no longer

be used as a form of execution (Stevens 11), and he adopted the Cross as his own standard,

setting an example for the rest of the Christian world. The nature of his conversion led him

uncontrollably to the Cross and its veneration.

 Constantine was very much a pagan ruler before 312, and like all the Roman Emperors

before him, he had little use for Christians or for their religion. However, in the year 312, he had

a vision that was to change his beliefs and to change the church dramatically. This vision can be

found in Cynewulf's Elene , which is based upon Latin sources and is primarily concerned with

Helena's discovery of the True Cross:

He saw upon the roof of the clouds the glorious cross in its beauty,

gleaming with adornments, decked with gold; gems glittered. The bright

tree was inscribed with letters brilliantly and clearly: 'With this sign shalt

thou overcome the enemy in the perilous onset, thwart the hostile host....

(Gordon 212-13)

Constantine took that message to heart and immediately instructed his men to fashion a cross

modeled on his vision. His army carried this cross before them into battle against the Huns the

next day, and the Huns were soundly defeated. Constantine quickly became fascinated by the

Christian faith and was soon converted.

Obviously the Cross played an integral role in his conversion, and for this reason, he

made the Cross his central concern symbolically and literally. He raised the symbol as his own

standard, and as Christianity soon became the state religion, he made it the symbol of the Church

throughout his domain. So strong was his focus upon the Cross, he sent his mother, Helena, to

the Holy Land in order that she might find the True Cross of Christ, and as tradition has it, she

discovered the Cross, near what was thought to be the hill of Calvary, buried in a pit with the two

other crosses present at the crucifixion. After this discovery, a church was raised upon the site of
the crucifixion, and relics of the True Cross began to circulate throughout the Christian world.

The cult of the Cross had begun. The impact of these events was tremendous. The church had a

new, powerful ally in Constantine, and it had a new symbol, a new focus. The adoration and

veneration of the Cross spread with great speed, and it took on such proportions that it very

nearly was a faith unto itself. It touched every corner of Christendom, and it was particularly

powerful in Anglo-Saxon England (Stevens 82).

Closely related to the Constantinian tradition is an important event in the history of the

Cross in England. In Bede's history, the story of King Oswald of Northumbria and his cross is

given in detail (Latham 142-45, 150-63), and it bears many similarities to that of Constantine.

Oswald was a Christian king whose reign provided much material for later histories and

legendary traditions. He was the ideal Anglo-Saxon ruler who provided victory, peace, and

plenty for his people, and according to Bede, his success was due to the strength of his faith in

Christ. In the year 633, Oswald did battle with the great Celtic pagan King Cadwalla (Stevens

83), and before he entered into battle, Oswald erected a large wooden cross and prayed before it

(Swanton 45). He went on to win a decisive victory against Cadwalla. Thereafter, the cross that

he had built commemorated the victory of Christian faith over the pagan, and a cruciform church

was erected on the field of the battle (Stevens 85). Oswald's cross was said to have the power to

heal and preform miracles, and pieces of it were thought to be very nearly as powerful as relics

of the True Cross.

The similarities here to Constantine's victory are obvious, and they serve to link the

English tradition with the greater tradition of Constantine and the church as a whole. By

constructing a cross, a cruciform battle standard, both rulers were brought to victory over strong
enemies. The Cross gave them both the power necessary to serve their people, to give them

victory. In this way, Oswald became the Constantine of the Anglo-Saxons. He became a saint,

and the impact of his legend upon the imaginations, the church, and the faith of the Anglo-

Saxons "cannot be overestimated" (Stevens 85). He tied them directly into the Roman,

Constantinian tradition and made the Cross and its cult very much a part of their lives.

These legends reflect the diversity and the power of the cult that grew up around the

Cross, and they demonstrate the profound effect that it had upon the European mind. The Cross

was the brilliant, living symbol of the savior, of the God of the Christian faith, and it was and is

treated with the same respect and reverence that is due to that God. It holds a unique place in the

tradition of the church, in the history of worship, and in the religious art of all Christian peoples.

The Cross entered into every aspect of worship and church tradition. People wore it and brought

it into their homes. Crosses appeared on the outsides of buildings, on Church walls, and on

altars. The Cross appeared in processions, and it even found its way into the liturgy, into the

hymns and the readings of the church's various services. The Cross also made its way into

literature and art, and the poetry and iconography of the Cross are extremely important to the

history of art as a whole. The Dream is a product of this tradition, and its influences are clearly

evident throughout the poem.

The cult of the Cross had become an integral part of every Christian's religious life, and

the people of Anglo-Saxon England seem to have taken up the Cross with an intense passion.

Crosses played have prominent roles in their history, their literature, their architecture, and

across their landscape. Devotion to the Cross was particularly prominent in the period stretching

from the eighth to the tenth centuries (McEntire 352), and as Stevens points out, "it would be
difficult to define ...the contribution of the Anglo-Saxons to the cult of the cross... it transcends

any veneration of the cross that was known in Rome" (82). The Dream was written during this

period, a period when the cult was at its peak, and it was written in the language of the people

who embraced the Cross more fervently than any other.

In addition to being the symbolic embodiment of Christ, the Cross is also representative

of Christ's sacrifice, his suffering, and his death. As such, its cult must also be concerned with

the details of the crucifixion and with the related issues of the Christological debate. Christ was

physically beaten, and metal spikes were driven through his body in order to fasten him to the

wood of the Cross. He hung there on Calvary, raised high into the air, until he had very nearly

expired, and then a spear was thrust into his right side so that his death would be certain. This

death was long and lingering, and the suffering inflicted upon his body would have been

unbearable to any normal human being. Thus the recurring questions become evident. Did

Christ suffer as a man would suffer? Did he feel the pain? If he is truly God, being part of the

divine Trinity, then how could he have suffered: how could he have been harmed by normal

human means? But, if he did not suffer as a man, how then could he serve as a legitimate

sacrifice before God in the place of mankind? These questions represent the essence of the

paradox, the essence of the Christological dispute, a dispute of great importance in relation to the

treatment of Christ by the Dream poet.

This debate raged almost from the inception of the church, but it became exceptionally

heated in the fifth and sixth centuries, and as Swanton states, "these particular controversies were
clearly living issues in England for at least the half-century 675-725" (56, 58). It is clear that this

controversy continued for many years to come, and the question of Christ's nature was an

important concern during the Anglo-Saxon period. The carver of the Ruthwell inscription could

not have avoided it in the seventh or the eighth centuries, and the author of the Vercelli text

would surely have been keenly aware of it in the tenth century.

There are two complex ideals at stake in this argument, and for many, these ideals have

been seen as extremes, opposite poles of the same issue, necessarily opposed to one another. On

one side were the extreme Monophysites, such as Eutyches of the fifth century (Swanton 56),

who felt that Christ was of one and only one nature. They felt that he was the incarnate Logos,

the living word of God, and that he was wholly divine and indivisible in nature, incapable of

experiencing the agony of the crucifixion. The opposing point of view, held by such as the

fourth-century Gregory of Nyssa (Kelly 297) and the sixth-century Severus of Antioch (Swanton

56), felt that irrespective of his divine nature, Christ was a man with a man's mind, body, and

soul. He was completely man. He suffered on the Cross, and his agony, his human passion,

made him a proper sacrifice to God in the place of Man in order that Adam's original, human sin

and mankinds's continued state of sin might be atoned for.

These two arguments appear, at first, to be irreconcilable; however, the fact of the matter

is that most of the early church fathers held a position that was a compromise, of sorts, between

these two poles. It would seem that the "orthodox" position has always been one that gives the

appearance of compromise. Even so, these orthodox positions served as more than simple

compromises. They did pacify the extremists on both sides, but they also represented a much

more sophisticated theological position that attempted to embrace both the divine and the human
elements of Christ's true nature. To be what He is thought to be, Christ must be both man and

God.

The orthodox position has taken many forms over the centuries, and at times it has leaned

slightly to one side or the other, but its general tenants and basic form are readily available in the

work of the orthodox fathers. Harry A. Wolfson offers the words of Augustine as an especially

effective statement of the orthodox point of view:

The Son of God, which is the Word of God, has man, as the soul has

body... What is man? A rational soul having a body. What is Christ?

The Word of God having man... Just as man is soul and body so is Christ

God and man. (368-69)

In a clear, direct, logical fashion Augustine captures the essential elements of both sides of the

dispute, and he fuses them together in this one short statement of the orthodox position. Christ is

the Son of God, and the Son of God is the incarnate Logos, the living word of God. Man--his

form, his nature--is to Christ as the soul is to the body of man, and as man is composed of a

rational soul living in a body of flesh, Christ is the Son of God, the incarnate Logos, in and

around which lives the soul and the flesh of a man, a man born of woman. Christ has one form,

one whole, complete, indivisible nature within which exists a full, living God and a complete,

living man. They are both inseparable and unconfused. Christ is God and man, and the dispute

is resolved without sacrificing either ideal. A more complete, more sophisticated theology is

achieved.
 Chapter Two

The Four Personalities of the Dream: a Critical Survey

The bulk of the criticism dealing with The Dream of the Rood is largely concerned with

four basic issues: the portrayal of Christ, the characterization of the Cross, the treatment of the

Dreamer, and the methods by which the poet handles these three matters. Therefore, when

dealing with the criticism as a whole, it is most effective to treat the critical opinions as they

relate to these four areas.

One knows, based solely upon the subject matter of the work, that the poet was a man

steeped in the religion of his day. He was also steeped in the tradition surrounding the Germanic

warrior and in the Anglo-Saxon heroic poetry that detailed the tradition. In the Old English

period, there was a well-established, well-developed mode of poetic expression concerned with

the legendary exploits of the Germanic heroes, and the Dream poet was well versed in its

language, its forms, and its execution. He employed a technique that was common to

conventional treatments of traditional Germanic heroes and that was quite familiar to his

audience, and he used this poetic idiom to express the powerful Christian ideals surrounding

Christ, the Cross, and the events of the crucifixion.

The poet's use of the heroic idiom is straight-forward and plainly evident. Heroic diction

is employed throughout the work, describing Christ, the Cross, and various Christian ideals. In

line 65, the crucifixion is referred to as ðám miclan gewinne , "the great struggle" or "the great

battle." Christ is frequently designated "warrior" or "hero," and the Cross is often described in
conventional Old English terms that demonstrate its role as loyal retainer. The Cross obeys the

commands of its "Lord," and it stands faithfully alongside Him during His "great battle." The

poem contains a great deal of martial imagery, and the events surrounding the crucifixion are

expressed using terms commonly associated with warriors, heroes, and kings in the Old English

poetic tradition.

The heroic language and structure express the grandeur and majesty of the subject matter,

and capture Christ and all that is represented by the crucifixion in powerful terms that are

particularly effective for both the poet and his audience. Heroic treatments of Christ and of the

saints were not unknown in previous Old English and Latin works (Greenfield and Calder 158-

59, 202-03), and there are many reasons why the poet might have chosen to express himself in

this manner, the strength and powerful voice of the medium not being the least among them.

Clearly, he could have felt that the familiar heroic method would be most effective given his

audience, but as Robert E. Diamond writes,

it seems likely that the poet lapsed into heroic language not so much in

order to please his audience as because he was accustomed to compose in

such language. ...A poet who was accustomed to composing songs on

heroic subjects would quite naturally apply all the old heroic epithets and

formulas to his matter. (4-5)

Such a poet would know that his strength rested in the traditional forms that he was proficient in

using. Nothing could be gained by adopting an alien approach or by reinventing the poetic

wheel. His culture had given him a potent tradition, and his skill found powerful expression in it.
It seems natural that the Dream poet would choose to bring Christ to life as an Anglo-Saxon

hero/king, surrounded by the traditional trappings of the comitatus, the traditional, Germanic

concept of heroic camaraderie and loyalty shown by a military leader and his followers.

In addition to his use of heroic language and style, the Dream poet also executes an

elaborately designed plan intended to draw one into the mystery of the Cross by vicariously

uniting the reader with the Dreamer, who is himself united with the Cross and, through the

Cross, united with Christ. The poet immediately pulls the reader into the poem by providing a

frame for the crucifixion narrative. The true narrator of the central action, the Cross, becomes

the secondary speaker, while the primary speaker, the Dreamer, looks on passively, like the

reader, as an objective observer. In this way, the reader is placed on an equal footing with the

Dreamer, and from the outset, the reader becomes part of the poem, as if the Cross were speaking

not only to the Dreamer but to the reader as well. Neil Isaacs puts it well when he states that a

work employing this structure invites the audience to become directly

involved with its action and emotion by first separating the teller from the

told. Such a process places, artificially but effectively, the artist in the

position of the audience.... (4-5)

By doing so, the poet hopes to make the audience identify more completely with him, with his

poem, and with his primary speaker, the Dreamer, who experiences a divine vision embodying

the mystery of the Cross. The effect of this technique is such that it allows the audience to

realize this experience more fully, to participate actively in the divine mystery.
 From this point, early in the poem, by means of a gradual progression, the poet takes four

separate entities--Cross, Christ, Dreamer, and Reader, the latter two already subtly joined--and

fuses them together, making them one through the experience (Leiter 114). Christ is God,

mankind's ultimate sacrifice, mankind's hero and lord, and the Cross is symbolically, literally,

and physically one with Christ. By the end of the poem, the Dreamer has joined with the Cross

as a loyal retainer of the Lord and, by association, with Christ Himself. The poet creates a

complex network of imagery and characterization, using both heroic and religious motifs. The

Cross draws the Dreamer into this sophisticated web of mystical metaphor, and by linking the

reader with the Dreamer, the poet makes his audience part of the overall experience of the Cross.

The depiction of Christ in the Dream is a very intricate, multi-layered consideration. He

is portrayed as a second Adam, as a mighty, heroic Anglo-Saxon warrior-prince, as a man, and as

God. By means of the traditional relationship involving the two trees of Paradise, the cult of the

Cross clearly ties the Rood into the Old Testament story of the Garden of Eden and of the fall of

Adam. Some critics have also argued for the existence of strong parallels between the portrayal

of Christ in the Dream and that of Adam in the Old Testament. From the time of the Apostle

Paul (Romans 5:14), it has been common in the history of Christian theology to see Christ and

Adam as representing two sides of the same issue (Kelly 297, 381 ff.; Copleston 44-46). Louis

Leiter states that "legend and dogma saw in Adam an antitype to Christ" (99), and he

demonstrates that Christ's fyll , fall, in 56a can be seen as an antitype to the fall of Adam (98). In

line 100, the poet actually mentions Adam and original sin in relation to Christ's sacrifice and his

redemption of mankind. On the Cross, Christ atoned for Ádomes ealdgewrhtum , "Adam's acts

of long ago." Adam was the source of the problem of original sin, and Christ's death on the

Cross provided the solution to that problem. The two are complementary; one completes the
other. Through Adam mankind is doomed to death; through Christ mankind is redeemed and

given life. Just as Christ is the fruit of life born by the tree that is the Cross, Christ is also the

second Adam, saving man from the state of original sin handed down to mankind by the first

Adam.

Throughout the poem, Christ is also spoken of in terms that depict Him as a traditional

Anglo-Saxon warrior-king. In line 39, Christ strips himself before ascending the Cross, and the

poet speaks of Him as hæleð , "hero." He ritualistically prepares himself for battle, for the "great

battle" that is the crucifixion. Here He demonstrates His willingness to be sacrificed and His

heroic courage before the dire conflict (Greenfield and Calder 198), and in the words of

Rosemary Woolf, He is "clearly a hero" (146-47). Elsewhere, Christ is constantly referred to in

terms traditionally associated with the Germanic hero in poems such as Beowulf. The poet

describes Him as having elne mycle , "great courage" (l. 34a), as a mǽran þéodne , "glorious

prince" (l. 69a), and as an æðelinge , "prince" (l. 58a). These terms and ones similar to them can

all be found in Beowulf: elne (l. 1493), in reference to Beowulf hastening to do battle with

Grendel's mother; mǽran þéodne , used six times in reference to Hrothgar and four to Beowulf;

and æðelinge , three times referring to Beowulf (Diamond 3). In addition to his other roles in the

Dream , Christ is clearly intended to be seen in the same light as the Anglo-Saxon hero.

He is not portrayed as a simple warrior. He is referred to in terms reserved for the

greatest heroes, and he is treated as a lord or prince might be treated by his loyal retainers. The

free will that he demonstrates is of heroic proportions, but it is also reminiscent of the sacral

nature of Anglo-Saxon kingship. Stevens, when commenting on the Dream , speaks of Christ

mounting "the Cross as a king would mount his throne," and he describes Christ's death as being
not a loss or defeat but a great triumph, "a deed of royal prowess" (78). It was not unknown for

an Anglo-Saxon king to provide a sacrifice of this magnitude, for prior to the arrival of

Christianity in England, the king was considered to be divine himself, descended directly from

Woden the Anglo-Saxon counterpart to the Norse Odin, the All-father (Chaney 19).

An Anglo-Saxon king was responsible for bringing victory and material prosperity to his

people, and he was expected to give his life in the process if necessary, to give it in battle or in

human sacrifice to the gods of the people (Chaney 72-115). This concept of kingship represents

an important aspect of Anglo-Saxon society. It was a cultural ideal, and for this reason, the

concept of Christ's personal sacrifice for His people--the people of the world--would have been

especially poignant, and Christ's portrayal as Anglo-Saxon king would have served to reinforce

this poignancy and to enhance the effectiveness of the poem. By way of His sacrifice, Christ

provides the spiritual equivalent of martial victory and material gain for his people.

But perhaps the most important element of Christ's characterization is that which deals

with the two aspects of His dual nature, with the two sides of the Christological dispute. Christ,

figured as hero, separate from the Cross, is very distant from the reader throughout much of the

poem, during the crucifixion narrative in particular (Edwards 300-01), and His more vulnerable,

more typically human, aspect is separated, in part, and distanced from His divine aspect. The

only point at which Christ's dual nature seems to be expressed in balanced terms is found at line

39, where He is described as þá geong hæleð , þæt wæs God ælmihtig , "the young hero, that was

God almighty" (Burrow 262). Here, geong emphasizes the human character of the "hero" and

places that character in opposition to Christ's role as "God almighty."

 In every other instance the poet's use of heroic language emphasizes Christ's

invulnerable, divine character. Within every image of Christ, one is meant to understand both

aspects of His dual nature, but the human is always down-played, and the powerful, divine

element is emphasized yet distanced from the reader by the poet's use of royal, heroic imagery.

And, the truly human element of His nature, the one that suffers, is always placed upon the

Cross; His wounds and His pain are expressed to the reader only when the Cross describes its

own wounds and its own pain. In line 20, it is the Cross that bleeds on the right side, and it is the

Cross that is þurhdrifan mid deorcan næglum , "pierced with dark nails," and upon whom the

wounds are visible in line 46. Even when the figure of Christ Himself bleeds, in lines 48 and 49,

no pain is mentioned, and again, the reader is reminded of His courageous, martial manner with

the word guman , "warrior" or "hero." He seems remote, unflinching, and God-like, while the

Cross's vulnerable, human nature is stressed. The figure of Christ is never credited with the kind

of suffering that is manifest in the Cross.

Even after the crucifixion is complete and when it seems that almighty God has been

slain at the hands of mortal men, in lines 64 and 65, the poet reminds the reader that Christ's fall

is not permanent (Burrow 260), describing the Savior's demise as rest or sleep, picturing Him as

méðe , "exhausted," not dead. And, as Woolf points out, "the author of the Dream of the

Rood...does not speak of Christ's death: the climax is simply, Crist wæs on rode (148)," "Christ

was on the Rood." Of course, this language is meant to be taken figuratively, but it does serve to

de-emphasize Christ's suffering and his human vulnerability, and every step of the way, the poet

has stressed His divinity, Christ as God.

 This is not to say, however, that the poet is disregarding the human element of Christ's

nature; nothing could be farther from the truth. The simple fact is that the Dream poet, for

purposes of artistic presentation, chose to treat the two parts of the Savior's nature separately. By

focusing upon one aspect at a time, he avoided confusing or mingling the two concepts and was

better able to express to his audience the full mystery of Christ's divinity and His humanity.

Christ's human character is well accounted for in the portrayal of the Cross. Frequently,

the poet intends for the Cross to be seen as Christ Himself, and one of the Cross's most important

functions in the poem is to serve as a surrogate for Christ's passion, to express the human,

suffering aspect of His dual nature. It was common to see the plain or empty Cross as an artistic

equivalent for Christ in the tradition of medieval religious art and literature (Didron 367 ff.;

Swanton 53-56), and the Dream is part of that tradition. In the agony of the crucifixion, the

Cross and Christ are one: the Cross is the man and the image of Jesus Christ is God. Together

they are the sum total of the Christological mystery; together they are the two unconfused,

indivisible elements that make up the one, complete nature of Christ, the Son of Man and the Son

of God.

At this point, it is important to understand what this artistic structure means in relation to

the poet's orthodoxy and to his stand on the issue of Christology. One might be tempted to say

that he took the easy way out, that he avoided confronting the issue, or that he refused to take a

theological stand; however, such an opinion would be short-sighted and would fail to see the true

depth of the poet's effort in dealing with this question. The fact of the matter is that the poet's

stance is orthodox, and it is quite sophisticated. "By presenting a Christ heroically ascending the

Cross and a Cross undergoing His human passion, the poet threaded his way among the
Christological disputes of the seventh and eighth centuries about the paradox of the Savior's dual

nature" (Greenfield and Calder 197), and as Woolf clearly states, "the theological point that the

Christ who endured the crucifixion is fully God and fully man is thus perfectly made" (152). If

the poet had wanted to take an unorthodox or heretical stance, then he might have devised an

equally sophisticated method of artistically eliminating one aspect of the nature, or he could have

simply failed to treat one element. But, in this case, he does neither; he treats them both with

equal effort and effectiveness. He makes it impossible to overlook Christ's divinity, and at the

same time, without confusing the two, he manages to include His intense human suffering. By

placing the human elements of Christ's crucifixion experience upon the sign of the Cross, he

distances Christ from His own humanity without diminishing it, thus de-emphasizing this aspect

of his being, while with the same images, emphasizing the living, feeling nature of the Cross,

who itself is an equivalent for Christ.

By separating the two aspects in this way, the poet places an ideal, lone figure of Christ

on a high, remote plane, and places an image of the Cross on a slightly lower, more human plane,

enabling the reader to identify with the Cross as an entity unto itself, as a fellow servant of God,

and also enabling the reader to sympathized with the intense agony of Christ without losing sight

of His divine, indestructible nature. This structure represents a very well thought out, firm

position on this issue, and it would be wrong to see the poet as taking the easy way out of a tough

spiritual dilemma. He does take a stand, a very sophisticated, yet orthodox stand, one worthy of

the author of the Dream.

In addition to representing Christ's humanity, the Cross is also depicted as Christ's loyal

retainer, a fellow warrior or hero fighting for his Lord in the "great battle." The Cross stands and
suffers with Christ, his Lord, in the grand metaphysical conflict of the crucifixion. He is a loyal

member of the Lord's comitatus. The comitatus is the heart of the heroic tradition in Old English

poetry. It was the relationship that bound an Anglo-Saxon warrior to his fellows and to his lord.

On the field of battle, honor and loyalty were imperative to victory and to survival, and the

comitatus embodied the Anglo-Saxon ideal of honor and allegiance.

According to this ideal, it was a warrior's greatest desire to fight by the side of his lord

and his fellows. A man did not leave the field unless his lord did. If one's lord walked away

victorious, one walked away with him, but if one's lord fell in battle, one did not leave the field

unless one's lord was avenged. Similar loyalty was due to all one's fellow warriors, and this

relationship bound a company of men tightly together in a martial brotherhood. Stanley B.

Greenfield helps to illustrate this concept with an example from Beowulf (ll.1326-1328):

eaxlestealla ðonne we on orlege

hafelan weredon, Þonne hniton feþan,

eoferas cnysedan. Swy(lc) scolde eorl wesan

...shoulder-companion, when we in battle defended our

heads and smote the boar helmets whenever foot troops

came together. Such should a warrior be.... (Hero and

Exile 58)
Anglo-Saxon warriors should be "shoulder-companions," standing side by side in the face of

death, fighting loyally "together" for their lord. They fight to preserve the heads of their fellows

and for victory over the enemies of their lord.

In the Dream , the comitatus of traditional Old English heroic poetry can be found among

Christ and his followers. The battle is Christ's battle to redeem mankind on the Cross during the

crucifixion, and the loyalty and courage of His retainers, the Cross and His other followers, is

true to the spirit of the comitatus. At all costs, the Cross follows the wishes of its Lord, even

though it does not always seem to want to, and it too suffers the pain and the consequences of

those wishes:

... Geseah ic þá Fréan mancynnes

efstan elne mycle þæt hé mé wolde on gestígan.

Þǽr ic þá ne dorste ofer Dryhtnes word

búgan oððe berstan...

... Ealle ic mihte

féondas gefyllan, hwæðre ic fæste stód.

... I [the Cross] saw then the Lord of mankind

making haste with great courage for upon me he would ascend

There then I dared not go against the Lord's word

to bend or to break...

... I could have all

the fiends struck down, but I stood fast.

(ll. 33-37)
The Cross stands firm with its Lord in the battle of the crucifixion, and it is the wish, the "word,"

of the Lord that the Cross do nothing to prevent the féondas from completing their task. The

fight is not with the fiends who preform the acts of the crucifixion; it is a battle fought in order to

redeem mankind.

They fight this battle together, [eaxl tó] eaxlegespanne , "shoulder to shoulder-span." As

Stevens offers, the Cross recognizes its Lord, "suffering, together with him, grief and pain" (78).

They both bleed, and they both receive the same wounds. In line 62, when the Cross is badly

wounded with arrows, the nails of the crucifixion, Christ is wounded with those same arrows.

All the while, the Cross remains true to its Lord, standing fast until it itself falls (l. 73), long after

its Lord has fallen (l. 56). Greenfield and Calder demonstrate that "the Cross has presented itself

as a loyal retainer in the epic mode, with the ironic reversal that it must acquiesce and even assist

in its Lord's death, unable through His own command to aid or avenge Him" (196). The Cross

has the power to avenge its King, but it cannot. Therefore, true to the spirit of the comitatus, it

falls on the same field of battle as its Lord.

As Gardner has also pointed out, there is an ironic reversal of the traditional heroic ideal

here in the crucifixion narrative, "replacing the dictum: 'Avenge!' with the law, 'Thou shalt not

kill,'" inverting "the Germanic code" (104). The Dream poet uses the idiom of the heroic epic,

and he employs images of the comitatus, surrounding the dead Lord, but the actions of the Cross

are not the actions of a traditional Anglo-Saxon hero. Its action is inaction. It does not fight, and

it does not defend or avenge its Lord. It cannot do so, for its Lord has commanded against it. Its

heroic action is to stand with its Lord without bending or breaking, inactive during the great
battle, and to passively endure the same fate as its Lord. These are ironic circumstances for an

Anglo-Saxon hero to find himself in, considering that the traditional hero is heroic due to his

bold actions.

Just as Christ is Lord and martial patron to the Cross, by the end of the poem, the Cross

becomes a lord and protector to the Dreamer. The Cross shows the Dreamer the way to Christ.

The Cross is the way to Christ: ðurh ðá róde sceal , "through the Rood must go" (l. 119),

everyone who wishes to reach Christ and Heaven. And, in line 130, the Cross is described as the

Dreamer's mundbyrd , his "patron," his "source of protection." Robert B. Burlin deals with this

issue when he writes:

The Cross which man must bear and which will direct him to God is a

total participation in the full panoply of Christian mysteries set forth in the

vision, a perfect communion with Christ through this simplest yet most

comprehensive of symbols. (32)

The Cross represents Christ and everything that is Christianity, and it has brought all this to the

Dreamer. It has shown the Dreamer the path to Christ and to Heaven, and the Dreamer has

committed himself to that path. He will follow it, and he will find Christ, and he will find singal

blis , "everlasting bliss" (l. 141), and eternal life in heaven.

This ecstasy is not an individual experience for the sole benefit of the Dreamer, however,

for the Dreamer himself becomes a source of guidance and protection, a lord of sorts, for the

reader and for the rest of mankind. The Cross brings the Dreamer to Christ, and the Dreamer is
then charged with the responsibility of bringing the experience of his vision to the rest of the

world, of bringing mankind to Christ through the Cross. He is commissioned by the Cross:

Nú ic þé háte, hæleð mín se léofa,

þæt ðú þás gesyhðe secge mannum,

onwréoh wordum þæt hit is wuldres béam,

sé ðe ælmihtig God on þrówode

for mancynnes manegum synnum...

Now I command thee, my beloved hero,

that thou this vision shall tell all men,

reveal with words that it is glory's tree,

he who almighty God suffered on

for the sake of mankind's many sins...

(ll. 95-99)

The Dreamer's role suddenly expands and takes on the same scale and scope as that of the Cross

and of Christ. The Cross has made him into a "hero," a mighty link in the divine chain, a chain

descending down from heaven, from Christ, through the Cross, now through the Dreamer,

ultimately touching earth, encompassing mankind and all of creation (Boenig 445). It is now the

Dreamer's duty to bring "all men" to an understanding of the Cross, and thereby, he will bring

them to Christ. Leiter suggests that "by suffering with the Cross and Christ in a similar

transformational experience, the Dreamer undergoes an identical metamorphosis and elevation of

spirit" (114). The effect of this vision upon the Dreamer is similar to the effect of the crucifixion
upon Christ and of the effect upon the Cross of its adoration by Christ's followers, and like the

Cross, he is transformed, made into a representative image of Christ. He is united in a dynamic

relationship with both Christ and His Rood. Christ is the divine spirit, the ideal, the God, and the

Cross and the Dreamer are his likenesses. Through their imitation of Christ, they will bring

mankind to salvation.
 Chapter Three

A Living Vision of the Cross

Ultimately, in telling his story, the Dreamer attempts to bring mankind to Christ, and in

the process of having him do so, the poet again attempts to unite the reader to the Dreamer. The

vivid, personal quality of the poet's expression brings the vision to life, drawing the reader into

the poem, into the mystery of the Cross. This mystery is perfectly suited to the intense mystical

concern of the poem, for as Burlin points out, "perhaps no other mystery is so comprehensive

and so expressive of the inexpressible essence of Christianity as that of the Cross" (40). The

Dreamer partakes of this mystery through the visual and the verbal expression of the Cross, and

the reader is "easily taken into a close association with the dreamer-narrator" (Isaacs 6).

The poet places his audience in the role of the Dreamer, and the Dreamer gives his vision

to the reader by making one feel that he or she has experienced it first-hand. The Dream is "a

communion between the natural and supernatural worlds, between creature and Creator, made

possible by the Incarnation and consummated in the Crucifixion... and by its power made

potentially available to all believers" (Burlin 33). In this way, the reader, the Dreamer, the

Cross, and Christ are all bound together, linked forever by the experience of the Dream , and in a

very real sense, the reader is commissioned by the Dreamer to take the message of the Cross to

the rest of mankind. The reader is transformed by the ecstasy of the Dream. The reader quickly

becomes another Dreamer, another representative image of Christ, is personally introduced to the

Cross, is made to experience the human agony of Christ by experiencing what the Dreamer and

what the Cross has experienced, and is sent out among the rest of mankind bearing the word of

God, having actively participated in the mystery of the Cross and having learned of its rewards.

From the outset, the Dreamer lets the reader know that what he has to say is important

and quite special:

 Hwæt! Ic swefna cyst segan wylle

h[w]æt mé gemǽtte tó midre nihte,

syðþan reordberend reste wunedon.

Hear me! I of dreams ideal want to tell

what I dreamed at midnight,

when voice-bearers dwelled at rest.

(ll. 1-3)

He invites the reader into a world composed by and for a select few. At this time, most simply

sleep unaware, without visions or special favors. The Dreamer has been given an especially

precious gift--later in the poem, he is said to have been favored over "all men" by the granting of

the vision (ll. 126-28). He has been offered a unique mystical reward, and he brings the reader

into his select company by offering his vision, by bringing that vision to the reader.

In the introductory phase, before the Cross's own narrative begins (ll. 4-23), the Dreamer

describes a grand manifestation of the Cross, one in which it has been richly and elaborately

adorned:

Þúhte mé þæt ic gesáwe syllicre tréow

on lyft lǽdan, léohte bewunden,

béama beorhtost. Eall þæt béacen wæs

begoten mid golde; gimmas stódon...

fægere þurh forðgesceaft...

Syllic wæs se sigebéam...

 It seemed to me that I saw a most marvellous tree

aloft raised, wound round about with light

the brightest of beams. All that standard was

poured over with gold; gems stood...

beautiful through all of creation and eternity...

Marvellous was the wood of victory....

(ll. 4-7, 10, 13)

The Cross represents the glorious victory of Christ over sin and death during the crucifixion, and

it is a mighty divine entity in its own right. The bright light, the gold, and the gems are all

indicative of that glory and that might, but the gilded surface means nothing unless one realizes

the power of the divine mystery beneath it. The Dreamer understands this relationship and

quickly brings it to the reader's attention: Hwæðre ic þurh þæt gold/ongytan meahte//earmra

ǽrgewin , "but through that gold/I was able to perceive//the ancient-battle of the wretched" (ll.

18-19). The Dreamer sees "through" the gilded surface that often obscures the truth beneath.

Unlike those who look upon the Cross and see only the richness of its surface, he knows what the

ornamentation represents, and he knows the significance of Christ's sacrifice. The gold and the

jewels are the glory of Christ on the Cross, and the "ancient-battle" is every human being's battle

with sin, with the burden of original sin, handed down from "ancient" times, and with the

temptation to sink deeper into sin by doing what one knows is contradictory to the will of God.

The Dreamer sees this battle in the Cross. Christ died to free mankind from this "ancient-battle."

His agony and His confrontation with death on the Cross are parallel to the human battle with

sin. This battle is mankinds Cross upon which to suffer. Christ's Cross is literal, is real, while

man's is metaphysical.
 When the Dreamer introduces the Cross's narrative (ll. 24-27), he removes himself from

the foreground of the poem. From this point, the vision is related by the Cross itself: Ongan þá

word sprecan/wudu sélesta, "then began to speak words/the greatest wood" (l. 27). In this

fashion, the reader is brought closer to the actual vision. Instead of getting it second-hand from

the Dreamer, the reader experiences the narrative of the Cross first-hand, through the words of

the Cross itself. The reader hears the same words that the Dreamer hears; it is as if the reader

and the Dreamer look upon the Cross at the same time.

Standing together with the Dreamer, one watches as Christ first ascends the Cross. His

willingness and His passion appear vividly before the reader's eyes:

strang ond stíðmód; gestáh hé on gealgan héanne,

módig on manigra gesyhðe, þá hé wolde mancyn l›ysan.

Bifode ic þá mé se beorn ymbclypte; ne dorste ic hwæðre búgan tó eorðan,

...ic sceolde fæste standan.

strong and resolute; he ascended into gallows high,

courageous in the sight of the many, when he would redeem mankind.

I trembled when the warrior embraced me; However I dared not bend down to earth,

...I had to stand fast.

(ll. 40-43)

The Cross trembles as the Savior willingly embraces it. They are joined together by the

crucifixion, and here one can actually feel their passion in the visible emotion of the Cross and

the mighty courage demonstrated by Christ. After the nails are driven in (l. 46), the Cross

displays its wounds (ll. 46-47), and its powerful emotional state and its great suffering are
evidenced in its unfulfilled desire for vengeance. However, the Cross never betrays its feelings

to those that look upon the crucifixion. It never loses its dignity. Christ and the Cross stand,

joined together in silent glory, mocked by their enemies (l. 48), and drenched in blood. The

whole of creation weeps at the fyll , "fall," of the Savior (ll. 55b-56a). The crucifixion scene is

painted in a striking, emotionally charged manner, designed to move the reader to intense

personal response, to cause one to empathize with the passion of Christ as seen through the

experience of the Cross.

The poignant emotional effect of the crucifixion relaxes a bit in the burial sequence (ll.

57-69), as the tone becomes one of mourning rather than passionate human suffering. During

this brief lull in the intensity of the poem, one begins to realize the importance of mankind, of

mortal hands and mortal suffering, in the act of the crucifixion and in the mystery of the Cross:

Génámon híe þǽr ælmihtigne God,// áhófon hine of ðám hefian wíte , "seized they there

almighty God,//raised him up out of the grim punishment" (ll. 60b-61a). Mortal men nailed Him

to the Cross, and now mortal men lay hands upon the person of almighty God and bury Him like

any other man, albeit an important one. Here the poet is able to again express Christ's human

nature and His human sacrifice without detracting from the presentation of the figure of Jesus

Christ as fully divine, as fully God. When He is taken down from the Cross and buried, He is

still "almighty God," but His death and His burial are brought about by mere mortals, simple

human beings. The man that is God was killed by men for the sake of all men. His divine

sacrifice is also a human sacrifice, ordained by God for the redemption of all human-kind,

engineered and executed by humans. Again, the poet finds a way to illustrate the mystery of

Christ's dual nature in a perfectly balanced, orthodox manner, and with the same imagery, he

emphasizes the importance of the role of mankind, of individual mortal men, in the overall

structure of the Christian mysteries.

 As the narrative of the Cross moves away from the actual events of the crucifixion, the

Cross reveals to the reader its own role in the worship of the Church, in the communication of

Christ's passion, and as the vehicle by which one may reach Christ. It begins by describing its

veneration and adoration among men:

... mé weorðiað wíde ond síde

menn ofer moldan ond eall þéos mǽre gesceaft,

gebiddaþ him tó þyssum béacne...

... I am honored far and wide

men over all the earth and all this glorious creation,

they worship at this standard....

(ll. 81-83a)

The Cross is no longer the "hardest of tortures" (l. 87); it is the glorious tree upon which "God's

Son suffered" (ll. 83b-84a). It has been honored by God over all other trees, just as He honored

Mary, the Mother of God, over all other women (ll. 90-94). The Cross is now the most revered

of symbols, and what it stands for is of utmost importance to the Christian faith. It is the center

of worship, and the spiritual focus through which all of mankind may reach out to their Lord and

Savior Jesus Christ.

The mystery of the Cross is not simply that it stands for Christ, for His sacrifice, and for

the act of the crucifixion. It also represents the means by which to achieve salvation and

everlasting bliss in the eternal life of Heaven:

...ðurh ðá róde sceal ríce gesécan

 of eorðwege ǽghwylc sáwl,

séo þe mid Wealdende wunian þenceð.

...through the rood must go-- to reach the kingdom

through earth's way-- every soul,

who with the Lord thinks to dwell.

(ll. 119-121)

Here the Cross's speech ends with a profound message that is both clear and powerful in its

expression. The Cross and all for which it stands holds the key to Heaven. By partaking of the

mystery of the Cross, one may find God and eternal life in Heaven. One must comprehend and

empathize with the Cross and with its pain, for its suffering is the suffering of Christ during the

crucifixion. One must go through the Cross in experience, worship, and prayer in order to reach

Christ and thereby reach salvation.

The Cross is the divine link between God and man. It is Christ, and it is the instrument of

His death. It is the moment of the Savior's death and, thereby, the moment of redemption. It is

that instant in time in which Christ saves mankind by defeating sin and death. That instant is

frozen forever, preserved in the Cross for all of creation to see and to worship. Through the

Cross, God speaks to mankind, communicating the full meaning of the crucifixion and indicating

the path to salvation. Through it man speaks to and worships God. Through it mankind is

brought to Heaven, to everlasting joy and bliss. Through the Cross, mankind touches God. The

Cross is union with God, man and God united as one, touching, communing, sharing.

The Dreamer's encounter with God through the Cross changes him. It makes him strong,

and it offers him hope for his future in the afterlife. He now yearns for the time when the Cross

will gefetige [hine] ond þonne gebringe [hine] þǽr is blis mycel , dréam on heofonum , "fetch
him and bring him where great bliss is, joy in heaven" (ll. 138-140). When the Cross finishes its

narrative, the Dreamer feels powerful and confident. As he prays before the Cross his courage

and his feeling of security are obvious:

Gebæd ic mé þá tó þán béame blíðe móde,

elne mycle, þǽr ic ána wæs

mǽte werede.

Then I prayed before the tree joyful in heart,

great strength, there I was alone

a small host unto myself.

(ll. 122-124a)

The Cross has brought the Dreamer to Christ, and his encounter with his Lord and Savior has

given him "joy" and "great strength." His strength is such that he constitutes a "small host" all

by himself. The experience has given him confidence and enriched his faith in his God. It has

given him the potential to do as the Rood has commanded (ll. 95-100), to reveal the mystery of

the Cross to all of mankind. Like the Cross, he too has joined with Christ and has become a

messenger for Christ's word, bringing the powerful effects of the vision to life for the reader,

making it possible for the reader to experience what he has experienced and to comprehend all

that the Cross means to the Christian faith. The Rood has aspoken directly to the reader through

the Dreamer, and just as in the case of the Dreamer himself, the power of the experience unites

the reader with Christ and with the passion of the crucifixion. One is commissioned by the

Rood, compelled to bring the mystery of the Cross to life for "all men."
 Chapter Four

Text, Translation, and Notes

Guiding Principles

Here and throughout this work, unless stated otherwise, the Old English text referred to is

that of Swanton's 1987 edition, The Dream of the Rood. In my study, I also used texts prepared

by Krapp, Dickins and Ross, Cook, and Sweet; however, I nearly always relied upon the
Swanton edition as a source for the original text of the Vercelli manuscript.

I have taken pains to avoid changing the poet's meaning. Whenever possible cognates of

the original terms and the original word order are used; however, in many cases word order and

word choice had to be interpreted more liberally in order to ensure clarity and in order to avoid

awkward reading. Even so, it has been my desire to stay as far in the background as possible.

I have made no attempt to alliterate or to replicate traditional Old English meter, for

clarity and effect would be all but lost if I were to try to reconstruct both meter and meaning.

But, in an effort to preserve as much of the structure and effect of the Old English text as

possible, I have followed several strict principles. The translation was preformed half-line by

half-line. Each half-line in the translation corresponds directly with the half-line of the same

number and position in the original. Nothing was removed from,

 The Dream of the Rood:

The Original Old English Text

Taken from the Vercelli Book Manuscript

Hwæt! Ic swefna cyst secgan wylle Hear me! I of dreams ideal want to tell

h[w]æt mé gemǽtte tó midre nihte, that I dreamed at midnight,

syðþan reordberend reste wunedon. when voice-bearers dwelled at rest.

Þúhte mé þæt ic gesáwe syllicre tréow It seemed to me that I saw a most marvellous tree

on lyft lǽdan, léohte bewunden, aloft raised, wound round about with light

béama beorhtost. Eall þæt béacen wæs the brightest of beams. All that standard was

begoten mid golde; gimmas stódon besprinkled with gold; jewels stood

fægere æt foldan scéatum, swylce þǽr fífe wǽron beautiful at the corners of the earth, and there were also five

uppe on þám eaxlegespanne. Behéoldon þǽr engel Dryhtnes ealle, above on the shoulder-span. All there beheld the angel of the Lord,

fægere þurh forðgesceaft. Ne wæs ðǽr húru fracodes gealga. beautiful through all of creation and all of eternity. There certainly was not a vile

Ac hine þǽr behéoldon hálige gástas, one's gallows.

men ofer moldan ond eall þéos mǽre gesceaft. But there it was beheld by holy spirits,

Syllic wæs se sigebéam, ond ic synnum fáh, by men over the earth and all this glorious creation.

forwunded mid wommum. Geseah ic wuldres tréow, Marvellous was the wood of victory, and I with sins was stained,

wǽdum geweorðode, wynnum scínan, sorely wounded with sins. Saw I glory's tree,

gegyred mid golde; gimmas hæfdon with cloth honored, beautifully shining,

bewrigene weorðlíce wealdes tréow. adorned with gold; jewels had

Hwæðre ic þurh þæt gold ongytan meahte magnificently covered power's tree.

earmra ǽrgewin, þæt hit ǽrest ongan But through that gold I was able to perceive

swǽtan on þá swíðran healfe. Eall ic wæs mid s[o]rgum gedréfed. the ancient struggle of the wretched, when it first began

Forht ic wæs for þǽre fægran gesyhðe. Geseah ic þæt fúse béacen to bleed on the right side. All I was with sorrow troubled.

wendan wǽdum ond bléom; hwílum hit wæs mid wǽtan bestémed, I was afraid for the beautiful vision. Saw I that doomed standard

beswyled mid swátes gange, Hwílum mid since gegyrwed change cloth and colors; at times it was made wet with blood,

Hwæðre ic þǽr licgende lange hwíle drenched with the flow of blood, at times adorned with treasure.

behéold hréowcearig Hǽlendes tréow, Yet I lying there a long while

oððæt ic gehýrde þæt hit hléoðrode. beheld the sorrowful Savior's tree,

until I understood that it spoke.

Ongan þá word sprecan wudu sélesta: It then began to speak words the greatest wood:

"Þæt wæs geára iú, (ic þæt gýta geman), "That was long, long ago, I yet remember that,

þæt ic wæs áhéawen holtes on ende, when I was cut down at the forest's edge,

ástyred of stefne mínum. Genáman mé ðǽr strange féondas, removed from my roots. Strong fiends seized me then,

geworhton him þǽr tó wǽfersýne, héton mé heora wergas hebban. they made me then into a spectacle, commanding me to bear their criminals aloft.

Bǽron mé ðǽr beornas on eaxlum, oððæt híe mé on beorg ásetton, Warriors then bore me on their shoulders, until they placed me on the hill,

gefæstnodon mé þǽr féondas genóge. Geseah ic þá Fréan mancynnes there many fiends made me fast. Saw I then the Lord of mankind

efstan elne mycle þæt hé mé wolde on gestígan. making haste with great courage when upon me he would ascend.

Þǽr ic þá ne dorste ofer Dryhtnes word There then I dared not go against the Lord's word

búgan oððe berstan, þá ic bifian geseah to bend or to break, when I saw trembling

eorðan scéatas. Ealls ic mihte the corners of the earth. I could have all

féondas gefyllan, hwæðre ic fæste stód. the fiends struck down, but I stood fast.

Ongyrede hine þá geong hæleð, (þæt wæs God ælmihtig), He stripped himself then, the young hero, that was God almighty,

strang ond stíðmód; gestáh hé on gealgan héanne, strong and resolute; he ascended into gallows high,

módig on manigra gesyhðe, þá hé wolde mancyn lýsan. courageous in the sight of the many, when he on gallows redeems.

Bifode ic þá mé se beorn ymbclypte; ne dorste ic hwæðre búgan tó eorðan, I trembled when the warrior embraced me; However I dared not bend down to

feallan tó foldan scéatum. Ac ic sceolde fæste standan. earth,

Ród wæs ic árǽred. Áhóf ic rícne Cyning, to fall to the corners of the earth. But I had to stand fast.

heofona Hláford; hyldan mé ne dorste. Rood was I reared. I raised up the powerful King,

Þurhdrifan hí mé mid deorcan næglum; on mé syndon þá dolg gesíene, heaven's Lord; I dared not bend.

opene inwid-hlemmas. Ne dorste ic hira nǽnigum sceððan. They pierced me with dark nails; on me the wounds are visible,

Bysmeredon híe unc bútú ætgædere. Eall ic wæs mid blóde bestémed, open malicious wounds. I dared not harm any of them.

begoten of þæs guman sídan, siððan hé hæfde his gást onsended. They mocked us two both together. All I was made wet with blood,

Feala ic on þám beorge gebiden hæbbe shed from the hero's side, since he had given up his spirit.

wráðra wyrda. Geseah ic weruda God I on the hill many have endured

cruel fates. I saw the God of hosts

þearle þenian. Þýstro hæfdon violently stretched out. Darkness had

bewrigen mid wolcnum Wealdendes hrǽw, clothed with clouds the Lord's corpse,

scírne scíman; sceadu forð éode, a brilliant light; a shadow went forth,

wann under wolcnum. Wéop eal gesceaft, dim under clouds. All creation wept,

cwíðdon Cyninges fyll. Crist wæs on róde. mourning the King's fall. Christ was on the rood.

Hwæðere þǽr fúse feorran cwóman Yet eager ones there came from afar

tó þám æðelinge. Ic þæt eall behéold. to the prince. I beheld all that.

Sáre ic wæs mid [sorgum] gedréfed, hnág ic hwæðre þám secgum to handa, I was sorely troubled with sorrow, I bent however to the warriors at hand,

éaðmód elne mycle. Genámon híe þǽr ælmihtigne God, humble with great courage. Seized they there almighty God,

áhófon hine of ðám hefian wíte. Forléton mé þá hilderincas raised him up out of the grim punishment. The sword-men then left me

standan stéame bedrifenne; eall ic wæs mid strǽlum forwundod. to stand drenched in blood; all I was with arrows badly wounded.

Álédon híe ðǽr limwérigne, gestódon him æt his líces héafdum; They laid him there weary of limb, they stood by the head of his body;

behéoldon híe ðǽr heofenes Dryhten, ond hé hine ðǽr hwíle reste, there they beheld heaven's Lord, and he rested there for a time,

méðe æfter ðám miclan gewinne. Ongunnon him þá moldærn wyrcan exhausted after the great battle. Then they began to make an earth-house

beornas on banan gesyhðe; curfon híe ðæt of beorhtan stáne, warriors in the sight of the slayer; they carved it out of bright stone,

gesetton híe ðǽron sigora Wealdend. Ongunnon him þá sorhléoð galan therein they set victory's Lord. Then they began to sing a dirge

earme on þá ǽfentíde; þá híe woldon eft síðian wretched upon the eventide. Then afterward they departed

méðe fram þám mǽran þéodne; reste hé ðǽr mǽte weorode. sorrowfully away from the glorious prince; he rested there, a small host unto

Hwæðere wé ðǽr [h]réotende góde hwile himself.

stódon on staðole, syððan [stefn] úp gewát Yet we there wept greatly awhile

hilderinca; hrǽw cólode, standing in position, afterward a cry went up

fǽger feorgbold. Þá ús man fyllan ongan from the warriors; the corpse grew cold,

ealle tó eorðan; þæt wæs egeslic wyrd! beautiful spirit-dwelling. Then a man began to fell us

Bedealf ús man on déopan séaþe. Hwæðre mé þǽr Dryhtnes þegnas, all to earth; that was a dreadful fate!

fréondas gefrúnon, *** A man buried us in a deep pit. But me there the Lord's thanes,

gyredon mé golde ond seolfre. friends, heard of, ***

adorned me with gold and silver.

 Nú ðú miht gehýran, hǽleð mín se léofa, Now thou might hear, my dear man,

þæt ic bealu-wara weorc gebiden hæbbe, that I evil men's work have endured,

sárra sorga. Is nú sǽl cumen painful sorrow. Now the time has come

þæt mé weorðiað wíde ond síde that I am honored far and wide

menn ofer moldan ond eall þéos mǽre gesceaft, men over all the earth and all this glorious creation,

gebiddaþ him tó þyssum béacne. On mé Bearn Godes they worship at this standard. On me God's Son

þrówode hwíle. Forþan ic þrymfæst nú suffered time. Therefore I--glorious now--

hlifige under heofenum, ond ic hǽlan mæg rise under heaven, and I am able to heal

ǽghwylcne ánra þára þe him bið egesa tó mé. everyone of those who are in awe of me.

Iú ic wæs geworden wíta heardost, Long ago I was the hardest of tortures,

léodum láðost, ǽrþan ic him lífes weg for the most hateful men before I to them life's way

rihtne gerýmde, reordberendum. opened right, for the voice-bearers.

Hwæt, mé þá geweorðode wuldres Ealdor Behold--then honored me glory's Prince

ofer holmwudu, heofonríces Weard, towering Calvary-tree, the Guardian of the kingdom of heaven,

swylce swá hé his módor éac, Márian sylfe, just as he his mother also, Mary herself,

ælmihtig God, for ealle menn almighty God, for the sake of all men

geweorðode ofer eall wífa cynn. honored over all woman-kind.

Nú ic þé háte, hæleð mín se léofa, Now I command thee, my dear man,

þæt ðú þás gesyhðe secge mannum, that thou this vision shall tell all men,

onwréoh wordum þæt hit is wuldres béam, reveal with words that it is glory's tree,

sé ðe ælmihtig God on þrówode he who almighty God suffered on

for mancynnes manegum synnum for the sake of mankind's many sins

ond Ádomes ealdgewyrhtum. and Adam's acts of long ago.

Déað hé þǽr byrigde; hwæðere eft Dryhten árás Death he tasted there; but afterward the Lord arose

mid his miclan mihte mannum tó helpe. with his great might for the aid of all men.

Hé ðá on heofenas ástág. Hider eft fundaþ He then ascended into heaven. Here afterward he comes

on þysne middangeard mancynn sécan into this world seeking out mankind

on dómdæge Dryhten sylfa, on Doomsday the Lord himself,

ælmihtig God, ond his englas mid, almighty God, together with his angels,

þæt hé þonne wile déman, sé áh dómes geweald, then he will judge, he has the power of judgement,

ánra gehwylcum swá hé him ǽrur hér judgement of everyone just as each earlier here

on þyssum lǽnum lífe geearnaþ. in this fleeting life earns.

Ne mæg þǽr ǽnig unforht wesan There are not any able to be unafraid

for þám worde þe se Wealdend cwyð. of the word that the Lord declares.

Fríneð hé for þǽre mænige hwǽr se man síe, He asks there before the multitude where is the man,

sé ðe for Dryhtnes naman déaðes wolde he who for the sake of the Lord's name would death's

biteres onbyrigan, swá hé ǽr on ðám béame dyde. bitterness taste, just as he did before on the tree

Ac híe þonne forhtiað, ond féa þencaþ But they are afraid then, and few think

hwæt híe tó Criste cweðan onginnen. what they to Christ might begin to say.

Ne þearf ðǽr þonne ǽnig unforht wesan There then none need be terrified

þe him ǽr in bréostum bereð béacna sélest. who before him in breast bears the greatest of signs.

Ac ðurh ðá róde sceal ríce gesécan But through the rood one must go in order to reach the kingdom

of eorðwege ǽghwylc sáwl, through earth's way so it is with every soul,

séo þe mid Wealdende wunian þenceð." who with the Lord intends to dwell."

Gebæd ic mé þá tó þán béame blíðe móde, Then I prayed to the tree joyful in heart,

elne mycle, þǽr ic ána wæs great strength, when I was alone

mǽte werede. Wæs módsefa a small host unto myself. My spirit was

áfýsed on forðwege; feala ealra gebád impelled along an outward-path; I endured much in all,

langung-hwíla. Is mé nú lífes hyht a longing-time. I am now in the joy of life

þæt ic þone sigebéam sécan móte in that I the wood of victory might visit

ána oftor, þonne ealle men, individually more often, than all men,

well weorþian. Mé is willa tó ðám in order to adore it fully. I am desire, reaching toward the

mycel on móde, ond mín mundbyrd is great in spirit, and my patron is

geriht tó þǽre róde. Náh ic rícra feala within the rood. I do not have many rich

fréonda on foldan. Ac híe forð heonon friends on earth. And forth hence, they

gewiton of worulde dréamum, sóhton him wuldres Cyning, went out of the world of delights, they sought out the King of glory,
lifiaþ nú on heofenum mid Héahfædere, living now in heaven with God the Father,

wuniaþ on wuldre; ond ic wéne mé living in glory; and I yearn

daga gehwylce hwænne mé Dryhtnes ród, every day for the time when me the Lord's rood,

þe ic hér on eorðan ǽr scéawode, that I here on earth beheld before,

on þysson lǽnan lífe gefetige from this fleeting life will fetch

ond mé þonne gebringe þǽr is blis mycel, and then will bring me where great bliss is,

dréam on heofonum, þǽr is Dryhtnes folc joy in heaven, where the Lord's people are

geseted tó symle, þǽr is singal bliss; set to feast, where everlasting bliss is;

ond hé þonne ásette þǽr ic syþþan mót and he then will set me where I may afterward

wunian on wuldre, well mid þám hálgum live in glory, well with the holy ones

dréames brúcan. Sí mé Dryhten fréond, to partake of their joys. I will be friend to the Lord,

sé ðe hér on eorþan ǽr þrówode he who here on earth suffered before

on þám gealgtreowe for guman synnum. on the gallows-tree for mankind's sins.

Hé ús onlýsde ond ús líf forgeaf, He redeemed us and gave us life,

heofonlicne hám. Hiht wæs geníwad a heavenly home. Joy was renewed

mid blédum on mid blisse þám þe þǽr bryne þolodan. with blessedness and with bliss for those who then endured burning.

Se Sunu wæs sigorfæst on þám síðfate, The Son was triumphant in the journey,

mihtig ond spédig, þá hé mid manigeo cóm, mighty and successful, when he came with the multitude,

gásta weorode, on Godes ríce, a host of spirits, into God's kingdom,

Anwealda ælmihtig, englum tó blisse Sovereign Lord almighty, angels at bliss

ond eallum ðám hálgum þám þe on heofonum ǽr and all the holy ones who in heaven before

wunedon on wuldre, þá heora Wealdend cwóm, lived in glory, when their Lord came,

ælmihtig God, þǽr his éðel wæs. almighty God, to where his homeland was.
 Notes

These notes are meant to serve as a companion to the original text, the translation, and the

work as a whole. Their numbers correspond to the number of the line or lines to which the note

in question refers.

1. Hwæt! is a standard opening in Old English poetry. It is most often interpreted as a

call for attention, and it is often translated as "Lo," "Behold," "Listen," etc. Even though it is not

employed by many translators, "Hear me!" seems most effective, and it is as true to the poet's
intent as "Lo!" or "Behold!" The latter two renderings do not have quite the right impact:

lacking the appropriate intensity, they fail to strike the proper mood.

2. h[w]æt The manuscript reads hæt ; however, it is generally amended to read hwæt.

Hæt has no meaning in this context, and hwæt , read as "what" or "that," creates a subordinate

clause and solves the problem. This change has critical support, and there is precedence for such

usage throughout the poem. The discrepancy is often attributed to scribal error. C. W. Grein

first suggested hwæt as a possible solution (Swanton 103), and this change has come to be

accepted by most editors. Swanton (103), Sweet (Onions 273), Krapp (130), and Cook (12) have

all offered this as an appropriate alteration of the original text.

h[w]æt mé gemǽtte There is some question as to whether one is to see the Dreamer

as truly sleeping and dreaming or whether the term gemǽtte is to be interpreted as a figurative

way of describing the vision of the Dreamer. There is no clear indication as to which the poet

intended. Perhaps he intended for it to be ambiguous. Even so, it is clear that the Dreamer's

state is to be interpreted as being different from those who are merely asleep. In the first three

lines, he draws a clear distinction between the Dreamer and those reordberend who reste

wunedon , "voice-bearers who dwelled at rest," and the simple fact that the Dreamer is described
as "lying" in line 24 does not mean that he is not awake and alert at such an hour. He could even

be seen as a man whose practical nature tells him that he should rest, which would explain his

posture in line 24, but whose unrelenting spiritual fervor will not let him sleep. In lines 121 and

122, when the Cross's narrative ends and the Dreamer prays before the Cross, there is no

indication that he has to wake from sleep. Many critics, including Alvin A. Lee (167-68), feel

that the Dreamer is wakeful and alert, and it seems most likely that the description of the

Dreamer's state as asleep or dreaming is meant to be taken, at least in part, as being figurative.

midre nihte Lee reminds one that "according to spiritual discipline, the... alert...
man is to be vigilant while the... slothful... one sleeps" and that the hour of midnight was

spiritually significant in the tradition of the church (167-68). During a time when a "slothful"

man might be sleeping, the Dreamer is "vigilant," observing the holy hour. He prepared when

the vision of the Cross comes to him.

3. Reordberend appears here and at line 89. Read literally it means "voice-" or "speech-

bearers," and to alter this reading significantly would rob the poet of his strength of diction and

his power of effect. Reordberend is a fine example of the Old English poetic compound, the

kenning, and it serves many different functions here for the poet. As John Gardner points out,

"when we recall the usual emphasis on song, laughter, and talk in typical treatments of meadhall
pleasure, we see that the word reordberend is loaded" (101-02). It emphasizes "the silence that

surrounds the visionary, and "the carelessness of those that sleep, ignoring the messenger of

Salvation" (Swanton 103). In this opening sequence, busy, loud, distracting, irreverent persons,

those bearing voices, those who during the day are busy singing, laughing, talking, and making

speeches, are asleep, completely ignorant of what is taking place. They are unaware of the

grand, divine vision unfolding before the Dreamer. He is alone in silence, alone in his reverence,

and alone in his vigilance. While the others merely sleep, this one soul is blessed with a vision
direct from God. The Dreamer has been singled out and removed from all distraction. Only he

is worthy to partake of the vision.

4. syllicre Many editors choose to read this form as a superlative, rendering "the most

marvellous" or "the most wonderful." Dickins and Ross, Swanton, and Krapp all refer to the

word as an "absolute comparative," in their editions of the Dream. At the same time, one will

find the normal comparative or descriptive sense used in many translations, including that of

Charles Kennedy which reads "a wondrous" (Anthology 144). I suggest a compromise, "a most

marvellous." This solution preserves the meaning and preserves the superlative sense while not
requiring that this tree be the most marvellous of all trees.

tréow Here it is important to note the significance of the Cross pictured as a tree.

Throughout the poem, the Cross is often referred to as a tree. The tree that is the Cross and the

tree of life in Paradise are paired in typological tradition, and the image of the Cross as a living,

growing, flowering tree is very important and well established in the history of the Christian

church (see pp. 7-9 above). Albert Cook traces this tree imagery back to the Latin lignum and
the Greek ύ, and he cites several passages from the Greek and Latin New Testaments as

examples of the image in biblical usage: Acts 5:30, 10:39, 13:29; Gal. 3:13; and 1 Pet. 2:24

(Dream 12). Dickins and Ross, in their edition of the Dream , provide an example of this image
used in the liturgy, pointing to the use of lignum in an early Latin hymn, Regnauit a ligno Deus

(20). Swanton finds the image of the Cross as a tree in seventh- and eighth-century works and

states that "it is often shown as a living, budding stem, sprouting leaves and wreathed with

flowers" (51-52). It is an organic, growing, dynamic thing. It is a life, a force, a divine creature.

The Cross is symbolic of Christ, and in many traditions the Cross is equated with Christ himself.

As such, the Cross cannot die. It must live, and the image of it as a tree, a living, ever-growing

tree, serves to remind one of the true divine, immortal nature of both Christ and the Cross.
 The image of the Cross as a flowering tree is also reminiscent of the tree of Jesse, the

father of David. The Jesse Tree is another common iconographic motif (Schiller 15-22),

representing Christ's descent from David in the form of a tree growing from Jesse's side. The

branches of the tree hold Christ's ancestors and His followers, and its structure indicates their

role in His descent pattern.

5. Lyft read literally means "air," but in this particular case, it is better to read on lyft as

"aloft." It is true to the intended meaning of the poet without having to add excessive personal

interpretation, and lyft is cognate with the modern "loft." Therefore, "aloft" accounts for on and
lyft quite well. Dickins and Ross read "aloft" (46), as does Sweet (Onions 273). Swanton and

Cook both read "on high" (146; Dream 61).

Swanton goes on to point out the parallel between this vision of the Cross and

Constantine's vision of the Cross (146). Constantine also saw a beautiful cross raised high in the

heavens (see pp. 9-12 above). A version of the Constantine legend can be found in Cynewulf's

Elene and in many other Old English and Latin sources. The Acta Quiriaci , a work in the Acta

Sanctorum , is largely concerned with the Invention and is considered one of the primary Latin

sources for the tradition (Allen and Calder 59).

léohte bewunden Again , Swanton points out a parallel between this vision and that

of Constantine: "the brilliance of the Cross is a familiar feature of the Constantinian tradition,"

and he cites several sources, including Elene, as examples (104-05). Stevens mentions this

parallel, and he also points out that the "gorgeously adorned crosses in the church probably had

influence upon this image of light" (77). In the art and literature of the middle ages, this type of

radiance is indicative of some type of spiritual and supernatural power, often related to divine or

religious sources. In this case, the radiance, the brilliant light encompassing the cross

demonstrates the god-like power emanating from this mighty servant of God. Adolphe N.
Didron writes, in the tradition of medieval iconography "light is the visible image of the invisible

Divinity" (413). If there was any doubt in one's mind before, this radiance confirms the true

nature, the divine power, of the Cross in this vision.

6. béacen This béacen is the standard of Christ, of the "victorious Christ militant"

(Swanton 105). Just as Constantine and Oswald carried the Cross before them into battle as a

standard, Christ carries the standard of the Cross into battle, metaphysical battle against sin and

evil (Stevens 83). The Cross is Christ himself (Didron 367 ff.), and in that way, serves as a

standard for all those who hold him dear to heart and who fight for the church and for what it
stands. It is a proper battle standard for the church militant. In the tradition of Christian

iconography, the Cross is often depicted as a military standard. In many works of art, Christ is

portrayed as a lamb holding a long, thin cross from which flies a battle flag, and even when

Christ is drawn in more realistic terms, he can frequently be seen carrying the cross as a standard

(Didron 318-21, 385-86).

7. begoten As both Swanton and Cook point out, this use of the verb to indicate that

the Cross is sprinkled with or covered in gold anticipates its use in line 49 where it indicates that

the the cross is covered with or drenched in blood, the blood of Christ (105; Dream 13). There is

a direct, artistic link between these two images. Here the blood of Christ is symbolically
depicted as gold, while in line 49, the blood is pictured literally. Most critics take special care to

point out the fact that this particular usage of begoten is unique to the Dream. The term appears

elsewhere in Old English only in reference to something covered with a particular liquid, such as

blood, and its use here with gold represents an obvious, conscious parallel with line 49, where it

is used in the more common sense, in literal relation to Christ's blood (Cook, Dream 13; Swanton

105).
 gimmas stodon The image of the jeweled cross was very common in medieval

iconography and in the actual worship practices of the Anglo-Saxon church. Swanton provides

more than one example of rich, jeweled crosses that were actually used in the church (48, 105),

and Didron feels that jewels served to "make the cross a centre of light" (413). The gem stones

emphasize the glory and the splendor of the Cross, and they reinforce the image of the Cross

enveloped in light, the light of divinity, of the power of God.

8. fægere Both Krapp and Swanton note the fact that some critics feel compelled to

alter the manuscript here (130; 105-06), and as Cook points out, there seems to be little
justification for substituting another word for fægere (Dream 14). Fægere fits the context very

well, and to alter it seems awkward and heavy-handed editorially. Fægere can also be read as an

adverb, but the adjectival sense seems to fit best in that it has a stronger, more forceful character

in this context.

æt foldan scéatum Scéatum can be read as "surfaces," "regions," "quarters," or

"corners," and this phrase has been translated variously as "at the surface of the earth" (Onions

218), and as "at the corners of the earth" (Swanton 106). A well established, symbolic

relationship existed between the Cross and the medieval concept of the world, and the poet is

obviously alluding to it here with this image.

In iconographic and other church traditions, the Cross is often associated with the

four points of the compass and with the four corners of the earth (Didron 373; Stevens 69-70).

Stevens offers the words of Alcuin as evidence: "Indeed as it lay, the cross stretched out toward

the four quarters of the world, east and west, north and south, because even so Christ by his

passion draws all people to him" (69). The world was actually visualized as a cross inscribed

within a circle. One of the best treatments of this concept can be found in Donald R. Howard's

discussion of the medieval T-O map: these maps "showed the earth as a circle with a T or cross
[known also as a Tau cross] inscribed in it. The top half of the circle is 'Asia,' the bottom left

quarter 'Europe' and the bottom right quarter 'Africa'" (173). In this manner, the world was

pictured as a circle, divided into four quarters by the points of the compass and into three

unequal sections by the continents that made up the known world, Asia, Europe, and Africa.

East was at the top of the circle, North at the left, West at the bottom, and South at the

right. The top half of the circle, the eastern half, was devoted to Asia, and at the very top, the

eastern most point of the circle, the one closest to heaven, was the Garden of Eden, Earthly

Paradise. At the center of the circle the three continents--reflective of the divine Trinity--met at
one point, and at this point was Jerusalem, the very center of creation. From this center, the three

arms of the Tau cross reached out to touch the North point of the circle on the left or "sinister"

side where Satan dwelt, to the West point on the bottom, and to the South point on the right.

In this way the Cross extends to the edges of creation and embraces the whole earth.

In maps of this type, Christ was often pictured behind the world, "with arms outstretched, as if

being crucified on its T" (Howard 173). Thus, like the Cross, Christ embraced the whole of the

earth during his crucifixion, his head pointed east, touching heaven, his arms stretched to the

north and the south, and his feet pointed down toward the west. As McEntire and others also

point out, the arms of the Cross were figuratively pictured as reaching the ends of the earth,
touching heaven, and extending out into the chaos of the abyss beyond the created world, even

descending into Hell itself (349).

Translating such a sophisticated allusion can be quite difficult. In this particular

instance, it seems best to render sceatum as "corners" or "edges." This reading attempts to

encompass as much of the poet's meaning as possible without completely destroying his diction.

Here æt foldan sceatum indicates the location of the gems mentioned in line 7, and if one

chooses to read "at the corners" or "at the edges of the earth," keeping in mind the T-O map, the
gems could be located at the four points of the compass, North, South, East, and West, "at the

edges" of the circle, representative of the far points of the arms of the Cross. There is an

additional possibility when considering the T-O map, however, especially if one chooses to

translate "at the corners of the earth." It is not impossible that the "corners" of the earth were

seen to meet at Jerusalem in the center of the circle. At this point, both the four quarters and the

three continents touch, and from that perspective, there are corners at the center. Thus, one could

also locate the gems of line 7 at the center of the Cross, the symbolic center of the world on the

T-O map. One can never know the poet's true intent in this circumstance; what is certain is that

he intended to invoke the power of a complex network of symbols and imagery with this simple
phrase, fægere æt foldan scéatum. He uses the image again at line 37 and line 43.

The ambiguity of sceatum creates a particularly difficult reading and interpretation

problem in lines 8 and 9, even if the above solution is accepted. Where are the jewels introduced

in line 7 actually located? And where then is one to place the five introduced in line 8? If one

places the jewels of line 7 on the four arms of the Cross or at the center of the Cross, then placing

the the five mentioned in line 8 upon the "shoulder-span" of line 9 seems both awkward and

redundant. Few credible solutions to this dilemma have been offered, and most editors have

little use for the existing explanations (Swanton 106; Cook, Dream 14). Even so, there is a

convincing argument that, if accepted, would solve the problem of the placement and of the
ambiguous nature of sceatum in line 8.

In 1978, Annemarie E. Mahler pointed out that "these difficulties evaporate if we

stipulate a specific kind of cross" (446). She suggests that the Vercelli Book version of the poem

was composed upon the occasion of the receipt of a piece of the true cross, a relic of the Lignum

Domini , and she also suggests a shape and general appearance for its reliquary, a shape that may

have served as a model for the Dream poet's vision. "This reliquary has to be in the form of a

cross on a globe" (Mahler 446). She offers convincing and documented evidence that globes
were used to represent the medieval concept of the earth, that such globes were used in

reliquaries and placed at the bottoms of gilded and jeweled crosses, and that there were relics of

the true cross in England before the year 1000 (447-48, 449, 456). If one accepts her argument,

interpreting lines 8 and 9 becomes quite easy. The jewels introduced in line 7 are located on the

globe attached to the bottom of the Cross, and since the globe represents the earth, the jewels

really are æt foldan sceatum , and it matters not whether one reads "at/on the surface of the

earth," "at the corners of the earth," or "at the edges of the earth." In this case, any one of them is

perfectly correct.

fife Here the five gems referred to are most likely representative of the five wounds

that Christ received during the crucifixion (Patch 245). Tradition variously designates the five

wounds as being the wound to the head made by the crown of thorns, to the hands by the nails, to

the feet--counting as one--by the nails, and to the right side by the spear, or as being the hands,

the feet--counting as two, and the right side. It was common in Christian artwork to represent

these wounds by placing gems upon the plain or empty Cross.

9. eaxlegespanne In much the same way as in line 8, the difficulty of interpreting the

word eaxlegespanne can also be eliminated. As Mahler puts it, "we bypass a textual difficulty...

If the Cross stands on earth [on a globe]... then any part, or indeed all of the cross, can be
referred to as eaxlegespanne... the whole cross is needed to stretch [to span] the shoulders" (448).

Therefore, it is legitimate to place the five gems of line 8 in a pattern over the whole Cross or in

a line along the crossbeam. Various examples of both arrangements are offered by critics in their

editions of the Dream (Swanton 105-06; Dickins and Ross 21).

In the manuscript this word appears with different spacing, eaxle ge spanne. Swanton,

and Dickins and Ross ascribe this phenomena to a copying error on the part of the scribe (106;

5), Swanton suggesting that the scribe was struggling with an "unfamiliar" word, an idea
supported by the fact that this particular form appears nowhere else in extant Old English

literature. Some would alter more than the spacing of this word, but as Krapp points out, the

spelling of the first element (eaxle-) has been shown to be acceptable (130). Further alteration

seems unnecessary and unjustified. Basically, this word is simply an Old English compound,

meaning "shoulder-span" or "shoulder-stretcher."

Behéoldon þær engel Dryhtnes ealle Perhaps more than any other half-line in the

poem, this one has presented readers with the most difficulty. It certainly has sparked quite a bit

of discussion, and the variant readings are numerous. Several elements present problems, but the
two most important considerations are those of grammar and of Christian tradition.

Grammatically speaking, the various elements of 9b simply do not agree, making a clear reading

impossible. Behéoldon requires a plural subject, and both engel and ealle appear to be singular

in nature. Of all the solutions entertained, Swanton offers the simplest and most acceptable. He

suggests that one take ealle as masculine nominative plural, reading 9b as "All beheld there the

angel of the Lord" (107).

For the moment, this solution resolves the syntactic conflict; however, the problem of

interpretation remains. Who or what is the engel Dryhtnes? Willem Helder offers an

interpretation based upon biblical evidence: "It is helpful to consider the expression engel
Dryhtnes as a whole and to note that in the Old Testament 'the angel of the Lord' frequently

occurs as a fixed designation with a very specific meaning." He goes on to show that, in the

Latin Old Testament that the Dream poet would have been familiar with, "the angel of the Lord"

is firmly associated with the appearance of God himself (148). At the beginning of these

appearances, God is referred to only as "the angel of the Lord," as angelus Domini , and those

persons to whom he appears do not know his true nature at the outset of the visitation. In

addition, it has been demonstrated that the Old English engel can also be thought of as

"messenger" as well as "angel" (Boenig 444-46). It is not unreasonable then to think that the
term engel Dryhtnes had become a common or formulaic method of referring to God or to the

messengers of God. With these ideas in mind, one can easily see the Cross as "the angel of the

Lord." The Cross is certainly the "messenger" of God, and it is well established that the Cross is

representative of Christ, and thus can be representative of God. This concept of "the angel of the

Lord" seems well suited to the poet's use in these circumstances, for the Cross brings both God's

message and God's son.

10. Fægere modifies either ealle or engel in the previous line, and determining which

remains quite difficult. Swanton feels that the form of the word makes it more likely to refer to
the nominative element of line 9 (108), which has been designated as ealle. Even so, it is

possible that fægere refers to the accusative engel, and this reading seems to fit the context best.

forðgesceaft An ambiguous Old English compound, roughly translated, it means

"forward/continuing/future-creation." In diverse contexts it has been taken as many different

things. Sweet renders the term as "through the future, in eternity" (Onions 219), and Cook

settles for "creation" (Dream 15). In spite of these interpretations, it is best taken as

encompassing all of creation and all of the future, for both a sense of time and of space are

implied here.

gealga According to Cook and Swanton, this description of the Cross is not

unknown in other extant Old English literature, but it is uncommon (Dream 16; 108-09). It is

most interesting to note, as Swanton does, that this term would have been very familiar to a

Germanic people such as the Anglo-Saxons (108-09). The Old English poet took a term that was

common to his own language and attempted to describe the Cross of the crucifixion, an object

alien and unrecognizable to his own culture. More interesting still is the fact that in Norse myth,

when Odin hangs from the World-Tree, Yggdrasil, he is referred to as the Lord of the Gallows

(Crossley-Holland 186-88). Odin, the All-Father, hung on the gallows, a willing sacrifice to
himself for the benefit of himself and his people. Christ, the Son of God, an indivisible part of

an indivisible God, hung on the gallows, a willing sacrifice to God for the benefit of God's

people. They were both pierced in the side with a spear; they both lacked for something to drink;

and they both cried out when they finally gave up the ghost. The similarity of the two traditions

is fascinating. While they hang from their respective trees, they could both be considered Lords

of the Gallows. There is dispute as to which tradition came first and which influenced the other,

the Christian or the Norse. Some say that they are completely independent in their development

(Stevens 70, 91; Crossley-Holland 187). At this point, it matters little which came first. What is

clear is that the images of Christ and Odin on the gallows represent a particularly potent and
effective motif in the collective cultural mind of the Germanic peoples and that by employing

this motif, the Dream poet taps into the power of that image. This word appears again in lines 40

and 41 as gealgan and in line 146 as gealgtreow.

11. hálige gástas This term was commonly used in reference to angels in Old English

literature (Cook, Dream 16). Swanton also points out that "angels gazing on the cross are a

commonplace of contemporary crucifixion iconography" (109).

13. sigebéam This poetic compound is unique to the Dream and the Elene (Dickins

and Ross 22). Howard Patch finds precedence for it in the Latin hymns of the period, referring
especially to their use of the term lignum trimphale , tree of triumph, tree of victory (247-48).

15. wǽdum Rendered literally, wǽdum means "clothing," and its usage here is

ambiguous, but there are many observations and possible explanations that can be made

concerning its appearance in this context. As Lee states, "we have noted that the sigebeam is

identified as a living being. On one level of metaphor it is also a human body [the body of

Christ] worthy of honor, rich vestments, gold, and jewels" (173). Stevens notes also that the poet

might be referring to the purple cloth shrouding the Cross on Good Friday (78). It does seem
likely that this image alludes to one or more of the cloth draping traditions of the church, and the

Good Friday shrouding, in which the Cross is wrapped in purple cloth in symbolic mourning for

Christ's death, is what the poet is most likely referring to here. This interpretation would make

the poet's image seem quite appropriate to the circumstances. The poem as a whole is very much

concerned with the crucifixion, and the change in "cloth and colors" of line 22 could then be seen

as a symbolic reenactment of the crucifixion and the resurrection. During the crucifixion, the

Cross would change in color from green to red (see note number 22), and following the

resurrection, the purple cloth of mourning would be removed in recognition of Christ's triumph

over death.

16. gegyred mid golde ; gimmas hæfdon Here the Cross has been granted gold,

jewels, and other finery. Like any strong, dedicated Anglo-Saxon warrior, the Cross has been

adorned and lavished with gifts; as John Gardner says, "the loyal retainer is rewarded with

treasures" (104).

17. wealdes Many editors have seen fit to alter the manuscript form wealdes to read

wealdendes in their editions, including Sweet, Krapp, Cook, and Dickins and Ross. Most of

them justify the change on grounds that it corrects the meter and that it parallels other structures

in the poem. Many of their arguments are strong, but as Swanton points out, the alteration is not
necessary, even for considerations of meter (111). Wealdes can refer to power. In this case, it

refers to the power of God and to God himself. The power sense of weald includes concepts of

rulership, governorship, and protection. This Cross is God's tree, Christ's tree, power's tree.

19. Earmra appears here as a genitive plural adjectival noun modifying ǽrgewin , it

should not be taken as a comparative adjective (Swanton 112). 19a should, therefore, be read as

"the ancient-struggle of the wretched." Cook saw these "wretched" as the "adversaries of Christ"

(Dream 18); however, there seems to be little justification for this interpretation. It is more likely
that these "wretched" creatures are the poor sinners who struggle in their efforts to distinguish

right from wrong while embroiled in the "ancient-conflict" between God and his adversary,

Satan.

ǽrgewin Literally, ǽrgewin translates as "ancient-battle" or "ancient-conflict,"

but since this poetic compound exists nowhere else in the body of Old English poetry (Dickins

and Ross 23), determining the poet's true intent is less than easy. The ancient-battle seems to be

reminiscent of something far older than the crucifixion or its immediate historical background. It

refers to a concept that transcends the normal perception of time. Swanton puts forth the
possibility that ǽrgewin refers to "the ancient hostility of God's primeval adversaries" (112). It

seems likely that the poet is referring, in part, to the "ancient-conflict" between God and his

oldest adversary, Satan. John P. Hermann demonstrates that the idea of an "ancient-struggle" or

a "former-hostility" was common in Old English literature when speaking of the "warfare

between Satan and man" (242), and it seems more than simply reasonable or possible to see an

ongoing conflict here involving God, Man, and Satan. This battle is one between right and

wrong, good and evil.

20. swǽton on þá swfliðran healfe With this image, the poet dramatically links the

Cross with Christ--they are the same, and he alludes to an important tradition of the church, one
established early in its history. The image of the Cross bleeding on the right side "vividly

crystallizes the metaphor of the tree as a human body and is the first open indication... an

identification of the body of the tree with the divine-human body of its Lord" (Lee 173). At that

moment, symbolically and literally, the Cross and Christ are one--there is no difference. At the

crucifixion, Jesus bled on the right side after being pierced with a spear, and in this vision, the

Cross bleeds from the right side, the same as Christ. The idea that Christ was pierced by a spear

on the right side does not appear in the New Testament. It says only that Christ's side was

pierced with the spear, but early in the tradition of the Church, the right side was designated as
the side that was pierced and bled. This tradition was quickly incorporated into liturgy, hymns,

and iconography, and it figures powerfully in the collective mind of the church to this day.

‡Eamonn ‡O Carrag‡ain reminds one that the Vidi aquam--a Latin hymn, itself based upon a

passage from Ezekiel (47:1-12)--has been thought to be the "origin of this tradition." The blood

is pictured as a life-giving, illuminating stream flowing from the savior's right side (9).

sorgum The manuscript reads surgum , a form that is completely unknown and

which appears nowhere else in Old English. Many suggestions have been made, but sorgum

seems to be the most reasonable and most widely accepted alternative (Swanton 114). The same
word is inserted into a similar phrase in line 59.

21. Fúse is most often used to indicate "eagerness" or "readiness," but this sense seems

ill-suited for use in this context. Cook translates fúse as "mobile" (Dream 20), and Dickins and

Ross suggest "brilliant" as a reasonable extension of "eager" (23). None of these are satisfactory,

however. They provide an awkward meaning that seems inconsistent with the surrounding

context. Swanton points out that "fus is commonly associated with death" and that this term has

been rendered elsewhere as "doomed" (114). "Doomed" seems well suited to the circumstances.

It provides a meaning that is both clear and compatible with the surrounding context.

22. bléom It is important to note the significance of varying the colors of the Cross.

Different colors carry their own separate meanings in the traditions of Christian worship and

iconography (Didron 412-413; Davies 139-42; Swanton 52, 115). Perhaps the most important

color for consideration here is red, for as Stevens points out, "the Dream of the Rood...

represent[s] the cross as bloody or red; and some of the ancient consecration-crosses have

vestiges of red paint" (21). Various types of crosses were frequently painted red, and the Cross

was often portrayed in Christian art as being red. This color represents Christ's blood, His

suffering, and His sacrifice upon the behalf of mankind. In Christian iconography, a red Cross is
the True Cross of the crucifixion covered in the "blood flowing from the body of Christ, the wine

pressed from the grape of which Jesus is the deathless antitype" (Didron 413).

Other important colors for the Cross in the iconographic tradition include green,

blue, and white. Green indicates the Cross portrayed as a tree. It serves to emphasize the living,

growing nature of the Cross, and this color is often seen in depictions that included branches,

leaves, flowers, and vines. Green also identifies the Cross as it was before the crucifixion, before

it was turned red by blood, when it was still newly cut. Blue, a color associated with the skies

and with heaven, emphasizes the Cross's heavenly, celestial nature, and white, a symbol of light
and purity expresses the Cross's powerful, uncorrupted, divine character.

Color was and still is important in the liturgical practices of the church. Various

colors are associated with both the different seasons of the church year and with the diverse

moods appropriate to the commemoration of specific individuals and events in church history.

Numerous color schemes and definitions have been developed over the centuries, but near the

beginning of the thirteenth, Pope Innocent III established standards for color that had been

developing for many years and that can still be found in whole or in part within the practice of

many Christian denominations (Davies 139-40). He said that white should be used for feasts, red

for martyrs, black--blue and purple were later employed in the same way as black--for penitential
seasons, and green for all others. In liturgical practice, what these colors represent is much the

same as in the iconographic tradition. White is purity, divinity, and the power of God. Red is

blood, suffering, and sacrifice. Black, blue, and purple are sorrow, mourning, and penitence, and

Green is life and growth.

23. beswyled Some, like Cook (Dream 21), have seen fit to alter the manuscript form

of this word; however, a change is unnecessary and unjustified, and most editors leave it as is

(Krapp 130-31; Swanton 115; Dickins and Ross 24). The word seems to be related to the more
common Old English terms swilian and swillan that mean "to soak" or "to drench." Thus, in this

context, the meaning of beswyled is clear and needs no further interpretation or alteration on the

part of the reader.

30. stefne In most cases, the Old English stefn means "voice" or "cry," and in this

case, it is possible that the poet intended for one to read "voice." Even so, this meaning seems

out place within the context, and the less common meaning "roots" makes much more sense.

Several other critics also choose to render the term in this manner (Swanton 148).

31-32. ðǽr In addition to a sense of place--there, where, etc.--ðǽr can also be used

to indicate a sense of time in that an act takes place "there" at a particular time. This sense is

often translated as "then" (Dickins and Ross 24). "Then" works best in these two lines.

37. eorðan scéatas Again, as in line 8, the poet refers to "earth's corners" or "the

edges of the earth," and as before, the traditional association between the four arms of the cross

and the four points of the compass, or the four corners of the earth, comes into play. The Cross

sees its own arms tremble, and it also sees the whole earth tremble in anticipation of the coming

death of Christ. When the Cross trembles so does the earth, for the four arms of the Cross reach

out and embrace the earth at its very corners. It is in a position to see both itself and the world as
a whole.

40. gestáh hé on gealgan héanne Christ climbs up into/onto the Cross, reinforcing the

concept of the Cross as a tree. Swanton traces this climbing image to early biblical

commentaries and early Latin hymns. He also finds many parallels in other Old English works,

including the Christ and various Anglo-Saxon homilies (118). This image also emphasizes

Christ's willingness to die on the Cross. Once again, the poet shows the reader a mighty hero

with great courage, a hero freely giving Himself in sacrifice for His followers, for His people.
 43. feallan tó foldan scéatum Note that, once again, the poet employs the image of

the foldan scéatum , the corners of the earth, the surface of the earth. The reader can see the

Cross towering above the world, a vast mystical vision, touching heaven and earth. If it were to

fall under its tremendous spiritual, metaphysical burden, it would collapse upon the surface of

the earth, and its never-ending substance would reach to the four corners of creation.

44. Ród Lee points out that ród is used here for the first time and that at this moment

in the development of the Cross's narrative, it changes from a simple tree used to execute
criminals to the Cross of Christ, of God ælmihtig (179). At that instant, with those few words,

Ród wæs ic árǽred , the tree is altered, metamorphosed into the Ród , the cross of Jesus Christ,

the Savior of all mankind.

46. ∏urhdrifan hfli mé mid deorcan næglum ; on mé syndon þá dolg gesfliene As in

line 20, it is significant that it is the Cross itself that manifests wounds. It is the Cross that is

pierced with nails, and it is the Cross that bears the opene inwid-hlemmas. Here the Cross and

Christ are still one in literal terms; they are symbolically inseparable.

48. Bysmeredon This mockery has been traced, by both Swanton and Cook, back to
the mockery of Christ by the Jews at the crucifixion: Matt. 27:39-41, Mark 15:31 (121; Dream

30).

55b-56a. Wéop eal gesceaft/cwfliðdon Cyninges fyll Cook and Swanton find

significant parallels to this concept in classical elegy, specifically pointing to Ovid's treatment of

the death of Orpheus, a classical character popular with the English in the Anglo-Saxon period

and in the later middle ages (Dream 31-32; 123). Just as striking are the parallels in the Norse

tradition surrounding the death of Balder (Dickins and Ross 28; Wardale 181). Crossley-
Holland's retelling of "The Death of Balder" from the Prose Edda vividly depicts these

similarities:

They [the Norse gods] looked at the fairest and most wise of them all,
shining and lifeless...

..."If everything in the nine worlds, dead and alive, weeps for Balder," Hel
declared, "let him return to Asgard. But if anything demurs, if even one
thing will not weep, Balder must remain in Niflheim."...

...As each substance had sworn an oath before that it would not harm
Balder, each substance now wept. Fire wept, every kind of illness wept,
all the animals wept, all the birds wept, every kind of poisonous plant
wept and so did every sidling snake.... (154-61)

Balder is the "fairest," the "most wise," and the most loved of all the Norse gods, and he is the

favorite son of Odin, the All-Father, the ruler of the gods. The parallels between Balder and

Christ are obvious, as is the similarity of the circumstances surrounding their deaths. Everyone

and everything is shocked and emotionally devastated by each of their passings. Eal gesceaft

weeps for Christ and for Balder. As has been stated before, scholars are not in agreement as to

what the relationship is between the two traditions. The point is that both traditions are common

to Germanic culture and that this image--wéop eal gesceaft--is especially important to and
effective for the Germanic peoples of medieval Europe, including the Anglo-Saxons. Once
again, the poet is attempting to tap the energy of this common, important cultural motif.

57. fúse The adjective, translated as "doomed" in line 21, is used here as a noun. As

in the previous case, the usual meaning, "eager," is inappropriate in this context. Its use here

seems to be quite similar to that of line 21; however, "doomed ones" does not really capture the

meaning here. These people are forlorn and displaced. Their Lord is dead. They have no hope,
and for this reason, "hopeless ones" is able to capture much the right meaning. These "hopeless
ones" are Christ's followers, and many editors suggest that they are to be seen as Joseph and

Nicodemus, citing John 19:38-39 as evidence (Dickins and Ross 44; Swanton 124; Cook, Dream

32).

58. mid [sorgum] gedréfed The manuscript has mid gedréfed , and the Ruthwell

Cross reads miþ sorgum gidrœfid. It seems reasonable to insert sorgum here in order to make

some sense of the line, and this particular change appears to be universally accepted by editors.

60. Genámon hflie þǽr ælmihtigne God Common, profane hands are laid upon the
person of Christ, upon ælmihtigne God. Christ's human nature is at the peak of its portrayal

here. This image of the Savior is far removed from the all-powerful hero of just a few lines

before. He appears to be weak and helpless, lifeless or very nearly so. He is vulnerable to the

advances of normal human hands. Like a true Anglo-Saxon lord, Christ was willing to sacrifice

on the behalf of His followers, to give even His life for their benefit, and like faithful warriors,

his followers come to the side of their fallen lord, laying hands on him in order to áhófon hine of

ðám hefian wflite. Just as the unfaithful followers of Beowulf came to him and buried him, the

faithful men of Christ's following, who have stayed away from the "great battle" of the

crucifixion in order to respect the wishes of their Lord, come to Him so that they can bury Him.

At that instant, even though one knows that He is still "almighty God," the Saviour is completely
human and so is His passion and His sacrifice.

62. eall ic wæs mid strælum forwundod This image is the clearest and strongest

battle metaphor in the poem. The whole line serves to maintain the link between Christ and the

Cross. Christ and the Cross do not cease to be one merely because Christ has been removed

from the Cross following the crucifixion; the Cross still suffers the wounds, the passion. At the

same time, the Cross is clearly identified as a warrior, a loyal follower who fought beside and

was wounded with his lord. In the half-line before, it stands drenched in blood, and here it is
wounded with "arrows." The arrows act as a heroic metaphor representing the nails that were

driven through both Christ and the Cross, retainer and lord wounded by the same "shots."

63-69. In this passage, Christ's followers provide him with a funeral rite worthy of an

Anglo-Saxon king, and as more than one scholar has pointed out, this ceremony bears a striking

resemblance to the burial of Beowulf and to other elegiac elements of Beowulf [cf. Beo. ll. 2460,

4148 ff.] (Leiter 95; Swanton 128; Dickins and Ross 30). "The disciples sang their song of

sorrow in the eventide, just as Beowulf's followers, sons of princes, valiant in battle, lamented

their care, bemourned the King, related tales, and spoke about the man" (Wardale 181). Once
again, the poet employs an effective motif from his own Germanic culture in order to better

make his point concerning the death of Christ. He uses an element common to the cultural

tradition of his audience in order to express an idea about a religious mystery that was and is, in

its origins, alien to that culture.

65. Moldærn translates literally as "earth-house" and obviously refers to some sort of

grave. It is difficult to determine what type of grave the poet had in mind. As Swanton states, it

is certainly not an "earthen grave" or the "cave of ecclesiastical tradition." Line 66b rules out

both of those possibilities, for the grave is said to be carved "out of bright stone." It was not dug

from the earth, and it is obviously not a cave. A cave is a natural formation and is not carved by
men's hands, and a cave is certainly not made up of "bright" or expensive stone as this tomb is.

Swanton makes a case for "the fine free-standing sculptured stone tombs familiar in late classical

and earlier medieval Europe" (127), feeling that they come closer to the poet's description.

66. banan This form appears in the manuscript, but many editors have been disturbed

by the negative implications of the meaning, "slayer" or "murderer," and have altered the

manuscript form in various ways. There seems, however, to be no real need or justification for

this change. The word must refer to the Cross, and the manuscript meaning fits within its
surrounding context. In a very real sense, the Cross is Christ's "slayer," and the negative

connotations of the word do not cause it to be ineffective or out of place in the situation. No

matter how necessary Christ's sacrifice was, there is no reason that the Cross, as a loyal and

loving servant, should not feel guilt and remorse. It is quite reasonable at this point in the

narrative that the Cross might see itself as a "murderer."

69. mǽte weorode Weorode most often refers to large groups, armies and the like,

and pairing it with mǽte , small, creates an almost paradoxical construction. Old English poetic

understatement is often referred to as litotes, and mǽte weorode certainly qualifies as an example
of this type of understatement. Many editors suggest that this construction serves as an ironic

method of stating the fact that Christ is alone or with only the company of the crosses, depending

on how the circumstances are interpreted. Some, like Swanton, suggest that Christ is to be seen

as utterly alone (128). Others, Neil Isaacs among them, see the three crosses standing together

on Calvary as a "small host" keeping company with Christ, who is otherwise alone in his tomb

(16). The argument for Isaacs' position is interesting, but such an interpretation seems

unnecessary and unjustified here. The meaning is clear and effective without further searching.

70. [h]réotende The manuscript reads reotende , and in the past many editors have

been satisfied with this reading. Even so, in order to perfect the alliteration of the line, some
editors correct the manuscript form to read hréotende (Swanton 129), while other editors adjust it

to greotende (Dickins and Ross 30; Cook, Dream 35; Krapp 131). The argument for hréotende

seems to be the most reasonable, but in this case, these words all mean virtually the same thing:

they refer to weeping. The problem seems to have been labored over far too much. After all, the

alterations represent an attempt to perfect the alliteration by adding an additional alliteration to a

line that already contains one pair of alliterating terms. I fail to see why the poet must always

have "perfect" alliteration. Many lines in Old English poetry have only one alliteration, and
since there seems to be no real change in meaning, the manuscript form seems to be as valid as

any other that has been offered.

Other editors, who choose to alter góde instead seem to have hit upon an even more

unlikely solution. Changes of this type alter the meaning, create awkward syntactic structures,

and have no apparent foundation.

70-75. wé and ús In this passage, the "we" and "us" referred to is commonly

thought of as the three crosses of Calvary, the Cross of Christ and the crosses of the two thieves
crucified with Christ.

71. syððan [stefn] úp gewát Without the inclusion of some extra word, the

manuscript version, syððan up gewat , is virtually meaningless. As a result it has become

common practice to insert stefn after syððan or to substitute it for syððan. It is most likely that a

scribe skipped over a word, and stefn serves to fill the gap better perhaps than most other

possibilities. It fills out both the alliterative and the grammatical structure of the line (Swanton

129), and while other possibilities have been suggested, this one remains the critically accepted

one.

75-77. There is an obvious parallel here with Cynewulf's Elene and with other sources

that detail the Invention of the Cross. According to tradition, the three crosses were buried

together in a deep pit near the site of the crucifixion, and they remained there until the Lord's

"thanes," his "friends"--most often Constantine and his mother Helena--"heard of" the Cross. In

his legendary vision, Constantine was confronted by the Cross for the first time, and soon after

that vision took place, he sent his mother to Jerusalem in search of the one True Cross. She

found it in the pit where it had been buried, and soon after its discovery, the "thanes" of the Lord
had the Cross encased in "gold and silver" in order that it might be celebrated and revered

properly.

76b. There is general agreement among most scholars that one or more half-lines are

missing from the manuscript version at this point in the poem. For the sake of meaning,

however, it is not necessary to reconstruct this missing text. The syntax is grammatically

complete without any alteration at this point, and more recent editors have suggested that

perhaps the poet meant to leave out something from this part of the poem (Swanton 130). Of

course, it is possible that there is simply nothing missing or intentionally left out and that the
poem was originally composed in this manner.

77. It is here again important to recognize a parallel between the Dream and the

tradition surrounding the Invention and the adoration of the Cross. As told in the Elene , upon

discovering the True Cross buried in a deep pit, St. Helena "ordered the cross to be overlaid with

gold and gems, with the most costly precious stones; they decked it with cunning arts, and

enclosed it with clasps in a silver case" (Gordon 229). Just as in the Elene , the Cross in the

Dream is "adorned with gold and silver" by the "Lord's thanes" (l. 75). From the time of the

Invention, richly adorned crosses have been an important element in worship and in religious art,

and as Swanton demonstrates, the tradition of ornamenting the True Cross continued in the richly
made reliquaries that were used to encase its relics (130).

78. hæleð Note the use of this term in reference to the Dreamer. This same term is

used in line 39 to describe Christ. Like Christ and the Cross, the Dreamer is now also a "hero."

The experience of his vision has linked him to Christ through the mystery of the Cross, and here

the poet draws a clear parallel between the heroic nature of Christ and the Dreamer. With

imagery of this type, the poet helps to illustrate the imitative relationship that binds together the

Dreamer, the Cross, and Christ. In its nature and its role in the crucifixion, the Cross imitates
Christ, and by sharing in the experience of the crucifixion, the Dreamer himself becomes Christ-

like. Hæleð appears again in reference to the Dreamer in line 95.

79. bealu-wara The manuscript form is given here (Swanton 130), but many have

found it necessary to alter the manuscript in this case. Bealu-wara can clearly be read as a

genitive plural form of the adjective modifying weorc (Krapp 131), and there seems little reason

to change this construction. Its meaning is clear, "evil men's work," and to alter it would be both

unnecessary and unjustifiable.

85. Hlifige under heofenum is reminiscent of line 5, reminding the reader that the Cross

is still high above, looking down upon the Dreamer and the rest of creation.

87-88a. The Cross reminds the Dreamer that at one time, it was not the glorious

creature that it is now. It was not the sacred icon that it has come to be. It was an instrument of

torture and death, and before Constantine's vision, even Christians had little use for the Cross.

91. holmwudu This compound appears nowhere else in Old English, and many

editors have had great difficulty in deciphering it. Cook alters it to holtwudu (Dream 60),

reading "trees of the forest," or simply "forest." Dickins and Ross agree with Cook in their
changes, and they seem to be at a loss for interpreting the manuscript form, suggesting two

potential explanations without offering much elaboration on either (31). But, as Krapp states,

there seems to be no real reason for such an alteration (131-32). The most likely explanation

seems to be one tentatively posed by Dickins and Ross and more fully developed by Swanton

(132). It is possible that holm may be parallel with the Old Saxon holm , meaning "hill." This

reading makes much sense considering the position of the Cross on the hill of Calvary. One

might even go as far as reading "Calvary-tree" here.

 An additional, more speculative possibility has been put forth by McEntire (350-51)

and referred to in passing by Dickins and Ross (31). It is not impossible in this context that holm

means "sea," that holmwudu means "sea-wood." McEntire takes note of the representation of the

Cross as navis crucis in the iconographic tradition: "Inspired by the ark of Noah, the Church

Fathers saw a ship as a figure of the Cross, carrying the chosen to salvation" (350). She feels

that this term might refer to the navis crucis , that the poet might be trying to evoke that image.

If this interpretation is accepted, one could see holmwudu as anticipating the Cross's statement of

lines 119-121, "...through the rood must go--/to reach the kingdom//through earth's way--/every

soul,//who with the Lord/thinks to dwell." It is possible that holmwudu refers to this same
concept, pointing out that the Cross will bring one to salvation, just as a ship brings one across

the sea.

117. unforht The prefix un- is often used to indicate a negative sense (Swanton 135),

but the context clearly requires the meaning "afraid" or "terrified." It would make little sense to

render line 117 as "there then none need/be unafraid." For in this context the Cross is being

portrayed as comforter, guide, and protector. There is no reason for those who "bear the greatest

of signs" (l. 118) to be terrified of anything.

122. tó Frequently, it is appropriate to render the Old English tó as a modern "to," but
in this case it is important to remember that tó includes the concept of location or place. It can

often be read as "at" or "next to," and in this context, it seems that one should see the Dreamer as

praying "before" the Cross, not "to" the Cross. Praying to the Cross would be an act of heresy,

and there is no reason to suspect the Dreamer or the poet of heresy. As implied in lines 119-121,

one should pray "through" the Cross not "to" the Cross, for one must always pray "to" God

himself and to no one and nothing else.

 130. Mundbyrd is best interpreted here as meaning a "patron" of one sort or another. It

can mean "help," "protection," or "patronage" in other circumstances, but in this situation,

mundbyrd seems to indicate a person or a source (Swanton 137). Therefore, it is best to render it

as "patron" or "source of protection" or "source of aid." Clearly, both the Cross and Christ can

be seen as the Dreamer's patrons. The Cross shows him the way to Christ, and Christ offers him

strength, protection, and the promise of great reward in Heaven. In this way, mundbyrd might

imply much the same meaning as Lord or King in the tradition of Anglo-Saxon military

patronage. The Anglo-Saxon lord offered his followers food, shelter, and material gain, and

Christ offers the spiritual equivalent of all these.

147-56. It is generally accepted that this final passage refers to Christ's Harrowing of

Hell and His return to Heaven afterward. The tradition of the Harrowing appears for the first

time in the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus (Greenfield and Calder 199), and in this context,

the traditional story serves to further emphasize the glory and grandeur of both Christ and His

heavenly homeland and to complete the sequence of events surrounding His crucifixion, death,

and resurrection.
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