The Blacksmiths Anon 14thC

Translated any poems lately? If so, then why not post them here?
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cynwulf
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Thu Jul 02, 2015 9:41 pm

I don't know whether this is the right place for such a piece, but it's here anyway.


Þe Blacksmeþes

Suuarte smekyd smeþes smatyd uuyð smoke
dryue me to deeþ uuyð den of here dentes,
Suuech noys on nyзtes ne herd men neuer,
uuhat knauene cry and claterynз of knockes.
Þe cammede konзons cryen after 'col, col'
and blouuen here belleuus þat al here brayn brests.
'Huf, puf' seiþ ðat on; 'haf, paf' ðat oþer,
þei spytten and spraulyn and spellyn many spelles,
þei зnauuen and зnacchen þei зronys toзydere,
and holdyn hem hote uuyð her hard hamers.
Of a bole-hyde ben her barm-fellys,
her schankes ben schakeled for þe fere-flunderys.
Heuy hamers þei han, þat hard ben handled,
stark strokes þei stryken on a stelyd stokke
lus, bus, las, das, rouuton be rouue.
Suuech dolful a dreme þe deuil it to dryue.
Þe mayster longiþ a lityl and lascheþ a lesse,
tuuyneþ hem tuueyn and touuchiþ a treble,
tik, tak, hic, hac, tiket, taket, tyk, tak,
lus, bus, lus, das. Suuych lyf þei ledyn,
alle cloþmerys, Cryst hem зyue soruue.
May no man for brenuuaterys on nyзt han hys rest.


The Blacksmiths

Soot-smirched smiths smothered in smoke
drive me to death with the din of their blows.
Such noise at night man never heard,
what a clamour of scoundrels, and clattering of clouts.
The crooked changelings call out for 'coal, coal',
and blow their bellows till their brains burst.
'Huf, puf' says one, 'haf, paf' another,
they spit and sprawl spinning tall stories,
they gnaw and gnash, they natter together,
and work up a heat with their hard hammers.
Their leather brats are made of bull's-hide,
their shanks are shielded from the fire's-flowers.
They have heavy hammers that are handled hard,
strong strokes they strike on a steel anvil.
Lus, bus, das, las they bang by turn,
such a doleful dream the devil should have it.
The master lengthens a short piece, shapes a smaller one
welds the two together ringing a treble note,
tik, tak, hic, hac, tiket, taket, tik, tak,
lus, bus, las, das, such is the life they lead
every one a mare-clothier, Christ make them suffer!
No one gets rest at night for these water-burners.
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Amadis
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Mon Jun 29, 2020 11:03 am

Great poem, nothing changes over the ages. Noisy neighbor complaints are eternal.

What is the source language called, and what region is the poem from?
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