Once when he had risen from the feast and crept quietly to his shed, he fell asleep and dreamed that One came to him and said, “Cædmon, sing Me something.” “I know not how to sing,” replied the man; “and for this cause left I the feast.” “Yet,” said the Vision, “you must sing to Me.” “What shall I sing?” he asked. “Sing,” the Vision said, “about the beginning of created things.” At once Cædmon began a hymn in praise of the Creator of the world. Beautiful images flashed into his mind, noble words flew to his lips. He had won a victory far beyond that of any conqueror in any age; he had marshalled in triumph the legions that most surely sway the hearts and inspire the deeds of his countrymen; he had composed the first great English song. We salute thee, Cædmon. Thy name will ever be dear to those who cherish their noble English tongue, and rejoice in the majestic literature which has glorified it for all time. [Illustration] [Illustration] Chapter IV. THE VIKING INVASIONS. THE COMING OF THE SEA-KINGS. “_What sea-worn barks are those which throw_ _The light spray from each rushing prow?_ _Their frozen sails, the low, pale sun_ _Of Thule’s night has shone upon._” ROOM for the Vikings! the sons of the creek, the bluff, stalwart rovers who love the salt sea with a consuming passion, and shout with glee as the waves foam beneath them and tempest roars about them. Mighty warriors are they, wild and untamed as the element they love, swift as the falcon, remorseless as the vulture, fierce as the wolf. From the shores of the Baltic they come, swarming out of their barren homelands, and descending with fire and sword upon all the coasts of Western Europe. Every champion amongst them ardently desires to be a _Berserk_, and thus to be regarded as the bravest of the brave, utterly contemptuous of death. These Berserks within sight of the foe are wont to lash themselves into a frenzy, so that they bite their shields and rush to the fray, wielding club or battle-axe with almost superhuman strength. No Christian message of peace and brotherhood has touched their hearts; they still swear by the Asir, and still glory in their descent from the grim gods of their dark and hopeless creed. They lust for blood, and their fiercest loathing is reserved for them who have abandoned Odin and Thor for the mild faith of the “White Christ.” They shed with unholy joy the blood of priests; they glory in the plunder and the burning of churches. They are a scourge, not only to England, Scotland, and Ireland, but to the whole of Europe; and men pray in their churches, “From the fury of the Northmen, good Lord, deliver us.”