on the Holy Cross, which has been attributed to Cynewulf, and which I
for one--and I am not by any means alone in this--love to believe that
he must have written. The "Phoenix," about which we thought in a
former chapter, has by some been supposed to be his. Then there is the
"Judith," of which we possess enough to make us recognise it as indeed
one of our great possessions; but to-day the two poems I have named will
give us enough to think of. To adapt a lovely Scriptural phrase (Judith
vii, 7), there are springs whereof we refresh ourselves a little rather
than drink our fill. Let us drink, if not our fill, at least a draught
long and deep.

We have a church festival, instituted many hundred years ago, the
Festival of the Finding of the Cross. Let us hear something of what our
old poet sings concerning this in the poem named after the heroine of
the finding, St Helena; the poem known as "Elene."

Cynewulf is one of the poets of the Cross. His poetry is literally
stamped with the mark of the Holy Rood. Read over the grand Church
hymns, the "Vexilla Regis," the "Pange lingua gloriosi lauream
certaminis," or recall them in your memory--their Passiontide echoes
sound under the triumphant pealing of the bells of Easter--and then be
glad that one of your own poets has also sent down the ages the song of
his love and his reverence.

Cynewulf knew well the story of Constantine's vision of the Cross of
Victory whereby he was to conquer. He would also have had in mind the
story, not so far remote from his own day, of the English King, St
Oswald, who reared a cross to God's honour before he fought with
Cadwalla, the pagan Welsh king. He would remember how the Saint had
called upon his comrades at Heavenfield to fall down with him before the