The Romans used the representation of the phoenix on coins to signify the desire for fresh life and vigour, and Christian writers used the phoenix as an emblem of the Resurrection.

Many scholars think that it was Cynewulf who wrote the Anglo-Saxon poem of “The Phoenix.”  We are, however, uncertain as to its authorship and as to its date.  Whoever wrote it probably took some hints as to the allegorical interpretation of the story from both St Ambrose and St Bede.  And this poet, too, gives us much more brightness and colour than we find in Caedmonic poetry.  I use the word “Caedmonic” to cover the poetry which used to be attributed to Caedmon, and which was probably written under his influence.  That he did write much I have shown in Chapter I.

I cannot give the poem at full length, but in parts quote from it, and in part give the gist of it.  It begins with a description of the Happy Land which is the home of the Phoenix.  Far away in the East it lies, that noblest of lands, renowned among men.  Not to many of the earth-owners is it given to have access to that country.  God’s power sets it far from the workers of evil.  Beautiful is that plain, with joys endowed and with the sweetest smells of earth.  Peerless is the island, set there by its noble Maker.  Oft is the door of Heaven opened for the blessed ones and the joy of its music known of them.  Winsome is the plain with its wide green woods.  And there is neither rain nor snow, nor breath of frost nor flame of fire, nor the rush of hail, nor the falling of rime, nor burning heat of the sun, nor everlasting cold, but blessed and wholesome standeth the plain, and full is the noble country of the blowing of blossoms.

The glorious land is higher than earth’s highest towering mountain, lying serene in its sunny wooded fairness.  Ever and always the trees are hung with fruits, and never comes the withering of the leaf.  No foes may enter that land, and there is no weeping nor any sorrow, nor losing of life, nor sin, nor strife, nor age, nor care, nor poverty.  When the Flood covered the earth, this Paradise was shielded from the rush of angry waters, happy through God’s grace and inviolate; and so shall it remain even to the day of the coming of the Judgement of the Lord.

In this fair country there abides a bird of wondrous beauty and strong of wing.  For him there shall be no death while the world shall last.  Ever he watches the course of the sun, eagerly looks for the radiant rising over ocean of the noblest of stars, the first work of the Father, the glowing token of God.  At the coming of the sun he flies swift-winged toward it, singing more wondrously than any son of man hath heard since the making of heaven and earth.  Never was human voice nor sound of any instrument of music like unto the song.  And so twelve times by day he marks the hours, as twelve times by night he has marked them by his bath in the glorious fountain, and his drink of its cool clear water.