THE COWHERD WHO BECAME A POET - Chapter I of II

THE COWHERD WHO BECAME A POET

In England there was once a famous abbey, called Whitby. It was so
close to the sea that those who lived in it could hear the waves
forever beating against the shore. The land around it was rugged,
with only a few fields in the midst of a vast forest.

In those far-off days, an abbey was half church, half castle. It was
a place where good people, and timid, helpless people could find
shelter in time of war. There they might live in peace and safety
while all the country round was overrun by rude and barbarous men.

One cold night in winter the serving men of the abbey were gathered
in the great kitchen. They were sitting around the fire and trying to
keep themselves warm.

Out of doors the wind was blowing. The men heard it as it whistled
through the trees and rattled the doors of the abbey. They drew up
closer to the fire and felt thankful that they were safe from the
raging storm. "Who will sing us a song?" said the master woodman as
he threw a fresh log upon the fire.

"Yes, a song! a song!" shouted some of the others. "Let us have a good
old song that will help to keep us warm."

"We can all be minstrels to-night," said the chief cook. "Suppose we
each sing a song in turn. What say you?"

"Agreed! agreed!" cried the others. "And the cook shall begin."

The woodman stirred the fire until the flames leaped high and the
sparks flew out of the roof hole. Then the chief cook began his song.
He sang of war, and of bold rough deeds, and of love and sorrow.

After him the other men were called, one by one; and each in turn sang
his favorite song. The woodman sang of the wild forest; the plowman
sang of the fields; the shepherd sang of his sheep; and those who
listened forgot about the storm and the cold weather.

But in the corner, almost hidden from his fellows, one poor man was
sitting who did not enjoy the singing. It was Caedmon, the
cowherd. "What shall I do when it comes my turn?" he said to himself.
"I
do not know any song. My voice is harsh and I cannot sing."

So he sat there trembling and afraid; for he was a timid, bashful man
and did not like to be noticed.

At last, just as the blacksmith was in the midst of a stirring song,
he rose quietly and went out into the darkness. He went across the
narrow yard to the sheds where the cattle were kept in stormy weather.

"The gentle cows will not ask a song of me," said the poor man. He
soon found a warm corner, and there he lay down, covering himself with
the straw.

Inside of the great kitchen, beside the fire, the men were shouting
and laughing; for the blacksmith had finished his song, and it was
very pleasing.

"Who is next?" asked the woodman.

"Caedmon, the keeper of the cows," answered the chief cook.

"Yes, Caedmon! Caedmon!" all shouted together. "A song from Caedmon!"
But when they looked, they saw that his seat was vacant.

"The poor, timid fellow!" said the blacksmith. "He was afraid and has
slipped away from us."

Read next: THE COWHERD WHO BECAME A POET - Chapter II of II

Read previous: THE CALIPH AND THE GARDENER

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