Wending of an Anglo-Saxon poem from 937. There may be words here you will not find in the Anglish Wordbook, because I bid to uphold most of the Anglo-Saxon words.
Here, King Athelstan, drighten of earls,
Giver of braces to berons, and his brother eke, (beron, OE beorna "men")
Atheling Edmund, of age-long tire, (tire, OE tir "glory")
They slogged in stride, with edge of sword
Around Brunanburgh. Board-wall they cleft,
hewed linden-heaths with hammer leavings,
Edward's youths, as athel they were,
From their forefathers, that they in battle oft,
with foesome ones, their land fastened
Home and horde. The fiendshather cringed,
Scots lords and floating ships,
Fated to fall. The field denoded, (denonded, OE dennode "flowed")
with seg's swate, from sun up (seg, OE secg "man")
in morningtide, mighty tongle, (tongle, OE tungol "star")
glade over the ground, God's bright candle,
Age-Dright, till that athel sheaft
sagged to settle. There lay many segs,
gieted by geirs the northern grooms, (geir, OE gar "spear")
over the shields shot, swelch Scottish eke, (swelch, OE swelce "Likewise")
weary, war sated. The West-Saxons forth!
The long day, with their men,
On the last leg of the lathe thades, (lathe thades, OE lathum theodum "hated people")
They hewed the fleeing men's hides,
With sharp swords. The Mercians withheld not,
Hard hand's plight to no man.
They who with Anlaf over oar's bluster,
In a ship's bosom, sought land,
fated to fight. Five lay dead,
On the campsted young kings,
by sword made to sleep, swelch seven eke,
of Anlaf's earls, of his dright unrim, (unrim, "countless")
seamen and Scots. There fled
The Northman's thade, bade by need,
To the ship's staff, with a little werod, (werod, OE weorode "band of men" )
He cread the ship afloat, the King went, (cread, "pressed on")
On felon's flood, his life he saved.
Swelch there was an old seg, came mid flight,
To his northern kith, Constantine,
hoary hild-rink. He had no frume to remain, (hild-rink, OE hilde-rinc "warrior")
The great meeting. He was scared for his kin,
Friends fell on the folkstede,
Slagged in strife, and his son forlorn,
In the wail-stow with grinded wounds.
Young in guth. No frume to brag, (guth, OE guthe "battle")
The blandfax beron, of bill slaughter, (blandfax, OE blanden-feax "grizzle-haired")
Old unwitting, no more than Anlaf.
With their band left, no frume to laugh,
That they in warcraft were better
In campsted, with clash of cumbles. (cumbles, OE cumbol "banner")
geir-meeting, meetings of men,
wrixling weapons, when on the wail-field, (wrixling, OE gewrixles "exchanging")
With Edward's youths they played.
Then went the Northmen in nailed ships,
Dreary leavings of geirs, at Dinges mere.
Over deep water Dublin they sought,
back to Ireland, ashamed in mind,
Swelch the brothers both atsame, (atsame, "together")
King and atheling, their kith they sought,
West-Saxon land, from war reemful.
Leaving behind them bodies to breat,
The sealy one, the swarthy raven,
The horn-beaked one, and the dark one,
The erne, white from behind, brooking eases,
Greedy guth-hawk, and that gray deor,
The wolf in the weald. Nowhere was more wail
on this island ever yet,
folks felled before this
sword's edge, those who sage books,
Old utwitans, since hither from the east, (utwitans, OE uthwitan "wisemen")
Angle and Saxon came up,
Over the broad brim, Britain sought,
Stolt war smiths, the Welsh overcame,
Those whate earls begat this earth. (whate, OE ar-hwaete "glorious")