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Wending of an Englesaxish poem from 937. There may be words here you will not find in the Anglish Wordbook, because I bid to uphold most of the Englesaxish words.
Here, King Athelstan, drighten of earls,
Giver of braces to berns, and his brother eke,
Atheling Edmund, of age-long tire,
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 became slippery,
with sedge's blood, from sun up
in morningtide, mighty tungle,
glode over the ground, God's bright candle,
Age-Dright, till that athel sheaft?
sagged to settle. There lay many sedges,
yeeted by gars the northern grooms,
over the shields shot, like Scottish eke,
weary, war sated. The West-Saxes forth!
The long day, with their men,
On the last leg of the loathsome theed,
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, like seven eke,
of Anlaf's earls, of his dright endless,
seamen and Scots. There fled
The Northman's theed, bade by need,
To the ship's staff, with a little wered,
He thrang the ship afloat, the King went,
On felon's flood, his life he saved.
Likewise there was an old sedge, came mid flight,
To his northern kith, Costantin,
hoary hildrink. He had no grounds to belive,
The great meeting. He was scared for his kin,
Friends fell on the folksted,
Slagged in satch, and his son forlorn,
In the wail-stow with grinded wounds.
Young in gouth. No grounds to brag,
The blandfax bern, of bill slaughter,
Old unwitting, no more than Anlaf.
With their band left, no grounds to laugh,
That they in gouthcraft were better
In campsted, with clash of cumbles.
garmeeting, 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 gars, 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-Saxish 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 Sax 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")
