Saxons Quotes

“If, therefore, from the settlement of the Saxons, to the introduction of Christianity among them, that system of religion could not be a part of the common law, because they were not yet Christians; and if, having their laws from that period to the close of the common law, we are able to find among them no such act of adoption; we may safely affirm (though contradicted by all the judges and writers on earth) that Christianity neither is, nor ever was, a part of the common law.

['Whether Christianity is Part of the Common Law?', letter to Dr. Thomas Cooper, from Monticello, February 10, 1814]”
― Thomas Jefferson, Letters of Thomas Jefferson

“The English language is the tongue now current in England and her colonies throughout the world and also throughout the greater part of the United States of America. It sprang from the German tongue spoken by the Teutons, who came over to Britain after the conquest of that country by the Romans. These Teutons comprised Angles, Saxons, Jutes and several other tribes from the northern part of Germany. They spoke different dialects, but these became blended in the new country, and the composite tongue came to be known as the Anglo-Saxon which has been the main basis for the language as at present constituted and is still the prevailing element.”
― Joseph Devlin, How To Speak And Write Correctly

“I am Uhtred, son of Uhtred, who was the son of Uhtred, and his father was also called Uhtred, and they were all lords of Bebbanburg. I am that too, though these days folk call me the Lord of the North. My lands stretch from the wind-beaten North Sea to the shores facing Ireland and, though I am old, my task is to stop the Scots coming south into the land we have learned to call Englaland”
― Bernard Cornwell, War Lord

“England! My England! can the surging sea
That lies between us tear my heart from thee?
Can distant birth and distant dwelling drain
Th’ ancestral blood that warms the loyal vein?
Isle of my Fathers! hear the filial song
Of him whose sources but to thee belong!
World-Conquering Mother! by thy mighty hand
Was carv’d from savage wilds my native land:
Thy matchless sons the firm foundation laid;
Thy matchless arts the nascent nation made:
By thy just laws the young republic grew,
And through thy greatness, kindred greatness knew.
What man that springs from thy untainted line
But sees Columbia’s virtues all as thine?
Whilst nameless multitudes upon our shore
From the dim corners of creation pour,
Whilst mongrel slaves crawl hither to partake
Of Saxon liberty they could not make,
From such an alien crew in grief I turn,
And for the mother’s voice of Britain burn.
England! can aught remove the cherish’d chain
That binds my spirit to thy blest domain?
Can Revolution’s bitter precepts sway
The soul that must the ties of race obey?
Create a new Columbia if ye will,
The flesh that forms me is Britannic still!”
― H.P. Lovecraft

“England! Old England! in my love for thee
No dream is mine, but blessed memory;
Such haunting images and hidden fires
Course with the bounding blood of British sires:
From British bodies, minds, and souls I come,
And from them draw the vision of their home.
Awake, Columbia! scorn the vulgar age
That bids thee slight thy lordly heritage.
Let not the wide Atlantic’s wildest wave
Burst the blest bonds that fav’ring Nature gave:
Connecting surges ‘twixt the nations run,
Our Saxon souls dissolving into one!”
― H.P. Lovecraft

“A.D. 867. This year the army went from the East-Angles over the mouth of the Humber to the Northumbrians, as far as York. And there was much dissension in that nation among themselves; they had deposed their king Osbert, and had admitted Aella, who had no natural claim. Late in the year, however, they returned to their allegiance, and they were now fighting against the common enemy; having collected a vast force, with which they fought the army at York; and breaking open the town, some of them entered in. Then was there an immense slaughter of the Northumbrians, some within and some without; and both the kings were slain on the spot. The survivors made peace with the army. The same year died Bishop Ealstan, who had the bishopric of Sherborn fifty winters, and his body lies in the town.”
― Various, The Anglo Saxon Chronicle

“From the plotting of strangers and iniquitous
Monks, as the water flows from the fountain,
Sad and heavy will be the day of Cadwallon.

The lines come from the Red Book of Hergest, a collection of Welsh poems written in the late-fourteenth century but containing material that is much older.
This brings us, neatly, to J. R. R. Tolkien. For according to a learned authorial conceit, the source of his tales of Middle-earth was the Red Book of Westmarch. Tolkien was the Rawlinson and Bosworth Professor of Anglo-Saxon at Oxford University and one of his aims was to create a mythology for England, as the Red Book of Hergest, which contains the Mabinogion and other material, could be said to preserve the mythology of the Britons.

Many if not all the writers and scholars involved in Anglo-Saxon studies first came to the field through reading the professor’s stories – and I am one of them, so it is no accident that this story is called Oswald: Return of the King, in tribute and homage. Tolkien writes of Oswald in his seminal essay Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics and the parallels between him and Aragorn – rightful king in exile returning to claim the throne – are obvious.”
― Edoardo Albert, Oswald: Return of the King

“The battle raged, the blood, gore and the stench of death of hundreds of the fallen, of both Saxons and Vikings permeated the air around her. With Every move Her chest guard dug painfully into her side from a gouge from a broad sword. Her helm obscured her peripheral vision as it had been her brothers, and sat awkwardly on her head due to its size. No time to catch her breath as the huge Saxon assaulted her, her shield fending off the vicious blows of his claymore. Being nearly half his size, she needed to be nimble and smart, a swift upper cut to his jaw with her shield caught him off balance, followed by a slice from her modified broad sword. The Saxon fell to his knees, allowing just enough decrease in stature for Brynhild to finish him off with a jab to the neck, arterial spray covered her face and chest.
No time to rest, the next Saxon was upon her, hacking forcefully at her shield she was sure it
would splinter. It took all her strength to maintain her footing. His attack was merciless, forcing
her to careen backwards, steel crashed against steel in a maddened melee. She feinted
left, then put all her velocity in shouldering him in his midsection, momentum taking him swiftly
to the blood sodden ground. In the distance a call to retreat was heard from the Saxon Lord,
the battle broke, the Viking horde was victorious, Brynhild slumped down a nearby tree, too
exhausted and weak to move her last conscious thought was to wonder who the strong
Shield-maiden was that gently picked her up and carried her forward.
The next thing she knew, she was in a magnificent Hall, filled with raucous laughter and the
scent of roasted boar. The sound of sword play was also heard from a nearby doorway.
Warriors sat with horns filled with mead, in earnest discourse of the battles they had fought.
A clearing of a throat brought her eyes to the great table at the head of the hall, there stood a
heavily muscled bearded, one-eyed Man, the hall was moved to silence as the great man strode
toward her.
“Welcome to Valhalla Brynhild,” he clapped a hand on her shoulder “You have fought bravely,
Please take your place among the warriors and enjoy the feast.” Shouts of Skal! filled the hall.
Happiness assailed her, resurrected, to one day fight again for Odin in the twilight of the Gods,
The Battle of Ragnarök.”
― Shelly MacDougall Tremblay

“Es kam auch zu weiteren Überläufen, allen voran 4000 Sachsen, die Reyniers Korps zugeteilt waren und ganz einfach in geschlossenen Reihen zu den Alliierten marschierten. Zu den Augenzeugen dieses bemerkenswerten Seitenwechsels zählte Marschall Macdonald, der durch das Fernrohr beobachtete, wie die Sachsen, während sie einen erfolgreichen Vorstoß gegen die Verbündeten anführten, einfach kehrtmachten und ihre Waffen auf die Franzosen richteten, die ihnen folgten.
»Kalten Blutes, in himmelschreiender Weise«, erinnerte er sich später, »schossen sie die Ahnungslosen nieder, mit denen sie bis hierher in treuer Waffenbrüderschaft gefochten.« Verzweifelte Versuche Marschall Neys, die Reihen zu schließen und einen Gegenangriff zu führen, wurden von der britischen Raketenbrigade zunichte gemacht, deren Congreve’sche Raketen, benannt nach dem britischen Erfinder William Congreve, unter den vorrückenden Kolonnen Angst und Schrecken verbreiteten.”
― Christopher Clark, Iron Kingdom: The Rise and Downfall of Prussia, 1600–1947