Then the Creator's maiden,
with her braided locks, took a sharp sword,
a hard weapon in the storms of battle, and drew it from the sheath
with her right hand. She began to call the Guardian of heaven
by name, the Saviour of all
the inhabitants of earth, and said these words:
"God of creation, Spirit of comfort,
Son of the Almighty, I want to beseech you
for your mercy on me in my time of need,
glorious Trinity. My heart is intensely
inflamed within me now, and my mind is troubled,
greatly afflicted with sorrows. Give me, Lord of heaven,
victory and true belief so I might cut down this bestower of torment
with this sword. Grant me my salvation,
mighty Lord of men: I have never had more need
of your mercy than now. Avenge now, mighty Lord,
eminent Bestower of glory, that which is so grievous in my mind,
so fervent in my heart." Then the highest Judge
inspired her immediately with great zeal, as he does to each
of the dwellers on earth who seek help from him
with reason and with true faith. Then she felt relief in her mind,
hope was renewed for the holy woman. She seized the heathen man
securely by his hair, pulled him shamefully towards her
with her hands, and skilfully placed
the wicked and loathsome man
so that she could most easily manage the miserable one
well. Then, the woman with braided locks struck
the enemy, that hostile one,
with the shining sword, so that she cut through half
of his neck, such that he lay unconscious,
drunk and wounded. He was not dead yet,
not entirely lifeless. The courageous woman
struck the heathen hound energetically
another time so that his head rolled
forwards on the floor. The foul body lay
behind, dead; the spirit departed elsewhere
under the deep earth and was oppressed there
and fettered in torment forever after,
wound round with serpents, bound with punishments,
cruelly imprisoned in hell-fire
after his departure. Enveloped in darkness,
he had no need at all to hope that he should get out from
that serpent-hall, but there he must remain
always and forever, henceforth without end,
in that dark home deprived of the joy of hope.
Judith had won illustrious glory
in the battle as God, the Lord of heaven,
granted it so when he gave her her victory.
Judith, Anglo-Saxon poetric translation of the Book of Judith, found in the Nowell Codex, 10th century (trans. Elaine Treharne)