De laudibus sancte crucis

An elegiac poem by Joannes Gallinarius of Heidelberg to the lovers of Christ, that they may read Rabanus on the praise of the holy Cross.

If anyone desires to run through the hymn of the Cross of Christ: let him direct his step here with a quick pace. Rabanus, the greatest glory of the German race, played out a noble work in marvelous song. Neither the German land nor the Italian land has produced his equal, nor Tartessus Spain, nor the Rhone, nor the Saône. He does not sound out the flames of Helen, nor the wound of unhappy Dido, nor the beds of the house of Tantalus. He does not sound the burning battles of untamed Mars, nor does he approve of poems made in the manner of the aegis shield of Minerva/Athena. But he sang of the sacred marks of the triumphant Christ, the arms with which he conquered the leader of the Styx. Which the springs, the spirits of the dead, the unspeakable darkness, the Tartarean Pluto, and Proserpina tremble at.

An elegiac poem by Joannes Gallinarius of Heidelberg to the Muses, that they may adorn and encircle Rabanus with a crown made of all kinds of spices.

Encircle the temples of Rabanus with virgin laurel, O Muses, for the poet: and with the hair of Pallas Athena. Let green Ivy not be lacking, nor the myrtle forest, let lilies and purple roses come together. Cinnamon, wild thyme, boxwood, narcissus, amomum, incense, violets, nard, balsam, myrrh, and thyme. Come here, Terebinth tree, Walnuts, and rosemary, come here you, Cyparissus, with Sylvanus. Weave whatever is produced in the gardens of Panchaea a legendary incense island, whatever the Cilicians possess, or the Idalian grove. Whatever the black Indian seeks in the Erythrean seaweed, whatever the Pactolus or the Tagus river itself carries. Let Mount Tmolus also bring saffron odors here: and let the honey-bearing mouths of bees bring Hyblaean honeycombs here. Let the Hyperborean griffins and Caucasian beasts bring crystals here from the cold peak of Taurus. Let the snowy swans bring amber here from the shore of Eridanus, the tears of the sisters of Phaethon. And you Hamadryads, the offspring of the fields of Nappa, pluck every kind of sweet-smelling grass. Weave precious gems among the interwoven flowers, encircle the temples of Rabanus, O Muses.

A six-line poem by the same

With Daedalean cunning/skillful nature, Rabanus drew the threads, and the strings were to be guided in a labyrinthine way. Although you may be a Theseus relying on the power of Ariadne, a Daedalus in genius, and a Virgil in your verses. Yet you can equal this poet by no art, therefore the glory for so great a poet shall be greater.

For the Praise of the laborious and unusual Poem, by Georgius Symler of Wimpfen, to the Craftsmen.

How great are the names of Rabanus for the land of Mainz, names now to have perpetual trust. Where the horn-bearing Rhine flows with gold-bearing waves and the Belgian cuts the shallows on the German shore. This leader is our honor (let antiquity imagine greater things), a glowing glory for the noble Germans. He published what our land and what the Italian land could do: while he summons his unusual chelys lyre. Now let the golden rocks of the Tarpeian Thundering Jupiter be silent, and the machine called the Pharos of Ptolemy. Henceforth let the labyrinth of Crete be silent, and the things they say the hands of Daedalus could do. Here let the miracles be joined to the resounding theater for you: and the old celebrated fame of the baths. If you desire to speak of the mass suspended at Smyrna, with the heavy rider on the horse of Bellerophon. Or if you wish to remember the column of Ephesus or Rhodes, this work is rarer than all geniuses. Beautiful Apollo gave power in numbers to him: for he sang things scarcely to be imitated by silent men. You may wonder at the plectrum of the Virgil of Andes: you can ignore a thing greater even than the Iliad. Let Thebes, the civil tombs of Philippi, Hannibal, and the praise of the polished Horatian lyre draw near. It will be nothing; whatever things those images have brought to our Minerva wisdom/learning yield to them.

A four-line poem by the same

This primary praise is owed to our poet: because he revealed a useful work to Christians. And he painted the signs of the Cross, to be venerated by all with rosy blood: and the warfare of the highest God.