| Often the solitary one | |
| finds grace for himself | |
| the mercy of the Lord, | |
| Although he, sorry-hearted, | |
| must for a long time | 5 |
| move by hand [in context = row] | |
| along the waterways, | |
| (along) the ice-cold sea, | |
| tread the paths of exile. | |
| Events always go as they must! | 10 |
| |
| So spoke the wanderer, | |
| mindful of hardships, | |
| of fierce slaughters | |
| and the downfall of kinsmen: | |
| |
| Often (or always) I had alone | 15 |
| to speak of my trouble | |
| each morning before dawn. | |
| There is none now living | |
| to whom I dare | |
| clearly speak | 20 |
| of my innermost thoughts. | |
| I know it truly, | |
| that it is in men | |
| a noble custom, | |
| that one should keep secure | 25 |
| his spirit-chest (mind), | |
| guard his treasure-chamber (thoughts), | |
| think as he wishes. | |
| The weary spirit cannot | |
| withstand fate (the turn of events), | 30 |
| nor does a rough or sorrowful mind | |
| do any good (perform anything helpful). | |
| Thus those eager for glory | |
| often keep secure | |
| dreary thoughts | 35 |
| in their breast; | |
| So I, | |
| often wretched and sorrowful, | |
| bereft of my homeland, | |
| far from noble kinsmen, | 40 |
| have had to bind in fetters | |
| my inmost thoughts, | |
| Since long years ago | |
| I hid my lord | |
| in the darkness of the earth, | 45 |
| and I, wretched, from there | |
| travelled most sorrowfully | |
| over the frozen waves, | |
| sought, sad at the lack of a hall, | |
| a giver of treasure, | 50 |
| where I, far or near, | |
| might find | |
| one in the meadhall who | |
| knew my people, | |
| or wished to console | 55 |
| the friendless one, me, | |
| entertain (me) with delights. | |
| He who has tried it knows | |
| how cruel is | |
| sorrow as a companion | 60 |
| to the one who has few | |
| beloved friends: | |
| the path of exile (wræclast) holds him, | |
| not at all twisted gold, | |
| a frozen spirit, | 65 |
| not the bounty of the earth. | |
| He remembers hall-warriors | |
| and the giving of treasure | |
| How in youth his lord (gold-friend) | |
| accustomed him | 70 |
| to the feasting. | |
| All the joy has died! | |
| |
| And so he knows it, he who must | |
| forgo for a long time | |
| the counsels | 75 |
| of his beloved lord: | |
| Then sorrow and sleep | |
| both together | |
| often tie up | |
| the wretched solitary one. | 80 |
| He thinks in his mind | |
| that he embraces and kisses | |
| his lord, | |
| and on his (the lord's) knees lays | |
| his hands and his head, | 85 |
| Just as, at times (hwilum), before, | |
| in days gone by, | |
| he enjoyed the gift-seat (throne). | |
| Then the friendless man | |
| wakes up again, | 90 |
| He sees before him | |
| fallow waves | |
| Sea birds bathe, | |
| preening their feathers, | |
| Frost and snow fall, | 95 |
| mixed with hail. | |
| |
| Then are the heavier | |
| the wounds of the heart, | |
| grievous (sare) with longing for (æfter) the lord. | |
| Sorrow is renewed | 100 |
| when the mind (mod) surveys | |
| the memory of kinsmen; | |
| He greets them joyfully, | |
| eagerly scans | |
| the companions of men; | 105 |
| they always swim away. | |
| The spirits of seafarers | |
| never bring back there much | |
| in the way of known speech. | |
| Care is renewed | 110 |
| for the one who must send | |
| very often | |
| over the binding of the waves | |
| a weary heart. | |
| |
| Indeed I cannot think | 115 |
| why my spirit | |
| does not darken | |
| when I ponder on the whole | |
| life of men | |
| throughout the world, | 120 |
| How they suddenly | |
| left the floor (hall), | |
| the proud thanes. | |
| So this middle-earth, | |
| a bit each day, | 125 |
| droops and decays - | |
| Therefore man (wer) | |
| cannot call himself wise, before he has | |
| a share of years in the world. | |
| A wise man must be patient, | 130 |
| He must never be too impulsive | |
| nor too hasty of speech, | |
| nor too weak a warrior | |
| nor too reckless, | |
| nor too fearful, nor too cheerful, | 135 |
| nor too greedy for goods, | |
| nor ever too eager for boasts, | |
| before he sees clearly. | |
| A man must wait | |
| when he speaks oaths, | 140 |
| until the proud-hearted one | |
| sees clearly | |
| whither the intent of his heart | |
| will turn. | |
| A wise hero must realize | 145 |
| how terrible it will be, | |
| when all the wealth of this world | |
| lies waste, | |
| as now in various places | |
| throughout this middle-earth | 150 |
| walls stand, | |
| blown by the wind, | |
| covered with frost, | |
| storm-swept the buildings. | |
| The halls decay, | 155 |
| their lords lie | |
| deprived of joy, | |
| the whole troop has fallen, | |
| the proud ones, by the wall. | |
| War took off some, | 160 |
| carried them on their way, | |
| one, the bird took off | |
| across the deep sea, | |
| one, the gray wolf | |
| shared one with death, | 165 |
| one, the dreary-faced | |
| man buried | |
| in a grave. | |
| And so He destroyed this city, | |
| He, the Creator of Men, | 170 |
| until deprived of the noise | |
| of the citizens, | |
| the ancient work of giants | |
| stood empty. | |
| |
| He who thought wisely | 175 |
| on this foundation, | |
| and pondered deeply | |
| on this dark life, | |
| wise in spirit, | |
| remembered often from afar | 180 |
| many conflicts, | |
| and spoke these words: | |
| |
| Where is the horse gone? Where the rider? | |
| Where the giver of treasure? | |
| Where are the seats at the feast? | 185 |
| Where are the revels in the hall? | |
| Alas for the bright cup! | |
| Alas for the mailed warrior! | |
| Alas for the splendour of the prince! | |
| How that time has passed away, | 190 |
| dark under the cover of night, | |
| as if it had never been! | |
| Now there stands in the trace | |
| of the beloved troop | |
| a wall, wondrously high, | 195 |
| wound round with serpents. | |
| The warriors taken off | |
| by the glory of spears, | |
| the weapons greedy for slaughter, | |
| the famous fate (turn of events), | 200 |
| and storms beat | |
| these rocky cliffs, | |
| falling frost | |
| fetters the earth, | |
| the harbinger of winter; | 205 |
| Then dark comes, | |
| nightshadows deepen, | |
| from the north there comes | |
| a rough hailstorm | |
| in malice against men. | 210 |
| All is troublesome | |
| in this earthly kingdom, | |
| the turn of events changes | |
| the world under the heavens. | |
| Here money is fleeting, | 215 |
| here friend is fleeting, | |
| here man is fleeting, | |
| here kinsman is fleeting, | |
| all the foundation of this world | |
| turns to waste! | 220 |
| |
| So spake the wise man in his mind, | |
| where he sat apart in counsel. | |
| Good is he who keeps his faith, | |
| And a warrior must never speak | |
| his grief of his breast too quickly, | 225 |
| unless he already knows the remedy - | |
| a hero must act with courage. | |
| It is better for the one that seeks mercy, | |
| consolation from the father in the heavens, | |
| where, for us, all permanence rests. | 230 |