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 |