The Wanderer

Oft him anhaga Often the solitary one
are gebideð, finds grace for himself
metudes miltse, the mercy of the Lord,
þeah þe he modcearig Although he, sorry-hearted,
geond lagulade must for a long time
longe sceolde move by hand [in context = row]
hreran mid hondum along the waterways,
hrimcealde sæ (along) the ice-cold sea,
wadan wræclastas. tread the paths of exile.
Wyrd bið ful aræd! Events always go as they must!
Swa cwæð eardstapa, So spoke the wanderer,
earfeþa gemyndig, mindful of hardships,
wraþra wælsleahta, of fierce slaughters
winemæga hryre: and the downfall of kinsmen:
Oft ic sceolde ana Often (or always) I had alone
uhtna gehwylce to speak of my trouble
mine ceare cwiþan. each morning before dawn.
Nis nu cwicra nan There is none now living
þe ic him modsefan to whom I dare
minne durre clearly speak
sweotule asecgan. of my innermost thoughts.
Ic to soþe wat I know it truly,
þæt biþ in eorle that it is in men
indryhten þeaw, a noble custom,
þæt he his ferðlocan that one should keep secure
fæste binde, his spirit-chest (mind),
healde his hordcofan, guard his treasure-chamber (thoughts),
hycge swa he wille. think as he wishes.
Ne mæg werig mod The weary spirit cannot
wyrde wiðstondan, withstand fate (the turn of events),
16a ne se hreo hyge nor does a rough or sorrowful mind
helpe gefremman. do any good (perform anything helpful).
Forðon domgeorne Thus those eager for glory
dreorigne oft often keep secure
in hyra breostcofan dreary thoughts
bindað fæste; in their breast;
swa ic modsefan So I,
minne sceolde, often wretched and sorrowful,
oft earmcearig, bereft of my homeland,
eðle bidæled, far from noble kinsmen,
freomægum feor have had to bind in fetters
feterum sælan, my inmost thoughts,
siþþan geara iu Since long years ago
goldwine minne I hid my lord
hrusan heolstre biwrah, in the darkness of the earth,
ond ic hean þonan and I, wretched, from there
wod wintercearig travelled most sorrowfully
ofer waþema gebind, over the frozen waves,
sohte seledreorig sought, sad at the lack of a hall,
sinces bryttan, a giver of treasure,
hwær ic feor oþþe neah where I, far or near,
findan meahte might find
þone þe in meoduhealle one in the meadhall who
mine wisse, knew my people,
oþþe mec freondleasne or wished to console
frefran wolde, the friendless one, me,
wenian mid wynnum. entertain (me) with delights.
Wat se þe cunnað He who has tried it knows
hu sliþen bið how cruel is
sorg to geferan sorrow as a companion
þam þe him lyt hafað to the one who has few
leofra geholena: beloved friends:
warað hine wræclast, the path of exile (wræclast) holds him,
nales wunden gold, not at all twisted gold,
ferðloca freorig, a frozen spirit,
nalæs foldan blæd. not the bounty of the earth.
Gemon he selesecgas He remembers hall-warriors
ond sincþege, and the giving of treasure
hu hine on geoguðe How in youth his lord (gold-friend)
his goldwine accustomed him
wenede to wiste. to the feasting.
Wyn eal gedreas! All the joy has died!
Forþon wat se þe sceal And so he knows it, he who must
his winedryhtnes forgo for a long time
leofes larcwidum the counsels
longe forþolian: of his beloved lord:
ðonne sorg ond slæð Then sorrow and sleep
somod ætgædre both together
earmne anhogan often tie up
oft gebindað. the wretched solitary one.
þinceð him on mode He thinks in his mind
þæt he his mondryhten that he embraces and kisses
clyppe ond cysse, his lord,
ond on cneo lecge and on his (the lord's) knees lays
honda ond heafod, his hands and his head,
swa he hwilum ær Just as, at times (hwilum), before,
in geardagum in days gone by,
giefstolas breac. he enjoyed the gift-seat (throne).
Ðonne onwæcneð eft Then the friendless man
wineleas guma, wakes up again,
gesihð him biforan He sees before him
fealwe wegas, fallow waves
baþian brimfuglas, Sea birds bathe,
brædan feþra, preening their feathers,
hreosan hrim ond snaw Frost and snow fall,
hagle gemenged. mixed with hail.
Þonne beoð þy hefigran Then are the heavier
heortan benne, the wounds of the heart,
sare æfter swæsne. grievous (sare) with longing for (æfter) the lord.
Sorg bið geniwad Sorrow is renewed
þonne maga gemynd when the mind (mod) surveys
mod geondhweorfeð; the memory of kinsmen;
greteð gliwstafum, He greets them joyfully,
georne geondsceawað eagerly scans
secga geseldan; the companions of men;
swimmað oft on weg they always swim away.
fleotendra ferð The spirits of seafarers
no þær fela bringeð never bring back there much
cuðra cwidegiedda. in the way of known speech.
Cearo bið geniwad Care is renewed
þam þe sendan sceal for the one who must send
swiþe geneahhe very often
ofer waþema gebind over the binding of the waves
werigne sefan. a weary heart.
Forþon ic geþencan ne mæg Indeed I cannot think
geond þas woruld why my spirit
for hwan modsefa does not darken
min ne gesweorce when I ponder on the whole
þonne ic eorla lif life of men
eal geondþence, throughout the world,
hu hi færlice How they suddenly
flet ofgeafon, left the floor (hall),
modge maguþegnas. the proud thanes.
Swa þes middangeard So this middle-earth,
ealra dogra gehwam a bit each day,
dreoseð ond fealleð; droops and decays -
forþon ne mæg weorþan wis Therefore man (wer)
wer, ær he age cannot call himself wise, before he has
wintra dæl in woruldrice. a share of years in the world.
Wita sceal geþyldig, A wise man must be patient,
ne sceal no to hatheort He must never be too impulsive
ne to hrædwyrde, nor too hasty of speech,
ne to wac wiga nor too weak a warrior
ne to wanhydig, nor too reckless,
ne to forht ne to fægen, nor too fearful, nor too cheerful,
ne to feohgifre nor too greedy for goods,
ne næfre gielpes to georn, nor ever too eager for boasts,
ær he geare cunne. before he sees clearly.
Beorn sceal gebidan, A man must wait
þonne he beot spriceð, when he speaks oaths,
oþþæt collenferð until the proud-hearted one
cunne gearwe sees clearly
hwider hreþra gehygd whither the intent of his heart
hweorfan wille. will turn.
Ongietan sceal gleaw hæle A wise hero must realize
hu gæstlic bið, how terrible it will be,
þonne ealre þisse worulde wela when all the wealth of this world
weste stondeð, lies waste,
swa nu missenlice as now in various places
geond þisne middangeard throughout this middle-earth
winde biwaune walls stand,
weallas stondaþ, blown by the wind,
hrime bihrorene, covered with frost,
hryðge þa ederas. storm-swept the buildings.
Woriað þa winsalo, The halls decay,
waldend licgað their lords lie
dreame bidrorene, deprived of joy,
duguþ eal gecrong, the whole troop has fallen,
wlonc bi wealle. the proud ones, by the wall.
Sume wig fornom, War took off some,
ferede in forðwege, carried them on their way,
sumne fugel oþbær one, the bird took off
ofer heanne holm, across the deep sea,
sumne se hara wulf one, the gray wolf
deaðe gedælde, shared one with death,
sumne dreorighleor one, the dreary-faced
in eorðscræfe man buried
eorl gehydde. in a grave.
Yþde swa þisne eardgeard And so He destroyed this city,
ælda scyppend He, the Creator of Men,
oþþæt burgwara until deprived of the noise
breahtma lease of the citizens,
eald enta geweorc the ancient work of giants
idlu stodon. stood empty.
Se þonne þisne wealsteal He who thought wisely
wise geþohte on this foundation,
ond þis deorce lif and pondered deeply
deope geondþenceð, on this dark life,
frod in ferðe, wise in spirit,
feor oft gemon remembered often from afar
wælsleahta worn, many conflicts,
ond þas word acwið: and spoke these words:
Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago? Where is the horse gone? Where the rider?
Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa? Where the giver of treasure?
Hwær cwom symbla gesetu? Where are the seats at the feast?
Hwær sindon seledreamas? Where are the revels in the hall?
Eala beorht bune! Alas for the bright cup!
Eala byrnwiga! Alas for the mailed warrior!
Eala þeodnes þrym! Alas for the splendour of the prince!
Hu seo þrag gewat, How that time has passed away,
genap under nihthelm, dark under the cover of night,
swa heo no wære. as if it had never been!
Stondeð nu on laste Now there stands in the trace
leofre duguþe of the beloved troop
weal wundrum heah, a wall, wondrously high,
wyrmlicum fah. wound round with serpents.
Eorlas fornoman The warriors taken off
asca þryþe, by the glory of spears,
1wæpen wælgifru, the weapons greedy for slaughter,
wyrd seo mære, the famous fate (turn of events),
ond þas stanhleoþu and storms beat
stormas cnyssað, these rocky cliffs,
hrið hreosende falling frost
hrusan bindeð, fetters the earth,
wintres woma, the harbinger of winter;
þonne won cymeð, Then dark comes,
nipeð nihtscua, nightshadows deepen,
norþan onsendeð from the north there comes
hreo hæglfare a rough hailstorm
hæleþum on andan. in malice against men.
Eall is earfoðlic All is troublesome
eorþan rice, in this earthly kingdom,
onwendeð wyrda gesceaft the turn of events changes
weoruld under heofonum. the world under the heavens.
Her bið feoh læne, Here money is fleeting,
her bið freond læne, here friend is fleeting,
her bið mon læne, here man is fleeting,
her bið mæg læne, here kinsman is fleeting,
eal þis eorþan gesteal all the foundation of this world
idel weorþeð! turns to waste!
Swa cwæð snottor on mode, So spake the wise man in his mind,
gesæt him sundor æt rune. where he sat apart in counsel.
Til biþ se þe his treowe gehealdeþ, Good is he who keeps his faith,
ne sceal næfre his torn to rycene And a warrior must never speak
beorn of his breostum acyþan, his grief of his breast too quickly,
nemþe he ær þa bote cunne, unless he already knows the remedy -
eorl mid elne gefremman. a hero must act with courage.
Wel bið þam þe him are seceð, It is better for the one that seeks mercy,
frofre to Fæder on heofonum, consolation from the father in the heavens,
þær us eal seo fæstnung stondeð. where, for us, all permanence rests.