| | |
| Mæg ic be me sylfum | I can make a true song |
| soðgied wrecan, | about me myself, |
| siþas secgan, | tell my travels, |
| hu ic geswincdagum | how I often endured |
| earfoðhwile | days of struggle, |
| oft þrowade, | troublesome times, |
| 4a | bitre breostceare | [how I] have suffered |
| gebiden hæbbe, | grim sorrow at heart, |
| gecunnad in ceole | have known in the ship |
| cearselda fela, | many worries [abodes of care], |
| atol yþa gewealc, | the terrible tossing of the waves, |
| þær mec oft bigeat | where the anxious night watch |
| nearo nihtwaco | often took me |
| æt nacan stefnan, | at the ship's prow, |
| 8a | þonne he be clifum cnossað. | when it tossed near the cliffs. |
| Calde geþrungen | Fettered by cold |
| wæron mine fet, | were my feet, |
| forste gebunden | bound by frost |
| caldum clommum, | in cold clasps, |
| þær þa ceare seofedun | where then cares seethed |
| hat ymb heortan; | hot about my heart -- |
| hungor innan slat | a hunger tears from within |
| 12a | merewerges mod. | the sea-weary soul. |
| Þæt se mon ne wat | This the man does not know |
| þe him on foldan | for whom on land |
| fægrost limpeð, | it turns out most favourably, |
| hu ic earmcearig | how I, wretched and sorrowful, |
| iscealdne sæ | on the ice-cold sea |
| winter wunade | dwelt for a winter |
| wræccan lastum, | in the paths of exile, |
| 16a | winemægum bidroren, | bereft of friendly kinsmen, |
| | |
| bihongen hrimgicelum; | hung about with icicles; |
| hægl scurum fleag. | hail flew in showers. |
| þær ic ne gehyrde | There I heard nothing |
| butan hlimman sæ, | but the roaring sea, |
| iscaldne wæg. | the ice-cold wave. |
| Hwilum ylfete song | At times the swan's song |
| 20a | dyde ic me to gomene, | I took to myself as pleasure, |
| ganotes hleoþor | the gannet's noise |
| ond huilpan sweg | and the voice of the curlew |
| fore hleahtor wera, | instead of the laughter of men, |
| mæw singende | the singing gull |
| fore medodrince. | instead of the drinking of mead. |
| Stormas þær stanclifu beotan, | Storms there beat the stony cliffs, |
| þær him stearn oncwæð, | where the tern spoke, |
| 24a | isigfeþera; | icy-feathered; |
| ful oft þæt earn bigeal, | always the eagle cried at it, |
| urigfeþra; | dewy-feathered; |
| nænig hleomæga | no cheerful kinsmen |
| feasceaftig ferð | can comfort |
| frefran meahte. | the poor soul. |
| Forþon him gelyfeð lyt, | Indeed he credits it little, |
| se þe ah lifes wyn | the one who has the joys of life, |
| 28a | gebiden in burgum, | dwells in the city, |
| bealosiþa hwon, | far from terrible journey, |
| wlonc ond wingal, | proud and wanton with wine, |
| hu ic werig oft | how I, weary, often |
| in brimlade | have had to endure |
| bidan sceolde. | in the sea-paths. |
| Nap nihtscua, | The shadows of night darkened, |
| norþan sniwde, | it snowed from the north, |
| 32a | hrim hrusan bond, | frost bound the ground, |
| hægl feol on eorþan, | hail fell on the earth, |
| corna caldast. | coldest of grains. |
| Forþon cnyssað nu | Indeed, now they are troubled, |
| heortan geþohtas | the thoughts of my heart, |
| þæt ic hean streamas, | that I myself should strive with |
| sealtyþa gelac | the high streams, |
| sylf cunnige -- | the tossing of salt waves -- |
| 36a | monað modes lust | the wish of my heart urges |
| mæla gehwylce | all the time |
| ferð to feran, | my spirit to go forth, |
| þæt ic feor heonan | that I, far from here, |
| elþeodigra | should seek the homeland |
| eard gesece -- | of a foreign people -- |
| Forþon nis þæs modwlonc | Indeed there is not so proud-spirited |
| mon ofer eorþan, | a man in the world, |
| 40a | ne his gifena þæs god, | nor so generous of gifts, |
| ne in geoguþe to þæs hwæt, | nor so bold in his youth, |
| ne in his dædum to þæs deor, | nor so brave in his deeds, |
| ne him his dryhten to þæs hold, | nor so dear to his lord, |
| þæt he a his sæfore | that he never in his seafaring |
| sorge næbbe, | has a worry, |
| to hwon hine Dryhten | as to what his Lord |
| gedon wille. | will do to him. |
| 44a | Ne biþ him to hearpan hyge | Not for him is the sound of the harp |
| ne to hringþege | nor the giving of rings |
| ne to wife wyn | nor pleasure in woman |
| ne to worulde hyht | nor worldly glory -- |
| ne ymbe owiht elles | nor anything at all |
| nefne ymb yða gewealc; | unless the tossing of waves; |
| ac a hafað longunge | but he always has a longing, |
| se þe on lagu fundað. | he who strives on the waves. |
| 48a | Bearwas blostmum nimað, | Groves take on blossoms, |
| byrig fægriað, | the cities grow fair, |
| wongas wlitigað, | the fields are comely, |
| woruld onetteð: | the world seems new: |
| ealle þa gemoniað | all these things urge on |
| modes fusne | the eager of spirit, |
| sefan to siþe | the mind to travel, |
| þam þe swa þenceð | in one who so thinks |
| 52a | on flodwegas | to travel far |
| feor gewitan. | on the paths of the sea. |
| Swylce geac monað | So the cuckoo warns |
| geomran reorde; | with a sad voice; |
| singeð sumeres weard, | the guardian of summer sings, |
| sorge beodeð | bodes a sorrow |
| bitter in breosthord. | grievous in the soul. |
| Þæt se beorn ne wat, | This the man does not know, |
| 56a | sefteadig secg, | the warrior lucky in worldly things |
| hwæt þa sume dreogað | what some endure then, |
| þe þa wræclastas | those who tread most widely |
| widost lecgað. | the paths of exile. |
| Forþon nu min hyge hweorfeð | And now my spirit twists |
| ofer hreþerlocan, | out of my breast, |
| min modsefa | my spirit |
| mid mereflode, | out in the waterways, |
| 60a | ofer hwæles eþel | over the whale's path |
| hweorfeð wide, | it soars widely |
| eorþan sceatas -- | through all the corners of the world -- |
| cymeð eft to me | it comes back to me |
| gifre ond grædig; | eager and unsated; |
| gielleð anfloga, | the lone-flier screams, |
| hweteð on hwælweg | urges onto the whale-road |
| hreþer unwearnum | the unresisting heart |
| 64a | ofer holma gelagu. | across the waves of the sea. |
| Forþon me hatran sind | Indeed hotter for me are |
| Dryhtnes dreamas | the joys of the Lord |
| þonne þis deade lif | than this dead life |
| læne on londe. | fleeting on the land. |
| Ic gelyfe no | I do not believe |
| þæt him eorðwelan | that the riches of the world |
| ece stondað. | will stand forever. |
| 68a | Simle þreora sum | Always and invariably, |
| þinga gehwylce | one of three things |
| ær his tiddege | will turn to uncertainty |
| to tweon weorþeð: | before his fated hour: |
| adl oþþe yldo | disease, or old age, |
| oþþe ecghete | or the sword's hatred |
| fægum fromweardum | will tear out the life |
| feorh oðþringeð. | from those doomed to die. |
| 72a | Forþon biþ eorla gehwam | And so it is for each man |
| æftercweþendra | the praise of the living, |
| lof lifgendra | of those who speak afterwards, |
| lastworda betst, | that is the best epitaph, |
| þæt he gewyrce, | that he should work |
| ær he on weg scyle, | before he must be gone |
| fremum on foldan | bravery in the world |
| wið feonda niþ, | against the enmity of devils, |
| 76a | deorum dædum | daring deeds |
| deofle togeanes, | against the fiend, |
| þæt hine ælda bearn | so that the sons of men |
| æfter hergen, | will praise him afterwards, |
| ond his lof siþþan | and his fame afterwards |
| lifge mid englum | will live with the angels |
| awa to ealdre, | for ever and ever, |
| ecan lifes blæd, | the glory of eternal life, |
| 80a | dream mid dugeþum. | joy with the Hosts. |
| Dagas sind gewitene, | The days are gone |
| ealle onmedlan | of all the glory |
| eorþan rices; | of the kingdoms of the earth; |
| nearon nu cyningas | there are not now kings, |
| ne caseras | nor Cæsars, |
| ne goldgiefan | nor givers of gold |
| swylce iu wæron, | as once there were, |
| 84a | þonne hi mæst mid him | when they, the greatest, among themselves |
| mærþa gefremedon | performed valorous deeds, |
| ond on dryhtlicestum | and with a most lordly |
| dome lifdon. | majesty lived. |
| Gedroren is þeos duguð eal, | All that old guard is gone |
| dreamas sind gewitene; | and the revels are over -- |
| wuniað þa wacran | the weaker ones now dwell |
| ond þæs woruld healdaþ, | and hold the world, |
| 88a | brucað þurh bisgo. | enjoy it through their sweat. |
| Blæd is gehnæged, | The glory is fled, |
| eorþan indryhto | the nobility of the world |
| ealdað ond searað, | ages and grows sere, |
| swa nu monna gehwylc | as now does every man |
| geond middangeard. | throughout the world. |
| Yldo him on fareþ, | Age comes upon him, |
| onsyn blacað, | his face grows pale, |
| 92a | gomelfeax gnornað, | the graybeard laments; |
| wat his iuwine, | he knows that his old friends, |
| æþelinga bearn | the sons of princes, |
| eorþan forgiefene. | have been given to the earth. |
| Ne mæg him þonne se flæschoma | His body fails then, |
| þonne him þæt feorg losað | as life leaves him -- |
| ne swete forswelgan | he cannot taste sweetness |
| ne sar gefelan | nor feel pain, |
| 96a | ne hond onhreran | nor move his hand |
| ne mid hyge þencan. | nor think with his head. |
| Þeah þe græf wille | Though he would strew |
| golde stregan | the grave with gold, |
| broþor his geborenum, | a brother for his kinsman, |
| byrgan be deadum | bury with the dead |
| maþmum mislicum, | a mass of treasure, |
| þæt hine mid wille, | it just won't work -- |
| 100a | ne mæg þære sawle | nor can the soul |
| þe biþ synna ful | which is full of sin |
| gold to geoce | preserve the gold |
| for Godes egsan, | before the fear of God, |
| þonne he hit ær hydeð | though he hid it before |
| þenden he her leofað. | while he was yet alive. |
| Micel biþ se Meotudes egsa, | Great is the fear of the Lord, |
| forþon hi seo molde oncyrreð; | before which the world stands still; |
| 104a | se gestaþelade | He established |
| stiþe grundas, | the firm foundations, |
| eorþan sceatas | the corners of the world |
| ond uprodor. | and the high heavens. |
| Dol biþ se þe him his Dryhten ne ondrædeþ: | A fool is the one who does not fear his Lord |
| cymeð him se deað unþinged. | -- death comes to him unprepared. |
| Eadig bið se þe eaþmod leofaþ; | Blessed is he who lives humbly |
| cymeð him seo ar of heofonum. | -- to him comes forgiveness from heaven. |
| 108a | Meotod him þæt mod gestaþelað, | God set that spirit within him, |
| forþon he in his meahte gelyfeð. | because he believed in His might. |
| Stieran mon sceal strongum mode, | Man must control his passions |
| ond þæt on staþelum healdan, | and keep everything in balance, |
| ond gewis werum, | keep faith with men, |
| wisum clæne. | and be pure in wisdom. |
| Scyle monna gehwylc | Each of men must |
| mid gemete healdan | be even-handed |
| 112a | wiþ leofne ond wið laþne | with their friends and their foes. |
| * * * bealo. | ? |
| þeah þe he hine wille | ? though he does not wish him |
| fyres fulne | ? in the foulness of flames |
| oþþe on bæle | ? or on a pyre |
| forbærnedne | ? to be burned |
| his geworhtne wine, | ? his contrived friend, |
| Wyrd biþ swiþre, | Fate is greater |
| 116a | Meotud meahtigra, | and God is mightier |
| þonne ænges monnes gehygd. | than any man's thought. |
| Uton we hycgan | Let us ponder |
| hwær we ham agen, | where we have our homes |
| ond þonne geþencan | and then think |
| hu we þider cumen; | how we should get thither -- |
| ond we þonne eac tilien | and then we should all strive |
| þæt we to moten | that we might go there |
| 120a | in þa ecan | to the eternal |
| eadignesse | blessedness |
| þær is lif gelong | that is a belonging life |
| in lufan Dryhtnes, | in the love of the Lord, |
| hyht in heofonum. | joy in the heavens. |
| Þæs sy þam Halgan þonc | Let there be thanks to God |
| þæt he usic geweorþade, | that he adored us, |
| wuldres Ealdor | the Father of Glory, |
| 124a | ece Dryhten, | the Eternal Lord, |
| in ealle tid. Amen. | for all time. Amen. |
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