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An Anglo-Saxon Elegy
With modern English translation
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 hreran mid hondum along the waterways, hrimcealde sæ (along) the ice-cold sea, wadan wræclastas. tread the paths of exile. Wyrd bið ful aræd! Karma is fully accounted! 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 thew, 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 Wyrd (karma), ne se hreo hyge nor does a rough or sorrowful mind helpe gefremman. offer any helpfulness. 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 winterceari 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 the lord. Sorg bið geniwad Sorrow is renewed þonne maga gemynd when the mood 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, nor too fearful, ne to fægen, 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 oþbærone, 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? Where is the horse gone? Hwær cwom mago? 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, wæpen 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 wealth 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 Good is he his treowe gehealdeþ, 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 gentleman 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.
Adapted with quite a few tweaks from
http://www.anglo-saxons.net/hwaet/?do=get&type=text&id=Wdr
These, mainly for the purpose of clarity of the native ontological context.
Another good set of translations (web)
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