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- “Often the solitary one experiences mercy for himself,
- the mercy of the Measurer, although he, troubled in spirit,
- over the ocean must long
- stir with his hands the rime-cold sea,
- travel the paths of exile – Fate is inexorable.”
- So said the wanderer, mindful of hardships,
- of cruel deadly combats, the fall of dear kinsmen –
- “Often alone each morning I must
- Bewail my sorrow; there is now none living
- to whom I dare tell clearly my inmost thoughts.
- I know indeed
- that it is a noble custom in a man
- to bind fast his thoughts with restraint,
- hold his treasure-chest, think what he will.
- The man weary in spirit cannot withstand fate,
- nor may the troubled mind offer help.
- Therefore those eager for praise often bind a sad mind
- in their breast-coffer with restraint.
- So I, miserably sad, separated from homeland,
- far from my noble kin, had to bind my thoughts with fetters,
- since that long ago the darkness of the earth
- covered my gold-friend, and I, abject,
- proceeded thence, winter-sad, over the binding of the waves.
- Sad, I sought the hall of a giver of treasure,
- Where I might find, far or near,
- one who in the meadhall might know about my people,
- or might wish to comfort me, friendless,
- entertain with delights. He knows who experiences it
- how cruel care is as a companion,
- to him who has few beloved protectors.
- The path of exile awaits him, not twisted gold,
- frozen feelings, not earth’s glory.
- he remembers retainers and the receiving of treasure,
- how in youth his gold-friend
- accustomed him to the feast. But all pleasure has failed.
- Indeed he knows who must for a long time do without
- the counsels of his beloved lord
- when sorrow and sleep together
- often bind the wretched solitary man–
- he thinks in his heart that he
- embraces and kisses his lord, and lays
- hands and head on his knee, just as he once at times
- in former days, enjoyed the gift-giving.
- Then the friendless man awakes again,
- sees before him the dusky waves,
- the seabirds bathing, spreading their wings,
- frost and snow fall, mingled with hail.
- Then are his heart’s wounds the heavier because of that,
- sore with longing for a loved one. Sorrow is renewed
- when the memory of kinsmen passes through his mind;
- he greets with signs of joy, eagerly surveys
- his companions, warriors. They swim away again.
- The spirit of the floating ones never brings there many
- familiar utterances. Care is renewed
- for the one who must very often send
- his weary spirit over the binding of the waves,
- Therefore I cannot think why throughout the world
- my mind should not grow dark
- when I contemplate all the life of men,
- how they suddenly left the hall floor,
- brave young retainers. So this middle-earth
- fails and falls each day;
- therefore a man may not become wise before he owns
- a share of winters in the kingdom of this world. A wise man must be patient,
- nor must he ever be too hot tempered, nor too hasty of speech
- nor too weak in battles, nor too heedless,
- nor too fearful, nor too cheerful, nor too greedy for wealth
- nor ever too eager for boasting before he knows for certain.
- A man must wait, when he speaks a boast,
- until, stout-hearted, he knows for certain
- whither the thought of the heart may wish to turn.
- The prudent man must realize how ghastly it will be
- when all the wealth of this world stands waste,
- as now variously throughout this middle-earth
- walls stand beaten by the wind,
- covered with rime, snow-covered the dwellings.
- The wine-halls go to ruin, the rulers lie
- deprived of joy, the host has all perished
- proud by the wall. Some war took,
- carried on the way forth; one a bird carried off
- over the high sea; one the gray wolf shared
- with Death; one a sad-faced nobleman
- buried in an earth-pit.
- So the Creator of men laid waste this region,
- until the ancient world of giants, lacking the noises
- of the citizens, stood idle.
- He who deeply contemplates this wall-stead,
- and this dark life with wise thought,
- old in spirit, often remembers long ago,
- a multitude of battles, and speaks these words:
- “Where is the horse? Where is the young warrior? Where is the giver of treasure?
- Where are the seats of the banquets? Where are the joys in the hall?
- Alas the bright cup! Alas the mailed warrior!
- Alas the glory of the prince! How the time has gone,
- vanished under night’s helm, as if it never were!
- Now in place of a beloved host stands
- a wall wondrously high, decorated with the likenesses of serpents.
- The powers of spears took the noblemen,
- weapons greedy for slaughter; fate the renowned,
- and storms beat against these rocky slopes,
- falling snowstorm binds the earth,
- the noise of winter, then the dark comes.
- The shadow of night grows dark, sends from the north
- a rough shower of hail in enmity to the warriors.
- All the kingdom of earth is full of trouble,
- the operation of the fates changes the world under the heavens.
- Here wealth is transitory, here friend is transitory,
- here man is transitory, here woman is transitory,
- this whole foundation of the earth becomes empty.
- So spoke the wise in spirit, sat by himself in private meditation.
- He who is good keeps his pledge, nor shall the man ever manifest
- the anger of his breast too quickly, unless he, the man,
- should know beforehand how to accomplish the remedy with courage.
- It will be well for him who seeks grace,
- comfort from the Father in the heavens, where a fastness
- stands for us all.
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