The Wanderer

	Often the solitary man waits for God's mercy,

though he for a long while in sorrowful mood

has to stir back the rime-cold ocean

with oars, with the strength of his own hands,

to go in the tracks of exile over the sea. Fate --

that is relentless. Thus remembering 

the hardship of cruel slaughters

and the fall of kinsmen friends,

the wanderer spoke: Often in the early mornings

alone I have to bewail my grief:

now there is no one living to whom

I dare clearly open my mind. In truth I know

that in man it is excellent conduct

to bind fast the heart's lock,

to govern the mind's hoard-chamber,

to think, however, as he will. One who is

weary of heart may not withstand fate;

nor may the fierce heart glean help,

because, sorry and yet keen for glory, it is often

bound fast in its breast-chamber. Thus I,

so often weary with sorrow,

deprived of my native land

and far from free kinsmen,

have to bind my heart with fetters.

ever since my gold-friend and lord of former years

was laid in a dark chamber of earth...

	And sad with winter, I went away

over the frost-bound waves, and drearily

sought in halls for a giver of treasure--a lord--

sought where far or near I might find

anyone in a mead-hall who would love me,

who would cheer my friendlessness

and entice me with joys. He who knows

how cruel a companion sorrow is

to him who has no loving protectors with him:

the path of exile is his. No coiled gold,

no earthly riches, only the cold

of the heart's chamber. He remembers

the men of the halls and the receiving of treasure,

how his lord entertained him in his youth

at the feasts. All joy comes to an end.

			For he who knows

shall long go without dear lord's counsel.

			When sorrow and sleep

bind down a wretched exile,

it seems to him in mind

that he embraces and kisses his lord,

and lays his hands and head on that man's knee,

when in former days he sat on his throne

long before. Then afterwards

the friendless man wakens and sees

the dark ways before him, sea-birds

batheing and spreading their feathers,

rime-frost and snow falling, mingled with hail.

There is a wound in the heavy heart, 

grief over those he loves. Sorrow is renewed

when memory of kinsmen crosses his mind;

he greets them with joy, eagerly thinks of them.

But these companions of men swim away again

from his mind; the soul of those

who seem to float before him

does not bring there many of the familiar voices.

			Grief is renewed

in him who often sends his weary mind

yearning back over the frost-bound waves.

Therefore I cannot imagine anything in this world

which does not darken my mind

when I think of all the life of men--

how suddenly they pass from the hall-floors, 

those high-spirited men. Thus each day

the world diminishes.

	Indeed, a man may not become wise

before he has had his number of years in this world.

	A man has to be patient,

and must not be over-passionate,

nor too hasty of speech, nor too afraid,

or too glad; not too avaricious,

nor too eager to boast, if he is to become wise.

	A man has to wait

--when he will speak proudly and boast--

until he knows which way

the thoughts of his mind will turn.

	A wise man will understand

how unearthly it will seem

when all the wealth of this world stands devastated--

as even now stand various walls in this world,

blown upon by the winds,

covered with rime-frost, ruined dwellings.

	Wine-halls crumble; kings lie deprived of happiness;

al the proud host fall by the wall:

war destroyed some of them, took them far away;

a raven carried one far-off over the high sea;

the hoary wolf gave over another to death;

a sad-faced man hid another in a chamber of earth--

thus did the Creator of men destroy this world,

until, free from the noise of citizens,

the old works of giants stood idle.

	Then  he who has wisely thought

and deeply considered the foundations of this dark life,

often turns his mind far back

onto the multitude of slaughters,

speaking these words: Where have gone the horse

Where the men? Where are the treasure-givers?

Where are the banquet-dwellings?

Where the joys of the hall? O bright cup!

O chain-mailed warrior! O glory of kings!

How the times have passed,

how they grow dark under the shades of night

as though they had never existed! The beloved host

now stands behind a wondrously high wall

shining with serpent-forms.

The strength of spears, weapons

greedy for slaughter, have destroyed mankind--

a glorious fate! And storms

beat these rocky slopes; falling storm

binds the earth with terror of winter,

when darkness comes.

The shadow of night grows dark--

the fierce night-storm from the north

sends malice on men.

	All in the kingdom of earth is full of hardship;

the decrees of fate overthrow

the world under the heavens. Here is life,

here is friend, here is kinsman,

here is man--all gone now after the brief lending,

all the foundations of this earth become desolate.

	Thus he spoke, wise in mind,

and sat apart from those at council.

	Good is he who keeps his integrity,

and he who never too quickly shows

grief from his heart, unless he first knows

how to effect the remedy with courage.

	Blessed are they who seek kindness from Him,

consolation from the Father in Heaven,

where safety stands for us all.