3/23/2023 0 Comments The wanderer poemA wise man holds out he is not too hot-hearted, nor too hasty in speech, nor too weak a warrior, not wanting in fore-thought, nor too greedy of goods, nor too glad, nor too mild, nor ever too eager to boast, ere he knows all.Ī man should forbear boastmaking until his fierce mind fully knows which way his spleen shall expand itself.Ī wise man may grasp how ghastly it shall be when all this world’s wealth standeth waste, even as know, in many places, over the earth, walls stand, wiind-beaten, hung with hoar-frostt ruined habitations. Wherefore no man grows wise without he have his share of winters. So this middle earth each of all days ageth and falleth.’ Therefore I may not think, throughout this world, why cloud cometh not on my mind when I think over all the life of earls, how at a stroke they have given up hall, mood-proud thanes. Care grows fresh in him who shall send forth too often over locked waves his weary spirit. Sailor’s ghosts bring not many known songs there. Remembered kiinsmen press through his mind he singeth out gladly, scanneth eagerly men from the same hearth. Then all the heavier his heart’s wounds, store for his loved lord. Īwakeneth after this friendless man, seeth before him fallow waves, seabirds bathing, broading out feathers, snow and hail swirl, hoar-frosta falling. Oft sorrow and sleep, banded together, come to bind the lone outcast he thinks in his heart then that he his lord claspeth and kisseth, and on knee layeth hand and head, as he had at otherwhiles in days now gone, when he enjoyed the gift-stool. He knows this who is forced to forgo his lord’s, his friend’s counsels, to lack them for long : He minds him of hall-men, of treasure-giving, how in his youth his gold-friend gave him to feast. Track ever taketh him, never the torqued gold, not earthly glory, but cold heart’s cave. He knows who makes trial how harsh and bitter is care for companion to him who hath few friends to shield him. Wretched I went thence, winter-wearied, over the waves’ bound dreary I sought hall of a gold-giver, where far or near I might find him who in meadhall might take heed of me, furnish comfort to a man friendless, win me with cheer. This since, long ago, the ground’s shroud enwrapped my gold-friend. So must I also curb my mind, cut off from country, from kind far distant, by cares overworn, bind it in fetters Wherefore, most often, those eager for fame bind the dark mood fast in their breasts. Too truly I know it is in a man no mean virtue that he keep close his heart’s chest, hold his thought-hoard, think as he may. None are there now among the living to whom I dare declare me thoroughly, tell my heart’s thought. ‘Alone am I driven each day before daybreak to give my cares utterance. Thus spoke such a ‘grasshopper’, old griefs in his mind,Ĭold slaughters, the death of dear kinsmen: – Trouble with oars ice-cold waters, The ways of exile – Wyrd is set fast.’ Though he must traverse tracts of sea, sick at heart, The original Old English text may be found online here.‘Who liveth alone longeth for mercy, Maker’s mercy. Instead of displaying the caesura between half-lines of the original Exeter Book (which is dated prior to 1050AD), or running the two halves of each line together I have preferred, for clarity and impact, to give each half-line as a separate full line. I have started with line 8 and concluded with line 110 (of 115) for artistic coherence. Translator’s Note: This is an abridged version. This work may be freely reproduced, stored and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose. Kline © Copyright 2010, All Rights Reserved. An Abridged Version, Translated from the Anglo-Saxonĭoré, Gustave, 1832-1883 from The Poetic and Dramatic Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson (p523, 1899) - Alfred Tennyson, Baron, 1809-1892
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