"The Wanderer" : an Anglo-Saxon Poem

Often the solitary man enjoys (or awaits)
The grace and mercy of the Lord, though careworn
He has long been forced to stir by hand
The ice-cold sea on many waterways,
Travel the exile's path; fate is relentless. 5

So spoke a wanderer who called to mind
Hardships and cruel wars and deaths of lords:
"Frequently have I had to mourn alone
My cares each morning; now no living person
Exists to whom I dare reveal my heart 10
Openly; and I know it for a truth
That in a man it is a noble virtue
To hide away his thoughts, lock up
His private feelings--however he may feel.
A weary heart cannot oppose inexorable fate, 15
And anxious thoughts can bring no remedy.
Therefore those jealous of their reputations
Often bind fast their sadness in their breasts.
And so I, heartsick, deprived of my homeland,
Far from my noble kin, have often had 20
To tie in fetters my own troubled spirit,
Since long ago I wrapped my lord's remains
In darkness of the earth, and from that place
Sadly journeyed by winter over icy waves,
And suffering sought the hall of a new patron, 25
If in any land I might find one willing
To show me recognition in his mead-hall,
Comfort me, friendless--tempt me
With pleasures."


One who has experienced it
Knows how bitter sorrow is as a companion 30
To one who has few real friends; strands of
Braided gold are not for him; paths of exile are;
Coldness of heart, not the pleasures of this world.
He recalls the gifts of treasure, the hall-companions,
And remembers how his gold-friend, long ago, 35
Used to entertain him at the feast.
Now all that joy Has gone.
Therefore, one who long must do without
His beloved lord's advice understands,
When sleep and sorrow joined together
Often bind him, alone with his sadness. 40
In his mind it seems that he embraces
And kisses his liege lord, and on his knee
Lays hand and head, as he did in days gone by,
When he enjoyed gifts from the throne;
Then the joyless man then wakes up 45
And sees instead the yellow waves,
The sea-birds bathing, stretching out their wings,
While snow and hail and frost fall all together.
Then his heart becomes, for that reason, yet heavier,
Grief for the loved one gone.
Sorrow is renewed, 50
Then, when memories of kinsmen fill the mind,
He greets them gladly, gazes on them attentively.
But again and again his old friends swim away;
The floating spirits bring him all to few
Of the old well-known songs.
Care is renewed 55
For one who must continually send
His weary spirit over icy waves.


"Therefore I see no reason in the world
Why my heart does not grow dark, when I ponder
The lives of warriors, how they suddenly 60
Have left their halls, those bold and noble thanes,
Just as this middle-earth and everything on it
Declines and weakens each and every day."


Therefore no man may become wise before
He's lived his share of winters in the world. 65
A wise man must be patient, not too passionate
Or too impetuous in words; not too timid a fighter,
Nor too anxious, too carefree, nor too covetous
Of wealth; nor ever too quick to boast before fully
Understanding. A man should wait, 70
Before he makes a vow, until in pride he truly can
Assess where his heart's intentions will lead him.


The wise must know how awesome it will be
When all the wealth of the world stands desolate, 75
As now in various parts throughout this middle-earth
Stand wind-blown walls, frost-covered, ruined homes.
The wine-halls crumble; monarchs lifeless lie,
Deprived of pleasures, all the company of heroes
Dead by the wall. Some battle carried off 80
Took from this world; some the foul bird removed
Over the ocean deep; some the grey wolf
Consigned to death; some a tear-stained hero
Concealed from daylight in an earthy cave.
Just so in days long past humankind's Creator 85
Destroyed this earth until, lacking the joyous sounds
Of inhabitants, the ancient works of giants stood Desolate.
One who has wisely thought and considered
Carefully this creation and this dark life,
Experienced in spirit has often deeply pondered 90
Countless slaughters, and might say these words:


'Where is the horse now, and the hero?
Where is the generous lord, the feast-benches, the joys
Of the hall. Alas for the bright cup; alas, the armored
Hero; alas, the prince's glory.
That time is over, 95
Gone beneath night's shadow as if it had never been.


A splendid lofty wall, adorned with shapes,
Of serpents now stands as a memorial
To that beloved band.
The savage, blood-greedy spear
And mighty destiny have carried off the heroes, 100
And storms now knock against these stony slopes.
Falling sleet and snow bind the world
In winter's vice; then darkness comes
Shadowy night approaches; the north sends down
Fierce hailstorms in malice against men. 105
And all is hardship in this earthly kingdom; the work
Of fate alters the world lying beneath the heavens.
Here belongings and friends pass away;
Here man himself and kinsmen pass away;
And all this earthly structure comes to nothing." 110


Thus spoke the thoughtful sage, as he sat alone, meditating.
Happy is he who keeps his faith; a man must never be too eager
To reveal the cares of his heart, before he knows their remedy,
And pursues it eagerly.
It will be better for one who seeks grace
Comfort from our father in the heavens, where for us all security stands. 115 [source]


Translation by Richard Hamer (copyright 1970)
(much revised by Míceál F. Vaughan, 1983/1996)