The Wanderer

[Found here after a mention here]

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	move by hand [in context = row]
hreran mid hondum	along the waterways,
hrimcealde sæ	(along) the ice-cold sea,
wadan wræclastas.	tread the paths of exile.
Wyrd bið ful aræd!	Events always go as they must!
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 custom,
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 fate (the turn of events),
ne se hreo hyge	nor does a rough or sorrowful mind
helpe gefremman.	do any good (perform anything helpful).
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 wintercearig	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 (æfter) the lord.
Sorg bið geniwad	Sorrow is renewed
þonne maga gemynd	when the mind (mod) 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 ne to fægen,	nor too fearful, 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 oþbær	one, 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? Hwær cwom mago?1	Where is the horse gone? 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 money 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 his treowe gehealdeþ,	Good is he 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 hero 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.

¹ In J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, in chapter six of The Two Towers, Aragorn sings a song of Rohan (itself a version of Anglo-Saxon England), beginning "Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?". The song clearly comes from this section of The Wanderer. (A more strictly literal translation of "mago" would be "youth", hence "Where is the horse gone? Where the young man?" -- but since the horse and the youth appear in the same half-line, Tolkien's rendering "rider" is very hard to resist.)