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| 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! |
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| Swa cwæð eardstapa, | So spoke the wanderer, |
| earfeþa gemyndig, | mindful of hardships, |
| wraþra wælsleahta, | of fierce slaughters |
| winemæga hryre: | and the downfall of kinsmen: |
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| 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! |
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| 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. |
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| 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. |
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| 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. |
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| 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: |
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| 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! |
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| 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. |