玉米的英文古英语诗歌 The Wanderer

Oft him anhaga

are gebide?

,

metudes miltse,

?

eah ?

e he modcearig

geond lagulade

longe sceolde

4a

hreran mid hondum

hrimcealde s?

wadan wr?clastas.

Wyrd bi?

ful ar?d!

Swa cw??

eardstapa,

earfe?

a gemyndig,

wra?

ra w?lsleahta,

winem?ga hryre:

8a

Oft ic sceolde ana

uhtna gehwylce

mine ceare cwi?

an.

Nis nu cwicra nan

?

e ic him modsefan

minne durre

sweotule asecgan.

Ic to so?

e wat

12a

?

?t bi?

in eorle

indryhten ?

eaw,

?

?t he his fer?

locan

f?ste binde,

healde his hordcofan,

hycge swa he wille.

Often the solitary one

finds grace for himself

the mercy of the Lord,

Although he, sorry- hearted,

must for a long time

move by hand [

in context

= row]

along the waterways,

(along) the ice-cold sea,

tread the paths of exile.

Events always go as they must!

So spoke the wanderer,

mindful of hardships,

of fierce slaughters

and the downfall of kinsmen:

Often (or always) I had alone

to speak of my trouble

each morning before dawn.

There is none now living

to whom I dare

clearly speak

of my innermost thoughts.

I know it truly,

that it is in men

a noble custom,

that one should keep secure

his spirit-chest (mind),

guard his treasure-chamber (thoughts),

think as he wishes.

Ne m?g werig mod

wyrde wi?

stondan,

16a

ne se hreo hyge

helpe gefremman.

For?

on domgeorne

dreorigne oft

in hyra breostcofan

binda?

f?ste;

swa ic modsefan

minne sceolde,

20a

oft earmcearig,

e?

le bid?led,

freom?gum feor

feterum s?lan,

si?

?

an geara iu

goldwine minne

hrusan heolstre biwrah,

ond ic hean ?

onan

24a

wod wintercearig

ofer wa?

ema gebind,

sohte seledreorig

sinces bryttan,

hw?r ic feor o?

?

e neah

findan meahte

?

one ?

e in meoduhealle

mine wisse,

28a

o?

?

e mec freondleasne

frefran wolde,

The weary spirit cannot

withstand fate (the turn of events),

nor does a rough or sorrowful mind

do any good (perform anything

helpful).

Thus those eager for glory

often keep secure

dreary thoughts

in their breast;

So I,

often wretched and sorrowful,

bereft of my homeland,

far from noble kinsmen,

have had to bind in fetters

my inmost thoughts,

Since long years ago

I hid my lord

in the darkness of the earth,

and I, wretched, from there

travelled most sorrowfully

over the frozen waves,

sought, sad at the lack of a hall,

a giver of treasure,

where I, far or near,

might find

one in the meadhall who

knew my people,

or wished to console

the friendless one, me,

wenian mid wynnum.

Wat se ?

e cunna?

hu sli?

en bi?

sorg to geferan

?

am ?

e him lyt hafa?

leofra geholena:

32a

wara?

hine wr?clast,

nales wunden gold,

fer?

loca freorig,

nal?s foldan bl?d.

Gemon he selesecgas

ond sinc?

ege,

hu hine on geogu?

e

his goldwine

36a

wenede to wiste.

Wyn eal gedreas!

For?

on wat se ?

e sceal

his winedryhtnes

leofes larcwidum

longe for?

olian:

?

onne sorg ond sl??

somod ?tg?dre

40a

earmne anhogan

oft gebinda?

.

?

ince?

him on mode

?

?t he his mondryhten

clyppe ond cysse,

ond on cneo lecge

entertain (me) with delights.

He who has tried it knows

how cruel is

sorrow as a companion

to the one who has few

beloved friends:

the path of exile (wr?clast) holds him,

not at all twisted gold,

a frozen spirit,

not the bounty of the earth.

He remembers hall-warriors

and the giving of treasure

How in youth his lord (gold-friend)

accustomed him

to the feasting.

All the joy has died!

And so he knows it, he who must

forgo for a long time

the counsels

of his beloved lord:

Then sorrow and sleep

both together

often tie up

the wretched solitary one.

He thinks in his mind

that he embraces and kisses

his lord,

and on his (the lord's) knees lays

honda ond heafod,

swa he hwilum ?r

44a

in geardagum

giefstolas breac.

?onne onw?cne?

eft

wineleas guma,

gesih?

him biforan

fealwe wegas,

ba?

ian brimfuglas,

br?dan fe?

ra,

48a

hreosan hrim ond snaw

hagle gemenged.

?

onne beo?

?

y hefigran

heortan benne,

sare ?fter sw?sne.

Sorg bi?

geniwad

?

onne maga gemynd

mod geondhweorfe?

;

52a

grete?

gliwstafum,

georne geondsceawa?

secga geseldan;

swimma?

oft on weg

fleotendra fer?

no ?

?r fela bringe?

cu?

ra cwidegiedda.

Cearo bi?

geniwad

56a

?

am ?

e sendan sceal

his hands and his head,

Just as, at times (hwilum), before,

in days gone by,

he enjoyed the gift-seat (throne).

Then the friendless man

wakes up again,

He sees before him

fallow waves

Sea birds bathe,

preening their feathers,

Frost and snow fall,

mixed with hail.

Then are the heavier

the wounds of the heart,

grievous (sare) with longing for

(?fter) the lord.

Sorrow is renewed

when the mind (mod) surveys

the memory of kinsmen;

He greets them joyfully,

eagerly scans

the companions of men;

they always swim away.

The spirits of seafarers

never bring back there much

in the way of known speech.

Care is renewed

for the one who must send