front 1 Ic this giedd wrece bi me ful geomorre, minre sylfre sid. Ic thaet secgan maeg, hwaet ic yrmtha gebad, siththan ic up aweox, niws oththe ealdes, no ma thonne nu. | back 1 I make this poem about myself, my own fate. I have the right to say what miseries I have endured since I grew up, new or old-never greater than now. |
front 2 A ic wite wonn minra wraecsitha. Aerest min hlaford gewat heonan of leodum ofer ytha gelac; haefde ic uhtceare hwaer min leodfruma londes waere. | back 2 Endlessly, I have suffered the wretchedness of exile. First, my lord went away from his people here across the storm-tossed sea. At daybreak I worried in what land my lord might be. |
front 3 Da ic me feran ewat folgad secan, wineleas wraecca, for minre weathearfe, ongunnon thaet thaes monnes magas hycgan thurh dyrne gethoht, thaet hy todaelden une, thaet with gewidost in woruldrice lifdon ladlicost, ond mec longade. | back 3 Then, I set out- a friend-less exile- to seek a household to shelter me against wretched need. Hiding their thoughts, the man's kinfolk hatched a plot to separate us so that we two should live most unhappy and farthest from one another in this wide world. And I felt longing. |
front 4 Het mec hlaford min herheard niman, ahte ic leofra lyt on thissum londstede, holdra freonda, for thin is min hyge geomor. | back 4 My lord commanded me to stay in this place. I had few dear ones, faithful friends in this country, that is why I am sad. |
front 5 Da ic me full gemaecne monnan funde, heardsaeligne, hygegeomorne, mod mythendne, morthor hycgendne blithe gebaero. Ful oft with beotedan thaet unc ne gedaelde nemne dead ana owiht elles, eft is thaet onhworfen. | back 5 Then I found my husband like-minded-luckless, gloomy, hiding murderous thoughts in his heart. With glad countenance, how often we vowed that death alone-nothing else-would drive us apart. |
front 6 owiht elles eft is thaet onhworfen, is nu swa hit naefre waere, freondscipe uncer. | back 6 That vow has been overthrown. Our friendship is as if it had never been. |
front 7 Sceal ic feor ge neah mines felaleofan faehdu dreogan. Heht mec mon wunian on wuda bearwe under actreo in tham eordscraefe. | back 7 Far and near, I must suffer the feud of my much-beloved. I was told to live in an earth-cave beneath an oak tree amid the forest. |
front 8 Eald is thes eordsele eal ic eom oflongad, sindon dena dimme, duna uphea, bitre burtunas, brerum beweaxne, wic wynna leas. Ful oft mec her wrathe begeat fromsith frean. | back 8 This earthen hall is old. I am overcome with longing. These dales are dark, and hills high bitter bulwarks overgrown with briers, a joyless dwelling. Here very often my lord's going away has wrenched me. |
front 9 Frynd sind on eorthan leofe lifgende, leger weardiad thonne ic on uhtan ana gonge under actreo geond eaordscrafu. | back 9 There are couples on earth, lovers lying together in bed, while at dawn I come out of this cave to sit under the oak tree the summerlong day alone. |
front 10 thaer ic sittan mot sumorlangne daeg, thaer ic wepan maeg mine wraecsithas, earfotha fela, forthon ic aefre ne maeg thaere modceare minre gerestan, ne ealles thaes longathes the mec on thissum life begeat. A scyle geong mon wesan geomormod heard heortan gethoht, swylce habban sceal blithe gebaero, eac thon breostceare, sinsorgna gedreag. | back 10 There I weep my exile, the many burdens. Therefore, I can never set my cares at rest, nor still all this life's longing which is my lot. |
front 11 Sy aet him sylfum gelong eal his worulde wyn, sy ful wide fah feorres folclondes, thaet min freond sited under stanhlithe storme behrimed, wine werigmod, waetre beflowen on dreorsele, dreoged se min wine micle modceare, he gemon to oft wynlicran wic. Wa bid than the sceal of langothe leofes abidan. | back 11 Should a young person ever be sad, harsh care at heart, he must then at one and the same time have hearthache and a glad countenance, although he suffers endless surging sorrows. Whether my friend has all the world's joy at his bidding or whether, outlawed from his homeland, he sits covered with storm-frost beneath a rocky cliff- my weary-minded friend, drenched in some dreary hall- he suffers great anguish. Too often remembers a happier place. Woe is the ones who, languishing waits for a lover. |