..
I have to admit that I am much less enthusiastic on the outset of this year than I had expected or hoped to be. The Anglo Saxon poem The Wanderer tonight echoes through the widest rings of my trunk, quakes to the tips of my roots, and ruffles my quivering leaves. I will put the text into a comment as it is quite long, and I haven't figured out how to do that thing where you have a highlighted word that opens the text up longer or hides it (if you get my meaning?). ..#AHA and at 3 o clock in the morning with a point in the right direction I figure out how to do that thingy (as demonstrated now below). ..3.30am and it doesn't appear to have worked. Apologies for any annoyance caused by such a lengthy post of your friends page. ..oh and well yes New Years Greetings and all that..
The translation I give you is not the most accurate but it is my favorite (sourced: http://www.anglo-saxons.net/hwaet/?do=get&type=text&id=wdr ). A more scholarly translation can be found: http://web.utk.edu/~rliuzza/401/Elegies.pdf .
I do recommend taking five minutes to bathe in it.
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
hreran mid hondum along the waterways,
hrimcealde sæ the ice-cold sea,
wadan wræclastas. tread the paths of exile.
Wyrd bið ful aræd! Events always go as they must!
...
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, ær he age cannot call himself wise, before he has
wintra dæl in woruldrice. a share of years in the world.
...
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,
...
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.
...
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? 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,
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.
The echoes of these words resound the works of Tolkien and Martin, do you hear them in your heart as I do?
The translation I give you is not the most accurate but it is my favorite (sourced: http://www.anglo-saxons.net/hwaet/?do=get&type=text&id=wdr ). A more scholarly translation can be found: http://web.utk.edu/~rliuzza/401/Elegies.pdf .
I do recommend taking five minutes to bathe in it.
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
hreran mid hondum along the waterways,
hrimcealde sæ the ice-cold sea,
wadan wræclastas. tread the paths of exile.
Wyrd bið ful aræd! Events always go as they must!
...
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, ær he age cannot call himself wise, before he has
wintra dæl in woruldrice. a share of years in the world.
...
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,
...
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.
...
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? 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,
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.
The echoes of these words resound the works of Tolkien and Martin, do you hear them in your heart as I do?