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Hwylc
is hæleþa þæs horsc ond þæs hygecræftig
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What man is so mind-strong and spirit shrewd
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þæt þæt mæge asecgan,
hwa mec on sið wræce,
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He can say who drives me in my fierce strength
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þonne ic astige strong, stundum
reþe,
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On fate's road when I rise with vengeance,
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þrymful þunie, þragum
wræce
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Ravage the land, with a thundering voice
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fere geond foldan, folcsalo
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5 |
Rip folk-homes, plunder the hall-wood:
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5 |
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ræced reafige? Recas
stigað,
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Gray smoke rises over rooftops--on earth
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haswe ofer hrofum; hlyn bið
on eorþan,
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The rattle and death-shriek of men.I
shake
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wælcwealm wera. Þonne
ic wudu hrere,
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The forest, blooms and boles, rip trees,
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bearwas bledhwate, beamas fylle;
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Wander, roofed with water, a wide road,
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holme
gehrefed, heahum meahtum
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10 |
Pressed
by might. On my back I bear
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10 |
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wrecen on waþe, wide sended;
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The water that once wrapped earth-dwellers,
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hæbbe me on hrycge þæt
ær hadas wreah
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Flesh and spirit.
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foldbuendra, flæsc ond gæstas,
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Say
who shrouds me
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somod on sunde. Saga hwa
mec þecce,
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And what I am called who carry these burdens.
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oþþe
hu ic hatte, þe þa hlæst bere.
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15 |
Sometimes I plunge through the press of waves
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Hwilum
ic gewite, swa ne wenaþ men,
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To men's surprise, stalking the sea-warrior's
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15 |
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under yþa geþræc;
eorþan secan,
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Fathomed floor. The
white waves whip,
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garsecges grund. Fifen biþ
gewreged,
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Foam-flanks flaring, the ocean rips,
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fam gewealcen
* * *
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The whale's lake roars, rages--
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hwælmere
hlimmeð, hlude grimmeð,
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20 |
Savage waves beat on the shore, cast rock,
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streamas staþu beatað, stundum
weorpaþ
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Sand,
seaweed, water on the high cliffs
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20 |
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on stealc hleoþa stane ond
sonde,
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As I thrash with the wave-power on my
back
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ware ond wæge, þonne
ic winnende,
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And shake under blue, broad plains below.
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holmmægne biþeaht, hrusan
styrge,
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I cannot flee from the helm of water
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side
sægrundas. Sundhelme ne mæg
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25 |
Till my lord lifts me to a higher road.
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losian ær mec læte se
þe min latteow bið
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Say,
wise man, who it is who draws me
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25 |
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on siþa gehwam. Saga, þoncol
mon,
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From sea-clutch and cover as the deep
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þonne streamas eft stille
weorþað,
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Sometimes my lord seizes and shoves me,
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yþa
geþwære, þe mec ær wrugon.
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30 |
Muscles me under the broad breast of ground,
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Hwilum
mec min frea fæste genearwað,
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Packs
my power in a dark, narrow prison, |
30 |
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sendeð þonne under
salwonges
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Where the hard earth rides my back.
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bearm þone bradan, ond
on bid wriceð,
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I cannot flee from the weight of torture,
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þrafað on þystrum þrymma
sumne,
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Yet I shake the home-stones of men:
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hæste on enge,
þær me heord siteð
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35 |
Horn-gabled mead-halls tremble,
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hruse on hrycge. Nah
ic hwyrftweges
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Walls quake, perch over hall-thanes,
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35 |
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of þam aglace, ac ic eþelstol
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Ceilings, cities shake.
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hæleþa hrere; hornsalu
wagiað,
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The
air is quiet
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wera wicstede, weallas beofiað,
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Above the land, the sea broods, silent
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steape
ofer stiwitum. Stille þynceð
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40 |
Till I break out, ride at my ruler's call--
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lyft ofer londe ond lagu swige,
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My lord who laid bonds on me in the beginning,
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oþþæt ic of enge
up aþringe,
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Creation's chains, so I might not escape
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40 |
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efne swa mec wisaþ se mec
wræde on
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His power unbowed-my guardian, my guide.
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æt frumsceafte furþum
legde,
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Sometimes I swoop down, whipping up waves,
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bende ond clomme, þæt
ic onbugan ne mot
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45 |
Rousing white water, driving to shore
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of þæs gewealde þe
me wegas tæcneð.
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The flint-gray flood, its foam-flanks flaring
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Hwilum
ic sceal ufan yþa wregan,
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Against the cliff
wall. Dark swells loom
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45 |
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streamas styrgan ond to staþe
þywan
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In the deep-hills on hills of dark water,
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flintgrægne flod: famig
winneð
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Driven by the sea, surge to a meeting of cliffs
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| wæg wið wealle.
Wonn ariseð |
50 |
On the coast road.
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dun ofer dype; hyre deorc on last,
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There
is the keel's cry,
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eare geblonden, oþer fereð,
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The sea-guests' moan. Sheer cliffs wait
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þæt hy gemittað
mearclonde neah
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Sea-charge, wave-clash, war of water,
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50 |
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hea hlincas. Þær bið hlud
wudu,
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As the high troop crowds the headland.
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brimgiesta
breahtm, bidað stille
|
55 |
There the ship finds a fierce struggle
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stealc stanhleoþu streamgewinnes,
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As the sea steals its craft and strength,
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hopgehnastes, þonne heah
geþring
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The souls of men, while white terror
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55 |
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on cleofu crydeþ. Þær bið ceole wen
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Rides the waves' back. Cruel and
killing
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sliþre sæcce, gif
hine sæ byreð
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On the savage road--who stills us?
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on þa
grimman tid, gæsta fulne,
|
60 |
Sometimes I rush through the clouds riding
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þæt he scyle rice birofen
weorþan,
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My back, spill the black rain-jugs,
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feore bifohten, fæmig ridan
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Rippling streams, crack clouds together
|
60 |
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yþa hrycgum. Þær
bið egsa sum
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With a sharp shriek, scattering light-shards.
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ældum geywed, þar
þar ic hyran sceal
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Sky-breakers surge over shattered men,
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strong on stiðweg. Hwa gestilleð
þæt?
|
65 |
Dark thunder rolls with a battle-din,
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Hwilum
ic þurhræse, þæt me on bæce rideð
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And the black rain hums from a wet
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won wægfatu, wide toþringe
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Waves from the war-cloud's womb. breast,
|
65 |
|
lagustreama full, hwilum læte
eft
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The dark horsemen storm. There is fear
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|
slupan tosomne. Se bið
swega mæst,
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In the cities in the souls of men when dark
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breahtma ofer burgum, ond gebreca
hludast,
|
70 |
Gliding spectres raise light-sharp swords.
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þonne scearp cymeð
sceo wiþ oþrum,
|
|
Only a dull fool fears no death-stroke;
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|
ecg wið ecge. Earpan
gesceafte
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He dies nonetheless if the true lord
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70 |
|
fus ofer folcum fyre swætað,
|
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Whistles an arrow from the whirlwind
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|
blacan lige, ond gebrecu ferað
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|
Streaking rain through his heart. Few
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|
deorc
ofer dryhtum gedyne micle,
|
75 |
Find life in the rain-shriek's dart.
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|
farað feohtende, feallan lætað
|
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I urge that battle, incite the clash
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|
sweart sumsendu seaw of bosme,
|
|
Of clouds as I rage through riders' tumult
|
75 |
|
wætan of wombe. Winnende fareð
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|
Over sky-streams. Then I bow down
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|
atol eoredþreat; egsa astigeð,
|
|
At my lord's command, bear my burden
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|
micel
modþrea monna cynne,
|
80 |
Close to the land, a mighty slave.
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|
brogan on burgum, þonne
blace scotiað
|
|
Sometimes I storm beneath the land,
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|
scriþende scin scearpum
wæpnum.
|
|
Sometimes rage in the cavern of waves,
|
80 |
|
Dol
him ne ondrædeð ða deaðsperu,
|
|
Sometimes whip the waters from above,
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|
swylteð hwæþre, gif
him soð meotud
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|
Or climb quickening the clash of clouds.
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|
on geryhtu þurh regn ufan
|
85 |
Mighty and swift-say what I'm called
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|
of gestune læteð stræle
fleogan,
|
|
And who rouses and calms my fierce power.
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|
farende flan. Fea þæt
gedygað,
|
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|
þara þe geræceð rynegiestes
wæpen.
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|
þonne
gewite wolcengehnaste
|
90 |
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|
þurh geþræc þringan þrimme
micle
|
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|
ofer byrnan bosm. Biersteð
hlude
|
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|
heah hloðgecrod; þonne
hnige eft
|
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|
under lyfte helm londe near,
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|
ond me on hrycg hlade þæt
ic habban sceal,
|
95 |
|
|
|
meahtum gemagnad mines frean.
|
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|
Swa
ic þrymful þeow þragum winne,
|
|
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|
hwilum under eorþan, hwilum
yþa sceal
|
|
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|
hean underhnigan, hwilum holm
ufan
|
|
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|
|
streamas styrge,
hwilum stige up,
|
100 |
|
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|
wolcnfare wrege, wide fere
|
|
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|
swift ond swiþfeorm. Saga hwæt
ic hatte,
|
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|
oþþe hwa mec rære,
þonne ic restan ne mot,
|
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|
oþþe hwa mec stæðþe, þonne
ic stille beom.
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