|
Hrægl
is min hasofag, hyrste beorhte,
|
|
My dress is silver, shimmering gray,
|
|
|
reade ond scire on reafe hafu.
|
|
Spun with a blaze of garnets. I
craze
|
|
|
Ic
dysge dwelle ond dole hwette
|
|
Most men: rash fools I run on a road
|
|
|
unrædsiþas, oþrum
styre
|
|
Of rage, and cage quiet determined men.
|
|
|
nyttre fore. Ic þæs
nowiht wat
|
5 |
Why they love me-lured from mind,
|
5 |
|
þæt heo swa gemædde, mode
bestolene,
|
|
Stripped of strength -- remains a riddle.
|
|
|
dæde gedwolene, deoraþ
mine
|
|
If they still praise my sinuous power
|
|
|
won wisan gehwam. Wa
him þæs þeawes,
|
|
When they raise high the dearest treasure,
|
|
|
siþþan heah bringað
horda deorast,
|
|
They will find through reckless habit
|
|
|
gif hi unrædes ær
ne geswicaþ.
|
10 |
Dark woe in the dregs of pleasure.
|
10 |
iddle
9
