|
Heald þu nu, hruse, nu hæleð ne mostan,
eorla æhte. Hwæt, hyt ær on ðe
gode begeaton; guðdeað fornam,
feorhbealo frecne, fyra gehwylcne
leoda minra, þara ðe þis lif ofgeaf;
gesawon seledream.
Play Me!
|
Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not,
what earls have owned! Lo, first from thee
brave warriors won it; death in war, dread,
deadly disaster, plundered my beloved people;
many a man abandoned this life
who witnessed a leigeman’s joys.
|
|
Nah hwa sweord wege
oððe feormie fæted wæge,
drync fæt deore; duguð ellor sceoc.
Sceal se hearda helm hyrsted golde,
fætum befeallen; feormynd swefað
þa ðe beadogriman bywan sceoldon,
ge swylce seo herepad, sio æt hilde gebad
ofer borda gebræc bite irena,
brosnað æfter beorne;
Play Me!
|
None have I left to lift the sword,
or to cleanse the carven cup of price,
beaker bright. My brave are gone.
And the helmet hard, all haughty with gold,
shall part from its plating. Polishers sleep
who could brighten and burnish the battle-mask;
and those weeds of war that were wont to brave
over bicker of shields the bite of steel
rust with their bearer.
|
|
Ne mæg byrnan hring
æfter wigfruman wide feran
hæleðum be healfe; næs hearpan wyn,
gomen gleobeames, ne god hafoc
geond sæl swinigeð, ne se swifta mearh
burhstede beateð. Bealocwealm hafað
fela feorhcynna forð onsended.
Play Me!
|
The ringed mail
fares not far with famous chieftain,
at side of hero! No harp’s delight,
no glee-wood’s gladness! No good hawk now
flies through the hall! Nor horses fleet
stamp in the burgstead! Battle and death
the flower of my race have reft away.
|
