1The Wanderer Always the one alone longs for mercy,the Maker’s mildness, though, troubled in mind,across the ocean-ways he has long been forcedto stir with his hands the frost-cold sea,and walk in exile’s paths. Wyrd is fully fixed!15 Thus spoke the Wanderer, mindful of troubles,of cruel slaughters and the fall of dear kinsmen:2“Often alone, every first light of dawn,I have had to speak my sorrows. There is no one livingto whom I would dare to reveal clearly 10my deepest thoughts. I know it is truethat it is in the lordly nature of a noblemanto closely bind his spirit’s coffer,hold his treasure-hoard, whatever he may think.The weary mind cannot withstand wyrd, 15the troubled heart can offer no help,and so those eager for fame often bind fastin their breast-coffers a sorrowing soul,just as I have had to take my own heart —often wretched, cut off from my homeland, 20far from dear kinsmen — and bind it in fetters,ever since long ago I hid my gold-giving friendin the darkness of earth, and went wretched,winter-sad, over the binding waves,sought, hall-sick, a treasure-giver, 25wherever I might find, far or near,someone in a meadhall who knew of my people,or who’d want to comfort me, friendless, 1 Wyrd is the Old English word for Fate, a powerful but not quite personified force. Itis related to the verb weorthan, meaning roughly ‘to occur’; it may be useful to thinkof wyrd as ‘what happens’, usually in a negative sense. In a poem so preoccupiedwith puzzling over the nature and meaning of fate, it seemed appropriate to leave theword untranslated.2 The Exeter Book manuscript in which the poem survives does not have quotationmarks, or clear indications of where one speech begins and ends in this poem; we arenot sure whether lines 1-5 are spoken by the same character that speaks the followinglines, or whether they are the narrator’s opinion on the general situation of theWanderer.2accustom me to joy. He who has come to knowhow cruel a companion is sorrow 30to one who has few dear protectors, will understand this:the path of exile claims him, not patterned gold,a frost-bound spirit, not the solace of earth.He remembers hall-holders and treasure-taking,how in his youth his gold-giving lord 35accustomed him to the feast—that joy all fades. And so he who has long been forced to foregohis dear lord’s beloved words of counsel will understand:when sorrow and sleep both togetheroften bind up the wretched exile, 40it seems in his mind that he clasps and kisseshis lord of men, and on his knee layshands and head, as he sometimes long agoin earlier days enjoyed the gift-throne.1But when the friendless man awakens again 45and sees before him the fallow waves,seabirds bathing, spreading their feathers,frost falling and snow, mingled with hail,then the heart’s wounds are that much heavier,pain after pleasure. Sorrow is renewed 50when the mind flies out to the memory of kinsmen;2he greets them with great joy, greedily surveyshall-companions — they always swim away;the floating spirits bring too fewwell-known voices. Cares are renewed 55for one who must send, over and over,a weary heart across the binding of the waves.3 And so I cannot imagine for all this worldwhy my spirit should not grow darkwhen I think through all this life of men, 60how they suddenly gave up the hall-floor,mighty warrior tribes. Thus this middle-earthdroops and decays one day at a time; 1 The description seems to be some sort of ceremony of loyalty, charged with intenseregret and longing.2 Or “when the memory of kinsmen flies through the mind.”3 The grammar and reference of this intense, almost hallucinatory scene is not entirelyclear; the translation reflects one commonly-proposed reading.3and so a man cannot become wise, before he has weatheredhis share of winters in this world. A wise man must be patient, 65neither too hot-hearted nor too hasty with words,nor too weak in war nor too unwise in thoughts,neither fearful nor fawning, nor too greedy for wealth,never eager for boasting before he truly understands;a man must wait, when he makes a boast, 70until the brave spirit understands trulywhither the thoughts of his heart will turn. The wise man must realize how ghostly it will bewhen all the wealth of this world stands waste,as now here and there throughout this middle-earth 75walls stand blasted by wind,beaten by frost, the buildings crumbling.The wine halls topple, their rulers liedeprived of all joys; the proud old troopsall fell by the wall. War carried off some, 80sent them on the way, one a bird carried offover the high seas, one the gray wolfshared with death—and one a sad-faced manhid in an earthen grave. The ancientruler of men thus wrecked this enclosure, 85until the old works of giants stood empty,without the sounds of their former citizens.1 He who deeply considers, with wise thoughts,this foundation and this dark life,old in spirit, often remembers 90so many ancient slaughters, and says these words:‘Where have the horses gone? where are the riders? where is the giver of gold?Where are the seats of the feast? where are the joys of the hall?O the bright cup! O the brave warrior!O the glory of princes! How the time passed away, 95slipped into nightfall as if it had never been!’There still stands in the path of the dear warriorsa wall wondrously high, with serpentine stains.A torrent of spears took away the warriors,bloodthirsty weapons, wyrd the mighty, 100 1 Ruined buildings are called ‘the work of giants’ (enta geweorc) in several places inOE literature.4and the storms batter the stone walls,frost falling binds up the earth,the chaos of winter, when blackness comes,night’s shadow looms, sends down from the northharsh hailstones in hatred of men. 105All is toilsome in the earthly kingdom,the working of wyrd changes the world under heaven.Here wealth is fleeting, here friends are fleeting,here man is fleeting, here woman is fleeting,all the security of this earth will stand empty.” 110 So said the wise one in his mind, sitting apart in meditation.He is good who keeps his word,1 and the man who never too quicklyshows the anger in his breast, unless he already knows the remedy,how a nobleman can bravely bring it about. It will be well for one who seeks mercy,consolation from the Father in heaven, where for us all stability stands. 115source: the Exeter Booktranslation: R. M. Liuzza 1 Or ‘keeps faith’. These last lines offer an answer to the