The Wanderer

[krysochka613]

Англо-Саксонская поэма десятого века. Мороз по коже побирает.
Indeed he knows who must for a long time do without
the counsels of his beloved lord
when sorrow and sleep together

often bind the wretched solitary man–
he thinks in his heart that he
embraces and kisses his lord, and lays
hands and head on his knee, just as he once at times
in former days, enjoyed the gift-giving.

Then the friendless man awakes again,
sees before him the dusky waves,
the seabirds bathing, spreading their wings,
frost and snow fall, mingled with hail.
Then are his heart’s wounds the heavier because of that,

sore with longing for a loved one. Sorrow is renewed
when the memory of kinsmen passes through his mind;
he greets with signs of joy, eagerly surveys
his companions, warriors. They swim away again.
The spirit of the floating ones never brings there many

familiar utterances. Care is renewed
for the one who must very often send
his weary spirit over the binding of the waves.

Мне не слишком нравится этот перевод, но лучше в сети не нашелся, а какой нравится, лень набирать. Оригинал не вывешиваю, чтоб людей не пугать.