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[gothic-l] Poems

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  • Abrigon Lists
    Date: Mon, 17 May 1999 09:15:38 GMT From: Anthony Appleyard Subject: Esol ... ESOL Esol on paethe gaeth othnisleasum
    Message 1 of 1 , May 25, 1999
      Date: Mon, 17 May 1999 09:15:38 GMT
      From: Anthony Appleyard <MCLSSAA2@...>
      Subject: Esol


      Esol on paethe gaeth othnisleasum
      stanigum ond steapum. Ne stream is thaer.
      Sunne suthan swa susle baerneth,
      ond wid ond micel ond wahefig
      is byrden an baece. Beorgas greate
      risath ymb rade. Thaer rest is na.
      He on hlithe hea hlaest uppe birth.
      He ne wite for hwy on wege he cwom,
      ne for hwaem gemynde menn hlaestodon hine.
      Foddor on folde he ne findth on wege,
      ac in sande he sincth; ond sweordthornas.
      Under fet stan fliehth: thaet oft wierthth.
      Ne swa hors maegen heara haefth he
      to witherianne wera beodunge
      thonne hira theaht is heard. Thurhgonge top
      heah ond feorr is. Hraefnas windath,
      cealliath crawe. Cyle ne thaer is.
      Gif he slaw weorthe, man mid swipe hine drifth.
      Ofer cludum oft he climban sceal
      ond his byrden mid him the man bycgan will
      thonne aefter wucum manigum werigum langum
      he to ceastre cymth for ceaperum bot,
      ac ne for esole aht. AEt ende daeges
      he findth hleowthe, foddor ond sluman
      feawe ond hearde; ond faran he sceal
      in morgne ongean manna be haesum.

      A donkey goes on a comfortless path, stony and steep.
      The sun in the south burns like torment. Wide and big and
      woefully heavy is the burden on his back.
      Great mountains rise around the road.
      No rest is there. He does not know why he came on that road,
      nor for what purpose men loaded him. He finds no fodder by
      the road, but he sinks in sand; and swordlike thorns.
      A stone flees from under his foot: that often happens.
      He does not have high strength like a horse to resist
      the commands of men when their counsel is hard.
      The top of the pass is high and far. Ravens circle,
      crows call. No cool is there. If he becomes slow, a
      man drives him with a whip. Often he must climb over rocks,
      and with him his burden which someone will buy when after
      many long weary weeks he comes to a town,
      a benefit for traders but no whit for the donkey.
      At the end of the day he finds shelter, fodder and sleep,
      few and hard; and he must travel again in the
      morning by the commands of men.



      Date: Mon, 17 May 1999 20:19:37 -0400
      From: Mary K Savelli <msavelli@...>
      Subject: memorial poem

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      List owners: Bill Schipper <schipper@...>
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      I would appreciate comments on any errors in meter or grammar. (The
      translation following is not literal.)

      Hal sie,
      Mary S.

      Sorgath freo faeger and fela teara
      hire hordcofa heapath oferfull;
      eac Wodnes werod wepath tosomne
      swa murnath eall Osgeardes thone aefwyrdlan.
      Helle healfbrothor, heardlice Garm,
      trewothe totah and Tiw forswealg.
      Sarlice seofath swaer northanwind
      thaer aene heah hleahtor hlynede blithe.
      Na ma magon maegtha thone magorinc seon,
      strangra scyldra, scienendre ansiene;
      na ma daelath drengas dryncehorn mid him
      ne forgieldath beotword on beorscipe gesprecen.
      THone waepenwigan, wer bealdostne,
      slitere besyrwede on sithe ham.
      Nu aenlic we on swefnum seo heathurinc,
      beorna beaggiefan, beaduwisan.
      Ac lytel frofor fint aet faecnum swefnum
      aethele ides thaes ealdorlic freond
      waes mid waelwulfe gewegen of hire,
      thonne weccendum wuduwe werigcearu aethwierfth
      and wepath eall cyththu for cwen sorge.

      Grieves fair lady and with gathered tears
      her treasure-hoard heaps over-full;
      too, Woden's hosts weep together
      just as all Asgard mourns at their loss.
      Hel's half-brother, hard-hearted Garm,
      broke the truce and Tiw devoured.
      Sorrowful north wind sighs sadly
      where once deep laughter echoed loudly.
      No more may maidens look on mighty warrior,
      strong shoulders, shining countenance;
      no more may fighters share mead-horn with him
      nor repay proud boasts made in beer-hall.
      That champion, bravest knight,
      destroyer deceived on journey homeward.
      Now only in sleep will we see that warrior,
      gift-giver of champions, battle-guide.
      But noble lady finds little comfort
      in those dreams, whose dear lover
      was carried from her by carnivorous wolf,
      when grief returns for waking widow
      and weep all countrymen for queen of sorrows.


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