Deor
Worm-worked, Weland knew wounds,
One-minded warrior, he withstood agonies,
owned as his allies only sorrow and longing,
a winterchilled wreckage. Woes again he found
after Nithhad nailed him with a need-obligation,
strong sinew-bonds on a superior man.
That went, over; this also may…
For Beadohilde, brother-death was less
spirit-sorrowful than her self-state:
She readily saw—she had realized—
that she was newly added to. Never able
confidently to consider the coming child.
That overpassed; this may, too.
Many of us have learned that, for Maethhild,
the Geat's craving went groundless,
that love sorrow took sleep utterly from him.
That overwent, as well may this.
Theodric wielded for thirty winters
the Maering's manor, and to many this is known.
That ended. May this, too, go.
We have all asked about Eormanric's
wolfish thoughts. Widely he held people:
The Gothic kingdom. He was a grim king.
Many a soldier sat, sorrow-bound,
Weening woes, wishing constantly
That this king-rule would crumble, be overcome.
Thaes overeode; saw maeg thisses.
He sits, sulk-cheered, severed from luck,
his soul sinks darkly: It seems to him
That his share of sorrows will stay, always.
Then he may think that throughout the world
the witty Lord wends things weirdly:
Honors are heaped upon honored earls,
wise glory, while to some, a grip of woes.
That I will say of myself:
That while I sang, as scop of the Heodenings,
dear to my lord, my name was Deor.
I lived long with a good livelihood,
loved of my lord, until, lately, Heorenda,
that lay-learned man, earned land-rights,
that earlier my earl had ensured to me.
Thaes overeode; thisses swa maeg.
[ page 4 of 6 ]