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| 1 |
I
can tell the true riddle of my own self, and speak of my experiences
- how I have often suffered times of hardship in days of toil, how
I have endured cruel anxiety at heart and experienced many anxious
lodging-places afloat, and the terrible surging of the waves. There
the hazardous night-watch has often found me at the ship's prow when
it is jostling along the cliffs. My feet were pinched by the cold,
shackled by the frost in cold chains, whilst anxieties sighed hot
about my heart. Hunger tore from within at the mind of one wearied
by the ocean. This that man does not understand, who is most agreeably
suited on land - how I, wretchedly anxious, have for years lived on
the ice-cold sea in the ways of the sojourner, bereft of kinsfolk,
hung about by ice-spikes; hail pelted in showers. There I heard nothing
but the raging of the sea, the ice-cold wave. Sometimes I would take
the song of the swan as my entertainment, the cry of the gannet and
the call of the curlew in place of human laughter, the sea-mew's singing
in place of the mead-drinking. There storms would pound the rocky
cliffs whilst the tern, icy-winged, answered them; very often the
sea-eagle would screech, wings dappled with spray. No protective kinsman
could comfort the inadequate soul. |
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| 27 |
He,
therefore, who has experienced life's pleasure in cities, and few
perilous journeys, insolent and flown with wine, little credits how
I, weary, have often had to remain on the ocean path. The shadow of
night would spread gloom; it would snow from the north, rime-frost
would bind the ground; hail, coldest of grains, would fall upon the
earth. |
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| 33 |
Now,
therefore, the thoughts of my heart are in conflict as to whether
I for my part should explore the deep currents and the surging of
the salty waves - my mind's desire time and time again urges the soul
to set out, so that I may find my way to the land of strangers far
away from here - for there is no one on earth so confident of temperament,
nor so generous of his gifts, nor so bold in his youth, nor so courageous
in his deeds, nor his lord so gracious to him, that he never worries
about his seafaring, as to what the Lord will send him; he will have
no thought for the harp, nor for the ring-receiving ceremonial, nor
for the pleasure of a woman nor for trust in that which is of the
world, nor for anything else, but only for the surging of the waves
- and yet he who aspires to the ocean always has the yearning. |
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| 48 |
The
woodlands take on blossoms, the cities grow more lovely, the meadows
become beautiful, the world hastens onwards: all these urge anyone
eager of mind and of spirit, who thus longs to travel far upon the
ocean paths, to the journey. The cuckoo too serves warning by its
mournful cry; summer's herald sings and foretells cruel distress at
heart. That man, the fellow blessed with affluence, does not understand
this - what those individuals endure who follow the ways of alienation
to their furthest extent. |
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