| A FATHER'S LAMENT FOR HIS SON | from "BEOWULF" ll.2444-62a |
| Anon. | trans. Louis J. Rodrigues (from Anglo-Saxon) |
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............ ............ Swa bið geomorlic .... gomelum ceorle to gebidanne, .... þæt his byre ride giong on galgan; .... þonne he gyd wrece, sarigne sang, .... þonne his sunu hangað hrefne to hroðre,.... ond he him helpe ne mæg eald ond infrod .... ænige gefremman. Symble bið gemyndgad .... morna gehwylce eaforan ellorsið .... oðres ne gymeð to gebidanne .... burgum in innan yrfeweardas, .... þonne se an hafað þurh deaðes nyd .... dæda gefondad. Gesyhð sorhcearig .... on his suna bure winsele westne, .... windge reste reote berofene,.... --- ridend swefað, hæleð in hoðman; .... nis þær hearpan sweg, gomen in geardum,.... swylce ðær iu wæron. Gewiteð þonne on sealman, .... sorhleoð gæleð an æfter anum;.... þuhte him eall to rum, wongas ond wicstede. ............ ............ |
............ ............ So it is sad for an aged man to suffer, that his son should swing young on the gallows; then he utters a dirge, a doleful song, when his son hangs for a raven's sport and he, old, stricken in years, can frame no help for him. He is ever reminded, with every morn, of his son's death; he cares not to wait for another heir in his hall after the first, through force of death, has met this end for his evil deeds. Sadly, he gazes on his son's bower, wasted wine-hall, cheerless, windswept resting-place: the riders sleep, heroes in the grave; no sound of harp, no mirth in the courts, as once of yore. So he goes to his couch, sings a doleful song one alone for another; all too spacious seem his lands and his dwelling-place. ............ ............ |
Copyright © Louis J. Rodrigues - publ. Llanerch Publishers