Dr David Breeden: 1999 http://www.davidbreeden.com go to: line 62
The
Seafarer I shall
recite a true song of myself, speak of
my plights, and how often I have
suffered days of affliction, times of
hardship, endured bitterness on a
ship in many sorrowful places, terrible
waves rolling. I have often held an
anxious nightwatch at the ship's prow as
we beat along the cliffs, feet pinched
with cold, bound in chains of
frost, cares moaning hot around my heart. A deep
hunger tore my sea-weary mind. He who
lives happily on solid ground cannot
know the wretched sorrow of the
ice-cold sea in winter, living
in the paths of exile, deprived
of friend and kinsmen, hung
round with icicles; showers
of hail flying. I heard
nothing but the sea's roar, the
ice-cold waves. Sometimes I
listened to the
wild swan's song for entertainment; the
gannet's cry and the curlew music in place
of the laughter of men. The
solace of the seagull instead of mead. There
storms beat the stony cliff; there
the tern answered, the icy-feathered one; often
the eagle screamed, the dewy feathered one; no
kinsmen was there to comfort my soul. He who
lives his life in town, proud
and wine-wanton, never having
gone harm's journey, won't
believe this, how often, weary, I
endured the sea-ways. The
night-shadow darkened; snow
came from the North; hoarfrost
bound the earth; hail
fell on the ground, the
coldest of kernels. My
heart-thoughts urge me to try
the deep sea, the play
of the salt waves: my mind
moans out that I journey
my soul far from here, to seek
a homeland among strangers. There is
no man so proud on this earth, so happy
in his gifts, so vigorous in
youth, so brave in daring, nor so
graced by his lord, who will not find
sorrow before a sea-journey, not
knowing what God will bring to him. His mind
is not on the harp, nor on
the receiving of gifts, nor in
the joy of a woman, nor in
the joy of this world, nor on
anything but the waves's tossing; he who
sets out upon the water is
always in longing. The
woods bloom, adorn the towns and
fields; the world rushes on; all
these admonish the eager mind, admonish
the heart of him who thinks to go
far on the sea ways. And also
the cuckoo sings, that
keeper of the summer, with his
troubled voice, foreboding bitter
sorrow in the breast. That man
doesn't know, the one
blessed with comfort, what
those suffer who lay wide the
tracks of exile. My
spirit flies out beyond this body, over the
sea's waves, beyond the
kingdom of the whales; goes
wide
over this wide earth, comes to me
again, ravenous and greedy, crying
out: the lone-flier screams, whetting
the heart irresistibly upon the
whale-way, over the
expanse of the seas. So the
Lord's joys glow brighter than
this dead life fleeting in the land: I
believe no earthly riches stand; always
one of three things wrests life from the
fated man: disease, old age, or
sword-hate. Any warrior eager
for praise
from the living, eager to be spoken of after
death, must do good deeds, violence against
fiends and the Devil. Then the
children of men will praise him; his
praise will live forever with angels, the
glory of eternal life. The days
are gone when the greatest deeds were
done by kings, emperors, gold-givers, the
bravest among their warriors.
Fallen are all
those hosts, their joys passed away. The
inferior remain, holding the world in toil
and trouble. Glory is humbled; earth's
nobility aged and faded. Now men
age, faces
paling, grey haired men grieving as old
friends depart, the children of nobles. He gives
them to the earth. The spirit
leaves its
flesh-home: neither will he feel
pain, taste
sweetness, move hands, nor consider in his mind. A
brother will heap gold on the grave of his
brother, bury him among the dead with
treasure, but gold is no use before
God's power for a soul full of sin no
matter what treasure he held on the earth. Great
and awful is the Creator's power, the
earth itself shakes before Him, the very
foundation and the sky above. Foolish
is the man who does not fear God: a hidden
death will visit him. Blessed
is he who lives humbly: the
grace of heaven comes to him. The
Creator gives to him a steadfast mind because
he believes, trusts in his might. Man must
steer his headstrong spirit, hold it in bounds, be
steadfast in his pledges, Each man
must with moderation hold
what is dear and what is hateful though
he burns with fire or a friend burns. Fate is
fixed, the Creator mightier than any man's thoughts. Let us consider where
our house is, and how to go there, and then
strive to go there for that
eternal time. There is long
life in love
of the Lord, hope in heaven;
thus thanks
be to the Holy One, that He has honored us, that
Lord of Glory, Lord Eternal for all time. Amen.