Sorrowfully I sing my song of woe, My tale of trials. In truth I may say That the buffets I have borne since my birth in the world Were never more than now, either new or old. 5 Ever the evils of exile I endure! Long since went my lord from the land of his birth, Over the welling waves. Woeful at dawn I asked Where lingers my lord, in what land does he dwell? Then I fared into far lands and faithfully sought him, 10 A weary wanderer in want of comfort. His treacherous tribesmen contrived a plot, Dark and dastardly, to drive us apart The width of a world, where with weary hearts We live in loneliness, and longing consumes me. 15 My master commanded me to make my home here. Alas, in this land my loved ones are few, My faithful friends! Hence I feel great sorrow That the man well-matched with me I have found To be sad in soul and sorrowful in mind, 20 Concealing his thoughts and thinking of murder, Though blithe in his bearing. Oft we bound us by oath That the day of our death should draw us apart, Nothing less end our love. Alas, all is changed! Now is as naught, as if never it were, 25 Our faith and our friendship. Far and near I shall Endure the hate of one dear to my heart! He condemned me to dwell in a darksome wood, Under an oak-tree in an earth-cave drear. Old is the earth-hall. I am anxious with longing. 30 Dim are the dales, dark the hills tower, Bleak the tribe-dwellings, with briars entangled, Unblessed abodes. Here bitterly I have suffered The faring of my lord afar. Friends there are on earth Living in love, in lasting bliss, 35 While, wakeful at dawn, I wander alone Under the oak-tree the earth-cave near. Sadly I sit there the summer-long day, Wearily weeping my woeful exile, My many miseries. Hence I may not ever 40 Cease my sorrowing, my sad bewailing, Nor all the longings of my life of woe. Always may the young man be mournful of spirit, Unhappy of heart, and have as his portion Many sorrows of soul, unceasing breast-cares, 45 Though now blithe of behavior. Unbearable likewise Be his joys in the world. Wide be his exile To far-away folk-lands where my friend sits alone, A stranger under stone-cliffs, by storm made hoary, A weary-souled wanderer, by waters encompassed, 50 In his lonely lodging. My lover endures Unmeasured mind-care: he remembers too oft A happier home. To him is fate cruel Who lingers and longs for the loved one's return! THE HUSBAND'S MESSAGE