Post AF9nbRioaXfiX9U6rI by ride@poa.st
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 (DIR) Post #AF9nbRioaXfiX9U6rI by ride@poa.st
       2021-10-17T04:06:21.749137Z
       
       1 likes, 0 repeats
       
       Often the solitary onefinds grace for himselfthe mercy of the Lord,Although he, sorry-hearted,must for a long timemove by hand [in context = row]along the waterways,(along) the ice-cold sea,tread the paths of exile.Events always go as they must!So spoke the wanderer,mindful of hardships,of fierce slaughtersand the downfall of kinsmen:Often (or always) I had aloneto speak of my troubleeach morning before dawn.There is none now livingto whom I dareclearly speakof my innermost thoughts.I know it truly,that it is in mena noble custom,that one should keep securehis spirit-chest (mind),guard his treasure-chamber (thoughts),think as he wishes.The weary spirit cannotwithstand fate (the turn of events),nor does a rough or sorrowful minddo any good (perform anything helpful).Thus those eager for gloryoften keep securedreary thoughtsin their breast;So I,often wretched and sorrowful,bereft of my homeland,far from noble kinsmen,have had to bind in fettersmy inmost thoughts,Since long years agoI hid my lordin the darkness of the earth,and I, wretched, from theretravelled most sorrowfullyover the frozen waves,sought, sad at the lack of a hall,a giver of treasure,where I, far or near,might findone in the meadhall whoknew my people,or wished to consolethe friendless one, me,entertain (me) with delights.He who has tried it knowshow cruel issorrow as a companionto the one who has fewbeloved friends:the path of exile (wræclast) holds him,not at all twisted gold,a frozen spirit,not the bounty of the earth.He remembers hall-warriorsand the giving of treasureHow in youth his lord (gold-friend)accustomed himto the feasting.All the joy has died!And so he knows it, he who mustforgo for a long timethe counselsof his beloved lord:Then sorrow and sleepboth togetheroften tie upthe wretched solitary one.He thinks in his mindthat he embraces and kisseshis lord,and on his (the lord's) knees layshis hands and his head,Just as, at times (hwilum), before,in days gone by,he enjoyed the gift-seat (throne).Then the friendless manwakes up again,He sees before himfallow wavesSea birds bathe,preening their feathers,Frost and snow fall,mixed with hail.Then are the heavierthe wounds of the heart,grievous (sare) with longing for (æfter) the lord.Sorrow is renewedwhen the mind (mod) surveysthe memory of kinsmen;He greets them joyfully,eagerly scansthe companions of men;they always swim away.The spirits of seafarersnever bring back there muchin the way of known speech.Care is renewedfor the one who must sendvery oftenover the binding of the wavesa weary heart.Indeed I cannot thinkwhy my spiritdoes not darkenwhen I ponder on the wholelife of menthroughout the world,How they suddenlyleft the floor (hall),the proud thanes.So this middle-earth,a bit each day,droops and decays -Therefore man (wer)cannot call himself wise, before he hasa share of years in the world.A wise man must be patient,He must never be too impulsivenor too hasty of speech,nor too weak a warriornor too reckless,nor too fearful, nor too cheerful,nor too greedy for goods,nor ever too eager for boasts,before he sees clearly.A man must waitwhen he speaks oaths,until the proud-hearted onesees clearlywhither the intent of his heartwill turn.A wise hero must realizehow terrible it will be,when all the wealth of this worldlies waste,as now in various placesthroughout this middle-earthwalls stand,blown by the wind,covered with frost,storm-swept the buildings.The halls decay,their lords liedeprived of joy,the whole troop has fallen,the proud ones, by the wall.War took off some,carried them on their way,one, the bird took offacross the deep sea,one, the gray wolfshared one with death,one, the dreary-facedman buriedin a grave.And so He destroyed this city,He, the Creator of Men,until deprived of the noiseof the citizens,the ancient work of giantsstood empty.He who thought wiselyon this foundation,and pondered deeplyon this dark life,wise in spirit,remembered often from afarmany conflicts,and spoke these words:
       
 (DIR) Post #AF9nbT81MJQctcHkmm by ride@poa.st
       2021-10-17T04:06:37.347887Z
       
       0 likes, 0 repeats
       
       Where is the horse gone? Where the rider?Where the giver of treasure?Where are the seats at the feast?Where are the revels in the hall?Alas for the bright cup!Alas for the mailed warrior!Alas for the splendour of the prince!How that time has passed away,dark under the cover of night,as if it had never been!Now there stands in the traceof the beloved troopa wall, wondrously high,wound round with serpents.The warriors taken offby the glory of spears,the weapons greedy for slaughter,the famous fate (turn of events),and storms beatthese rocky cliffs,falling frostfetters the earth,the harbinger of winter;Then dark comes,nightshadows deepen,from the north there comesa rough hailstormin malice against men.All is troublesomein this earthly kingdom,the turn of events changesthe world under the heavens.Here money is fleeting,here friend is fleeting,here man is fleeting,here kinsman is fleeting,all the foundation of this worldturns to waste!So spake the wise man in his mind,where he sat apart in counsel.Good is he who keeps his faith,And a warrior must never speakhis grief of his breast too quickly,unless he already knows the remedy -a hero must act with courage.It is better for the one that seeks mercy,consolation from the father in the heavens,where, for us, all permanence rests.