Weland the blade-winder suffered woe.
That steadfast man knew misery.
Sorrow and longing walked beside him,
wintered in him, kept wearing him down
after Nithad hampered and restrained him,
lithe sinew-bonds on the better man.
That passed over, this can too.
For Beadohilde her brother’s death
weighed less heavily than her own heartsoreness
once it was clearly understood
she was bearing a child. Her ability
to think and decide deserted her then.
That passed over, this can too.
We have heard tell of Mathilde’s laments,
the grief that afflicted Geat’s wife.
Her love was her bane, it banished sleep.
That passed over, this can too.
For thirty winters– it was common knowledge–
Theodric held the Maerings’ fort.
That passed over, this can too.
Earmonric had the mind of a wolf,
by all accounts a cruel king,
lord of the far flung Gothic outlands.
Everywhere men sat shackled in sorrow,
expecting the worst, wishing often
he and his kingdom would be conquered.
That passed over, this can too.
A man sits mournful, his mind in darkness,
so daunted in spirit he deems himself
ever after fated to endure.
He may think then how throughout this world
the Lord in his wisdom often works change–
meting out honor, ongoing fame
to many, to others only their distress.
Of myself, this much I have to say:
for a time I was poet of the Heoden people,
dear to my lord. Deor was my name.
For years I enjoyed my duties as minstrel
and that lord’s favor, but now the freehold
and land titles he bestowed upon me once
he has vested in Heorrenda, master of verse-craft.
That passed over, this can too.
Welund him be wurman wræces cunnade,
anhydig eorl earfoþa dreag,
hæfde him to gesiþþe sorge and longaþ,
wintercealde wræce, wean oft onfond
siþþan hine Niðhad on nede legde,
swoncre seonobende on syllan monn.
Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg.
Beadohilde ne wæs hyre broþra deaþ
on sefan swa sar swa hyre sylfre þing,
þæt heo gearolice ongietan hæfde
þæt heo eacen wæs; æfre ne meahte
þriste geþencan hu ymb þæt sceolde.
Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg.
We þæt Mæðhilde mone gefrugnon
wurdon grundlease Geates frige,
þæt hi seo sorglufu slæp ealle binom.
Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg.
Ðeodric ahte þritig wintra
Mæringa burg; þæt wæs monegum cuþ.
Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg.
We geascodan Eormanrices
wylfenne geþoht; ahte wide folc
Gotena rices; þæt wæs grim cyning.
Sæt secg monig sorgum gebunden,
wean on wenan, wyscte geneahhe
þæt þæs cynerices ofercumen wære.
Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg.
Siteð sorgcearig, sælum bidæled,
on sefan sweorceð, sylfum þinceð
þæt sy endeleas earfoða dæl,
mæg þonne geþencan þæt geond þas woruld
witig Dryhten wendeþ geneahhe,
eorle monegum are gesceawað,
wislicne blæd, sumum weana dæl.
Þæt ic bi me sylfum secgan wille,
þæt ic hwile wæs Heodeninga scop,
dryhtne dyre; me wæs Deor noma.
Ahte ic fela wintra folgað tilne,
holdne hlaford, oþ þæt Heorrenda nu,
leoðcræftig monn, londryht geþah
þæt me eorla hleo ær gesealde.
Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg.