“The Wanderer”
In the Exeter Book, a manuscript copied about 975 AD and donated to the Bishop of Exeter, are
preserved some of the greatest short poems in Old English, including a number of poems referred to as
elegies – laments that contrast past happiness with present sorrow and remark on how fleeting is the
former. Along with “The Wanderer,” the elegies include its companion piece “The Seafarer”; “The
Ruin”; “The Husband’s Message”; “The Wife’s Lament”; and “Wulf and Eadwacer.” While the last two
are exceptional in dealing with female experience, elegies for the most part focus on male bonds and
companionship, particularly the joys of the mead hall. Old English poetry as a whole is almost entirely
devoid of interest in romantic love between men and women and focuses instead on the bond between
lord and retainer; elegiac poems such as “The Wanderer” have in fact been called “the love poetry of a
heroic society.”
“The Wanderer” opens with an appeal to a Christian concept, as the third-person narrator speaks
of the wanderer’s request for God’s mercy. The body of the poem, however – primarily a first-person
account in the wanderer’s voice – reflects more pagan values in its regret for the loss of earthly joys.
Though the poem’s structure is somewhat confusing, one can discern two major parts. In the first, the
wanderer laments his personal situation: he was once a member of a warrior band, but his lord – his
beloved “gold-friend” – has died, leaving him a homeless exile. He dreams that he “clasps and kisses” his
lord, but he then wakes to see only the dark waves, the snow, and the sea birds.
The second part of the poem turns from personal narrative to a more general statement of the
transitoriness of all earthly things. The speaker (possibly someone other than the wanderer at this point),
looking at the ruin of ancient buildings, is moved to express the ancient Roman motif known as “ubi sunt”
(Latin for “where are”): “Where are the horses gone? Where the man? Where the giver of gold? / Where
is the feasting place? And where the pleasures of the hall?” In the concluding five lines, the reader is
urged to seek comfort in heaven.
There has been much debate about the degrees of Christianity and paganism in this tenth-century
poem. The positions range from the view that the Christian opening and closing are totally extraneous to
the poem and have been tacked on by a monkish copyist, to the view that the poem is a Christian allegory
about a soul exiled from his heavenly home, longing for his lord Jesus Christ. It is now generally held
that the poem is authentically Christian, in a literal rather than an allegorical way, but that the values of
pagan society still exert a powerful pull in it.
[Note: this poem has been translated from Old English (Anglo-Saxon) by Kevin Crossley-Holland]
“The Wanderer”
Often the wanderer pleads for pity
and mercy from the Lord; but for a long time,
sad in mind, he must dip his oars
into 5 icy waters, the lanes of the sea;
he must follow the paths of exile: fate is inflexible.
Mindful of hardships, grievous slaughter,
the ruin of kinsmen, the wanderer said:
“Time and again at the day’s dawning
10 I must mourn all my afflictions alone.
There is no one still living to whom I dare open
the doors of my heart, I have no doubt
that it is a noble habit for a man
to bind fast all his heart’s feelings,
15 guard his thoughts, whatever he is thinking.
The weary in spirit cannot withstand fate,
a troubled mind finds no relief:
wherefore those eager for glory often
hold some ache imprisoned in their hearts.
20 Thus I had to bind my feelings in fetters,
often sad at heart, cut off from my country,
far from my kinsmen, after, long ago,
dark clods of earth covered my gold-friend;
I left that place in wretchedness,
25 plowed the icy waves with winter in my heart;
in sadness I sought far and wide
for a treasure-giver, for a man
who would welcome me into his mead-hall,
give me good cheer (for I boasted no friends),
entertain m 30 e with delights. He who has experienced it
knows how cruel a comrade sorrow can be
to any man who has few loyal friends:
for him are the ways of exile, in no wise twisted gold;
for him is a frozen body, in no wise the fruits of the earth.
35 He remembers hall-retainers and treasure
and how, in his youth, his gold-friend
entertained him. Those joys have all vanished.
A man who lacks advice for a long while
from his loved lord understands this,
40 that when sorrow and sleep together
hold the wretched wanderer in their grip,
it seems that he clasps and kisses
his lord, and lays hands and head
upon his lord’s knee as he had sometimes done
45 when he enjoyed the gift-throne in earlier days.
Then the friendless man wakes again
and sees the dark waves surging around him,
the sea-birds bathing, spreading their feathers,
frost and snow falling mingled with hail.
50 “Then his wounds lie more heavy in his heart,
aching for his lord. His sorrow is renewed;
the memory of kinsmen sweeps through his mind;
joyfully he welcomes them, eagerly scans
his comrade warriors. Then they swim away again.
Their drifting 55 spirits do not bring many old songs
to his lips. Sorrow upon sorrow attend
the man who must send time and again
his weary heart over the frozen waves.
“And thus I cannot think why in the world
60 my mind does not darken when I brood on the fate
of brave warriors, how they have suddenly
had to leave the mead-hall, the bold followers.
So this world dwindles day by day,
and passes away; for a man will not be wise
65 before he has weathered his share of winters
in the world. A wise man must be patient,
neither too passionate nor too hasty of speech,
neither too irresolute nor too rash in battle;
not too anxious, too content, nor too grasping,
70 and never too eager to boast before he knows himself.
When he boasts a man must bide his time
until he has no doubt in his brave heart
that he has fully made up his mind.
A wise man must fathom how eerie it will be
75 when all the riches of the world stand waste,
as now in diverse places in this middle-earth
old walls stand, tugged at by winds
and hung with hoar-frost, buildings in decay.
The wine-halls crumble, lords lie dead,
deprived of 80 joy, all the proud followers
have fallen by the wall: battle carried off some,
led them on journeys; the bird carried one
over welling waters; one the gray wolf
devoured; a warrior with downcast face
85 hid one in an earth-cave.
Thus the Maker of Men laid this world waste
until the ancient works of the giants stood idle,
hushed without the hubbub of inhabitants.
Then he who has brooded over these noble ruins,
90 and who deeply ponders this dark life,
wise in his mind, often remembers
the many slaughters of the past and speaks these words:
Where has the horse gone? Where the man? Where the giver of gold?
Where is the feasting-place? And where the pleasures of the hall?
95 I mourn the gleaming cup, the warrior in his corselet,
the glory of the prince. How that time has passed away,
darkened under the shadow of night as if it had never been.
Where the loved warriors were, there now stands a wall
of wondrous height, carved with serpent forms.
100 The savage ash-spears, avid for slaughter,
have claimed all the warriors – a glorious fate!
Storms crash against these rocky slopes,
sleet and snow fall and fetter the world,
winder howls, then darkness draws on,
the n 105 ight-shadow casts gloom and brings
fierce hailstorms from the north to frighten men.
Nothing is ever easy in the kingdom of earth,
the world beneath the heavens is in the hands of fate.
Here possessions are fleeting, here friends are fleeting,
110 here man is fleeting, here kinsman is fleeting,
the whole world becomes a wilderness.”
So spoke the wise man in his heart as he sat apart in thought.
Brave is the man who holds to his beliefs; nor shall he ever
show the sorrow in his heart before he knows how he
115 can hope to heal it. It is best for a man to seek
mercy and comfort from the Father in heaven, the safe home that awaits us all.