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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=346124" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Seafarer</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">May I for my own self song's truth reckon,<br>Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days<br>Hardship endured oft.<br>Bitter breast-cares have I abided,<br>Known on my keel many a care's hold,<br>And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent<br>Narrow nightwatch nigh the ship's head<br>While she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted,<br>My feet were by frost benumbed.<br>Chill its chains are; chafing sighs<br>Hew my heart round and hunger begot<br>Mere-weary mood. Lest man know not<br>That he on dry land loveliest liveth,<br>List how I, care-wretched, on ice-cold sea,<br>Weathered the winter, wretched outcast<br>Deprived of my kinsmen;<br>Hung with hard ice-flakes, where hail-scur flew,<br>There I heard naught save the harsh sea<br>And ice-cold wave, at whiles the swan cries,<br>Did for my games the gannet's clamour,<br>Sea-fowls, loudness was for me laughter,<br>The mews' singing all my mead-drink.<br>Storms, on the stone-cliffs beaten, fell on the stern<br>In icy feathers; full oft the eagle screamed<br>With spray on his pinion.<br>Not any protector<br>May make merry man faring needy.<br>This he little believes, who aye in winsome life<br>Abides 'mid burghers some heavy business,<br>Wealthy and wine-flushed, how I weary oft<br>Must bide above brine.<br>Neareth nightshade, snoweth from north,<br>Frost froze the land, hail fell on earth then<br>Corn of the coldest. Nathless there knocketh now<br>The heart's thought that I on high streams<br>The salt-wavy tumult traverse alone.<br>Moaneth alway my mind's lust<br>That I fare forth, that I afar hence<br>Seek out a foreign fastness.<br>For this there's no mood-lofty man over earth's midst,<br>Not though he be given his good, but will have in his youth greed;<br>Nor his deed to the daring, nor his king to the faithful<br>But shall have his sorrow for sea-fare<br>Whatever his lord will.<br>He hath not heart for harping, nor in ring-having<br>Nor winsomeness to wife, nor world's delight<br>Nor any whit else save the wave's slash,<br>Yet longing comes upon him to fare forth on the water.<br>Bosque taketh blossom, cometh beauty of berries,<br>Fields to fairness, land fares brisker,<br>All this admonisheth man eager of mood,<br>The heart turns to travel so that he then thinks<br>On flood-ways to be far departing.<br>Cuckoo calleth with gloomy crying,<br>He singeth summerward, bodeth sorrow,<br>The bitter heart's blood. Burgher knows not ---<br>He the prosperous man --- what some perform<br>Where wandering them widest draweth.<br>So that but now my heart burst from my breast-lock,<br>My mood 'mid the mere-flood,<br>Over the whale's acre, would wander wide.<br>On earth's shelter cometh oft to me,<br>Eager and ready, the crying lone-flyer,<br>Whets for the whale-path the heart irresistibly,<br>O'er tracks of ocean; seeing that anyhow<br>My lord deems to me this dead life<br>On loan and on land, I believe not<br>That any earth-weal eternal standeth<br>Save there be somewhat calamitous<br>That, ere a man's tide go, turn it to twain.<br>Disease or oldness or sword-hate<br>Beats out the breath from doom-gripped body.<br>And for this, every earl whatever, for those speaking after ---<br>Laud of the living, boasteth some last word,<br>That he will work ere he pass onward,<br>Frame on the fair earth 'gainst foes his malice,<br>Daring ado, ...<br>So that all men shall honour him after<br>And his laud beyond them remain 'mid the English,<br>Aye, for ever, a lasting life's-blast,<br>Delight mid the doughty.<br>Days little durable,<br>And all arrogance of earthen riches,<br>There come now no kings nor Caesars<br>Nor gold-giving lords like those gone.<br>Howe'er in mirth most magnified,<br>Whoe'er lived in life most lordliest,<br>Drear all this excellence, delights undurable!<br>Waneth the watch, but the world holdeth.<br>Tomb hideth trouble. The blade is layed low.<br>Earthly glory ageth and seareth.<br>No man at all going the earth's gait,<br>But age fares against him, his face paleth,<br>Grey-haired he groaneth, knows gone companions,<br>Lordly men are to earth o'ergiven,<br>Nor may he then the flesh-cover, whose life ceaseth,<br>Nor eat the sweet nor feel the sorry,<br>Nor stir hand nor think in mid heart,<br>And though he strew the grave with gold,<br>His born brothers, their buried bodies<br>Be an unlikely treasure hoard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anonymous+Olde+English">Anonymous Olde English</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=346124" data-title="The Seafarer de Anonymous Olde English" data-description="May I for my own self song's truth reckon,
Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days
Hardship endured oft.
Bitter breast-cares have I abided,
Known on my keel many a care's hold,
And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spent
Narrow nightwatch nigh the shi..."></div>
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