Anglo-Saxon poetry - arras.net

a blossom-sheen, the citybeautifies, and hills self-animate –the world rushes on! Thesethings all urge the eager soul – todepart! travel wide on the floodways.So the cuckoo moans with itsmournful murmur. Summer’sharbinger sings, inspires sorrows,heart-bitter. That man isignorant, fortunate man! of whatthose undergo who wend exile’spaths widest. For now my mindbreaks out of my soul’s breast,heart amid the sea’s flood, over thewhale’s home, and travelswidely the earth’s lengths, comingback – ravenous and greedy! Thelone flyer cries, lures me onto thewhale-way, and the breast over thesea-stretch irresistibly. So for me,Lord’s joy is hotter than thisdead land-life, that is but fleeting. Ido not think earth-riches standeternally. One of three things,invariably, suddenly, raises doubt:disease, age, or sword-violence –takes away life! from thedoomed, the destined to die. So, foreach soldier, praise of the laterpg.6