Please include your translation of the following literal adaptation of ” The Seafarer”:
(Old English in bold, modern English translation is regular type):
þær ic ne gehyrde there I not heard
butan hlimman sæ, but roaring sea
iscaldne wæg. icecold wave
Hwilum ylfete song sometimes of the wild swan song
dyde ic me to gomene, did I for myself for pasttime
ganotes hleoþor of gannet voice
ond huilpan sweg and of curlew sound
fore hleahtor wera, instead of laughter of men
mæw singende mew singing
fore medodrince. instead of mead drink.
Stormas þær stanclifu beotan, storms there stonecliffs beat
þær him stearn oncwæð, there tern answers them
isigfeþera; icyfeathered
ful oft þæt earn bigeal, fully often that eagle screamed
urigfeþra; dewyfeathered
nænig hleomæga not any of protectingkinsmen
feasceaftig ferð fewthinghaving soul
frefran meahte. to console was able.
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There I heard nothing
But roaring sea,
Ice-cold waves.
Sometimes I sang wild swan songs,
For myself, to pass time,
In the voice of the Gannet,
Listening to the Curlew’s sound
Instead of men’s laughter,
Hearing Mews instead of drinking mead.
Storms there the stone cliffs beat,
The Tern answers them,
Icy-feathered;
The eagle screams back,
Dewy-feathered;
None of them protecting their kinsmen,
Few of them having a soul,
Were able to console them.
There I heard
Nothing
But roaring sea
Freezing water
A swan’s song, sometimes.
I heard the sound
of the gannet and the curlew
But no laughter
The mew singing
Instead of the clink of a mead glass
Storms pummeled the cliffs
Answered only by birds –
Icyfeathered –
The shrieking of eagles –
Dewyfeathered –
And nobyd
No soul
Could console me.
I only heard the roaring sea
Or myself: the wild swan song
I sang sometimes
To myself.
No men’s laughter:
a mew’s song
No mead drink:
Storms beat stone cliffs.
The tern will answer you,
Icy-feathered
The eagle will scream,
Dewy-feathered.
No protecting kinsmen
Just your soul
With little in it
To console.
There I heard naught
but roaring sea
icecold wave
and sometimes I drank
to pass the time
not of mead
nor of laughter of men
but of wild swan song
of mew singing
of gannet voice
and of curlew sound.
There storms beat stone cliffs
there tern answered them
icyfeathered
full oft that eagle screamed
dewyfeathered
and no protecting kinsman
was able to console
my fewthinghaving soul.
I heard nothing but
the roaring sea
and the ice-cold waves.
For past-time, I sometimes surrounded myself with the sharp sound of the wild swan song
instead of the sounds of laughing men.
I preferred the gulls singing instead of the mead-song of men.
Storms beat the stone cliffs and the tern, icy-feathered,
answers their pounding song.
The dewey-feathered eagle often screamed,
and none of the kinsmen were offered protection.
Nothing possessing a soul could console them.
There I didn’t hear
but the cold
of the wave and the roaring sea.
For a past-time
I sang of myself
like a wild swan, or the gannet’s
voice, or the curlew’s sound.
Instead of men’s laughter
the mew singing,
instead of mead, the beat
of storms against cliffs.
There,
the tern answered,
the eagle screamed,
with iced feathers, with dewed feathers.
But no kinsmen
to care for them.
No thing alive
to bring a consolation.