Deor (translation)

This is a highly interpretive translation of a 10th century (?) Anglo-Saxon poem that I have rendered in my own style. First there is my translation; below is the actual text of the poem as it appears in the Exeter Book (10th century CE).

Deor

Weland, ready for worms by swords’ cruel bite

Experienced a world of hardship

Agony was his only friend.

Friends fierce and heartless,

They wracked him with sorrow:

He nearly fell

King Nithad bested him!

Weland, the better man:

Nithad hamstrung him

And set him on the ground

That is in the past,

Soon will our troubles be.

Beadohild’s mind was tormented

By the death of her brothers;

But knowing she was large with child,

Little she cared for the outcome of that,

So great was her brothers’ burden

That is in the past, Soon will our troubles be

Matilda, too, we have heard of, How her troubles were deep and numerous, Love-pangs deprived her of blessed sleep

That is in the past, Soon will our troubles be

Theodric for thirty winters Held sway over Maeringaburg: Few were unaware of that!

That is in the past, Soon will our troubles be

Wolf-minded Eormanric ruled the Goths. What a grim king he was! Many warriors bound, Beset by sorrow, Prayed heartily for the overthrow Of that tyrant

That is in the past, Soon will our troubles be

In the darkness his soul finds solace, Thinking this is the only place for him. Turning to the Lord he finds That all the world is beset with sorrow: Such is the lot of men. But honor and glory come to some – To him, the question remains.

Now let me speak of myself: For some time I sang songs to the lord of the Hedenings. I was beloved!

Deor was my name. Winters passed in this prestigious state. My lord loyal Until Heorrenda Songmaster Bested me! And my protector no longer wants me. Like a lone warrior, I am left without sword.

That is in the past, Soon will our troubles be

Deor (Anglo-Saxon poem, ca. 900 CE) Welund him be wurman wræces cunnade, anhydig eorl earfoþa dreag, hæfde him to gesiþþe sorge ond longaþ, wintercealde wræce; wean oft onfond, 5 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, 10 þæt heo gearolice ongieten hæfde þæt heo eacen wæs; æfre ne meahte þriste geþencan, hu ymb þæt sceolde. þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg! We þæt Mæðhilde monge gefrugnon 15 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. 20 þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg! We geascodan Eormanrices wylfenne geþoht; ahte wide folc Gotena rices. þæt wæs grim cyning. Sæt secg monig sorgum gebunden, 25 wean on wenan, wyscte geneahhe þæt þæs cynerices ofercumen wære. þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg! Siteð sorgcearig, sælum bidæled, on sefan sweorceð, sylfum þinceð 30 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. 35 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, oþþæt Heorrenda nu, 40 leoðcræftig monn londryht geþah, þæt me eorla hleo ær gesealde. þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg!