THE WANDERER (excerpt)
for a cappella voices
from a tenth century anglo-saxon text
Oft the lone one yearns for grace--
the Maker’s mercy-- though long his oars
must first stir the frost-cold sea,
with anxious heart, o’er ocean way
to fare the paths of exile.
Fate is fixed!
So said a wanderer, remembering woe,
cruel carnage, dear kinsmen’s death:
Oft I must lament my misery alone,
before dawn’s light. None now lives
to whom I dare openly express
my inmost thoughts. In truth I know
it well befits a noble warrior
to guard close his heart’s key,
restrain his thought-horde, resolve what he will.
A desperate mind cannot withstand destiny,
nor tempestuous soul oppose fate.
Hence ambitious men must keep
somber moods remote within their hearts.
And so I, oft miserable,
home bereft, far from kinsmen,
must also fasten my feelings with fetters,
for long it is since earth’s darkness
enfolded my lord and I fared forth, poor,
winter-wearied, onward bound o’er t