|
Neb
is min niþerweard; neol ic fere
|
|
Head down, nosing-I belly the ground.
|
|
|
ond be grunde græfe, geonge
swa me wisað
|
|
Hard snuffle and grub, I bite and furrow
|
|
|
har holtes feond, ond hlaford
min
|
|
Drawn by the dark enemy of forests,
|
|
|
woh færeð, weard æt
steorte,
|
|
Driven by a bent lord who hounds my trail,
|
|
|
wrigaþ on wonge, wegeð
mec ond þyð,
|
5 |
Who lifts and lowers me, rams me down,
|
5 |
|
saweþ on swæð min.
Ic snyþigeforð,
|
|
Pushes on plain, and sows seed.
|
|
|
brungen of bearwe, bunden cræfte,
|
|
I am a ground-skulker, born of wood,
|
|
|
wegen on wægne-- hæbbe
wundra fela.
|
|
Bound by wizards, brought on wheel.
|
|
|
Me
biþ gongendre grene on healfe
|
|
My ways are weird: as I walk one flank
|
|
|
ond min swæð sweotol
sweart on oþre.
|
10 |
Of my trail is gathering green, the other
|
10 |
|
Me
þurh hrycg wrecen, hongaþ under
|
|
Is bright black. Through my back and belly
|
|
|
an orþoncpil, oþer
on heafde,
|
|
A sharp sword thrusts; through my head
|
|
|
fæst ond forðweard. Fealleþ
on sidan
|
|
A dagger is stuck like a tooth: what I slash
|
|
|
þæt ic toþum tere,
gif me teala þenaþ
|
|
Falls in a curve of slaughter to one side
|
|
|
hindeweardre þæt biþ
hlaford min.
|
15 |
If my driving lord slaves well.
|
15 |
iddle
19
