A lonely warrior, I am wounded with iron, Scarred with sword-points, sated with battle-play, Weary of weapons. I have witnessed much fighting, Much stubborn strife. From the strokes of war 5 I have no hope for help or release Ere I pass from the world with the proud warrior band. With brands and billies they beat upon me; The hard edges hack me; the handwork of smiths In crowds I encounter; with courage I endure 10 Ever bitterer battles. No balm may I find, And no doctor to heal me in the whole field of battle, To bind me with ointments and bring me to health, But my grievous gashes grow ever sorer Through death-dealing strokes by day and night.
My robe is noiseless when I roam the earth, Or stay in my home, or stir up the water. At times I am lifted o'er the lodgings of men By the aid of my trappings and the air above. 5 The strength of the clouds then carries me far, Bears me on its bosom. My beautiful ornament, My raiment rustles and raises a song, Sings without tiring. I touch not the earth But wander a stranger over stream and wood.
With my mouth I am master of many a language; Cunningly I carol; I discourse full oft In melodious lays; loud do I call, Ever mindful of melody, undiminished in voice. 5 An old evening-scop, to earls I bring Solace in cities; when, skillful in music, My voice I raise, restful at home They sit in silence. Say what is my name, That call so clearly and cleverly imitate 10 The song of the scop, and sing unto men Words full welcome with my wonderful voice.
I was once an armed warrior. Now the worthy youth Gorgeously gears me with gold and silver, Curiously twisted. At times men kiss me. Sometimes I sound and summon to battle 5 The stalwart company. A steed now carries me Across the border. The courser of the sea Now bears me o'er the billows, bright in my trappings. Now a comely maiden covered with jewels Fills my bosom with beer. On the board now I lie 10 Lidless and lonely and lacking my trappings. Now fair in my fretwork at the feast I hang In my place on the wall while warriors drink. Now brightened for battle, on the back of a steed A war-chief shall bear me. Then the wind I shall breathe, 15 Shall swell with sound from someone's bosom. At times with my voice I invite the heroes, The warriors to wine; or I watch for my master, And sound an alarm and save his goods, Put the robber to flight. Now find out my name.