The first speaker in the poem introduces us to a "lone-dweller," whom he says is hoping for God's mercy and favor

despite being
condemned to travel alone over an ice-cold sea. He says the lines that follow as the speech of an "earth-stepper," who is probably this
same "lone-dweller" we've just met.
The earth-stepper now steps in. He remembers the hardships he has faced, including the slaughter of his relatives. He says that no one
remains alive to whom he dares speak his mind. This reflection that prompts him to share with us a "truth" that it's good for a person to
lock his thoughts within himself. A sad and weary mind never does anyone any good, so he counsels "glory-seekers" to bind their thoughts
within, just as he has had to do ever since his lord was killed. Now, says the earth-stepper, he's looking for a new lord (as in, a big-time
landowner who rules an area), someone to hang out with him and give him treasure.
The earth-stepper says that everyone who has been a friendless exile knows how miserable it is when sorrow is your only friend. Instead
of receiving gold or fame, this person experiences only the path of exile and a frozen body. The friendless exile remembers better times
partying in the mead-hall, feasting among friends and with his lord. But now the good times are over.
When the friendless exile sleeps, says the earth-stepper, he dreams about being back in the hall, embracing and kissing his lord just as he
did in the times when he received treasure from his old boss. When he awakes, though, all he sees are waves and sea-birds bathing. When
he remembers the good old days, his exile on the sea only seems sadder. Therefore, says the earth-stepper, he isn't sure why he doesn't
despair when he thinks deeply about the life of men how warriors abandoned their hall very suddenly, how this earth continues to
decline.
A man cannot be wise until he is very old, says the earth-stepper. A wise man must be patient, emotionally stable, and careful about what
he says. A warrior must not be weak, foolish, or cowardly. He must think carefully before boasting or making a promise. A wise man
knows how awful it will be when the earth is abandoned, that it will be just like an abandoned building beaten down by wintry weather. In
front of this abandoned building lie the bodies of warriors, picked at by birds and wolves or hidden in caves by friends. In this way God
destroyed the world, until the work of giants, empty of the sounds of men, were worthless.
When the wise man contemplates this building and thinks carefully about life, he speaks as follows: He laments the passing of life's
pleasures and the people who once enjoyed them. He remarks how the time passes away into nothingness, as though it had never been.
Behind the high wall, adorned with serpent-carvings, lie the bodies of men, killed by ash-spears. Storms wrack the stone structure as snow
covers the ground, sent by shadowy forces in the north in anger towards men. The earth is filled with hardship, and fate governs events
within it. Gold, friends, kinsmen, and mankind are all fleeting. It's good for a person to keep his promises, and to keep his grief to himself
until he knows how to make his situation better. Things will be well for the person who seeks favor and comfort from God, in whom all
stability rests.

Get out the microscope, because were going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 1-5
Often the lone-dweller waits for favor,
mercy of the Measurer, though he unhappy
across the seaways long time must
stir with his hands the rime-cold sea,
tread exile tracks. Fate is established!

This opening section is like a mini-prologue that sets up the initial situation of the poem: we have a mysterious character,
the "lone-dweller," who is apparently in exile. Exile for him means being forced to travel across the icy sea.
Despite the fact that the lone-dweller is in this desperate situation, the opening line injects a note of hope, since the man is
waiting for favor or mercy. He's hopeful that his situation will get better.
The translator has translated the Old English anhaga as "lone-dweller." Sometimes, though, it's translated as "solitary one."
In any case, the message is clear: this guy is totally, completely alone and isolated.
The "Measurer" here refers to God. We wonder why God is called that, rather than something like "the Creator" or just
God. The reason might have to do with the fact that the Old English word for mercy, miltse, begins with an "m" just like
the word for measurer, metod, creating alliteration (metudes miltse). But that can't be the whole reason. Do you have a
guess? What might God be measuring?
The image of the lone-dweller "stirring" the rime-cold sea with his hands is probably just a way of saying that he's rowing a
boat. ("Rime," by the way, means "frost.") But adding that bit about the rime makes the lone-dweller's situation seem even
more desperate. It's like he's a body without even the protection of a boat, being tossed about on the waves. He's "stirring"
the icy sea with his own hands? Brrrrr!
"Exile-tracks" is also sometimes translated as the "paths of exile." The lone-dweller must go the way that all exiles before
him have gone he must travel alone through an inhospitable, cold landscape.
The introduction of fate in the final line, in Old English wyrd, introduces the Old English poetic idea of uncontrollable
destiny. It makes us think that, although the lone-dweller is hoping for a turnaround in his situation, his destiny may not

allow for that. It also makes us wonder about the relationship of God and fate, since both of them seem to have some
control over what happens to the lone-dweller. Are they one and the same?
Lines 6-9a
So the earth-stepper spoke, mindful of hardships,
of fierce slaughter, the fall of kin:
Oft must I, alone, the hour before dawn
lament my care.

Here, the poet formally introduces another speaker, the "earth-stepper," or traveler. We're probably meant to think of him as
the "lone-dweller" from lines 1-5, or at the very least someone in the same situation. After all, he's alone and we know that
he's sad, since he says that he "lament[s]" his problems.
We could interpret lines 1-5 as a generalization about the fate of any exile, especially because it ends with a really general
statement, "fate is fully established." But here, we get to hear about a specific exile, the "earth-stepper."
Lines 8 to 9 are the beginning of the earth-stepper's speech. The poet tells us that the earth-stepper gives this speech while
thinking about hardships, specifically, the "slaughter" of his relatives.
The mention of slaughter gives us an idea about why somebody might have to go into exile alone: all your relatives are
killed in battle, and you're on the run from your enemies.
Old English poems often refer to the time before dawn as one in which people lament horrible things that have happened to
them. This lament is called a "dawn-song."

Lines 9b-14a
Among the living
none now remains to whom I dare
my inmost thought clearly reveal.
I know it for truth: it is in a warrior
noble strength to bind fast his spirit,
guard his wealth-chamber, think what he will.

OK, so we know that the earth-stepper's relatives are all dead. Now, he considers one consequence of their deaths: there's
nobody to talk to.
Thinking about revealing his innermost thoughts causes the earth-stepper to reflect on something he knows "for truth": that
it's good for a warrior to "bind fast his spirit." What does he mean by this? In Old English, the word translated here as
"spirit" is ferlocan, which literally means "spirit-chest" and probably refers to the mind. So, it's good for a warrior to bind
fast his mind, which might mean to keep his thoughts to himself.
After calling the mind a "spirit-chest," the earth-stepper calls it a "wealth-chamber." This image of the mind suggests that
thoughts are something priceless and precious, to be guarded carefully and only revealed to those you trust.
Old English poetry often instructs people to keep their thoughts to themselves, or, at the very least, to think very carefully
before speaking. With this passage, the poem connects itself to that tradition.

Lines 14b-18
Weary mind never withstands fate,
nor does troubled thought bring help.
Therefore, glory-seekers, oft bind fast
in breast-chamber a dreary mind.

With this passage, the earth-stepper gives a justification for keeping sad thoughts to yourself: because expressing sadness
doesn't do any good, can't "bring help." If that's the case, though, then what's the point of this poem, which is basically a
long expression of the earth-stepper's sadness?
The idea of fate, or wyrd, returns again, and this time the poem raises the possibility of withstanding it (although not if you
have a weary mind!). As line 5 says, fate is fully established you can't change it. But this line suggests that there may be a
way to approach fate that leaves you less hurt.
Again, the earth-stepper tells his listeners to lock up their thoughts inside themselves. The word "bind" occurs again, as
does the idea of the body as a chamber in which thoughts can be locked up.

Lines 19-21

So must I my heart
often wretched with cares, deprived of homeland,
far from kin fasten with fetters,

Here the speaker basically says that he's got to put his money where his mouth is. He's got to follow his own advice and
fasten his heart "with fetters" (that's like tying up his heart with chains or rope).
Thanks to the previous lines, we now know that the image of binding the heart or mind refers to keeping your thoughts to
yourself.
After speaking what's generally known as truth the necessity of keeping your thoughts hidden the earth-stepper now
seems to be telling himself to follow this advice. He's aware that, so far, he hasn't done a good job of containing his sad
thoughts.
The speaker also reiterates his unhappy situation the fact that he's far away from home and without his relatives.

Lines 22-26a
Since long ago earth covered
my lord in darkness, and I, wretched,
thence, mad and desolate as winter,
over the wave's binding sought, hall-dreary,
a giver of treasure,

Now, we get more specifics of the earth-stepper's situation. His lord has apparently died, and he's now in search of another
one.
Back in the day, a "lord" was a wealthy landowner who ruled an area. (Think of titles like Lord Loxley from the Robin
Hood stories, though "The Wanderer" is way older than the Robin Hood legends.) A lord was an absolute necessity for an
Anglo-Saxon warrior, the source of protection and wealth, and the mead-hall where the warrior found shelter.
Instead of just saying that his lord has been died and been buried, the earth-stepper says that the earth covered his lord in
darkness. This figurative way of talking about burial personifies the forces of nature, making the soil seem like a
threatening enemy.
What the translator gives here as "mad and desolate as winter" is actually the Old English word wintercearig, or wintersorrowful. The winter weather is a particular problem for someone who's in exile. Basically by definition, an exile doesn't
have a home, which kind of sucks when it's snowing. That's probably the reason why there's so much talk of winter and
wintery weather in the poem.
The image of the "wave's binding" echoes the language of binding the heart and mind from the previous few lines. It also
creates the idea of the sea as a prison in which the exile is trapped.
The earth-stepper also says he's "hall-dreary." Maybe he means that he's sad about not having a hall to chill out in anymore,
since without a lord, he's also without the lord's center of power, the hall.
The lord is called a "giver of treasure." Distributing treasure to his nobles was one of a lord's most important ways of
maintaining power. As you might imagine, giving dudes treasure all the time was a good way of making sure they stayed
loyal to you.

Lines 26b-29
Where far or near
I might find one who in mead-hall
might accept my affection, or on me, friendless,
might wish consolation, offer me joy.

The speaker searches far and wide for a new lord. These lines explain why it's so important to him to have one.
Some translators render line 27a as "who knows my own." In other words, the earth-stepper is looking for a lord from his
own kinship group.
The speaker wants a lord to give him "consolation," or comfort, and happiness. His desire is like the hope of the lonedweller in lines 1-5 for the mercy and favor of God. These lines align that lord (a.k.a. God, the "Measurer") with this
earthly one.

Lines 30-32
He knows who tries it how cruel is sorrow,
a bitter companion, to the one who has few
concealers of secrets, beloved friends.

Again, the earth-stepper returns to the theme of his loneliness. Instead of real friends, the exile has sorrow as a companion.
This passage marks an end to the earth-stepper's reflections on his own experience. Now, he begins to think about the fate
of all exiles more generally.
The earth-stepper subtly announces an idea he will return to later on with "he knows who tries it." The idea is that those
who have experienced exile possess special knowledge that others do not.
The translator expands the Old English, leofra geholena, "beloved friends" or protectors, to characterize these friends as
"concealers of secrets." He does this because the word after leofra is unclear in the manuscript. The characterization of
friends as "concealers of secrets" fits well with the idea in lines 9b-14, that the earth-stepper's lack of friends leaves him
with no one he trusts to talk to.

Lines 33-37a
The exile-track claims him, not twisted gold,
his soul-chamber frozen, not fold's renown.
He remembers hall-warriors and treasure-taking,
how among youth his gold-friend
received him at the feast.

This passage contrasts the joys of the exile's past with his current desolation. Instead of possessing gold, he is possessed by
exile. Instead of earth's (fold's) fame (renown), he gets a frozen "soul-chamber."
With the idea of the frozen soul-chamber, the imagery of winter returns. This time, it has penetrated the ferlocan (soulchamber or spirit-chest), deep inside the exile's body.
The earth-stepper began his speech while remembering the slaughter of his kinsmen. Here, the idea of memory returns, but
this time the memories are joyful. The exile remembers what life was like back when he had a hall to hang out in.
The "gold-friend" who receives the exile at the feast is his lord. He is a gold-friend because of his role as dispenser of
treasure to his noblemen.
The exile's memories of more joyful times foreshadow a section in lines 40-44 in which he dreams that he is back in the
hall, kneeling before his lord.

Lines 37b-39
Joy has all perished!
So he knows, who must of his lord-friend,
of loved-one, lore-sayings long time before.

As he will again in lines 94-96, the exile laments the passing of all good things with the exclamation "Joy has all perished!"
His memories of happier times disappear with his return to the reality of his situation.
The twisted grammar of lines 38-39 makes them kind of difficult to understand. Basically, they're saying that a person who
has been deprived of a lord for a long time knows that the good times are over.
With "so he knows, who." the speaker returns to the idea of the special knowledge born from experience, a special
knowledge that all exiles share.
In previous lines, the lord was mainly characterized by his treasure-giving capability. Now, he has a new function: he's a
dispenser of "lore-sayings," or wisdom. In addition to treasure, the exile is deprived of his lord's wisdom.

Lines 40-45
When sorrow and sleep at once together
a wretched lone-dweller often bind,
it seems in his mind that he his man-lord
clasps and kisses, and on knee lays
hands and head, just as sometime before
in yore-days, he received gifts from the gift-throne.

Now, the earth-stepper talks about what happens when a sad exile sleeps: he dreams of better times, when he was still in
the hall of his lord.
The word "bind" shows up again. This time, it's not the thoughts that must be bound in the mind, but sorrow and sleep that
binds the lone-dweller. It's kind of similar to the way in which the waves "bound" the earth-stepper in line 25. We're getting
the idea that despite wandering all over the place, the exile is still somehow imprisoned or constrained.
In his sleep, the sorrowful exile dreams about "clasping" (embracing) and kissing his lord. The idea of clasping is similar to
binding, but now, the action is a liberating one that brings the exile happiness.

These physical gestures are signs of a nobleman's loyalty. He might also kneel before the seated lord and lay his head in the
lord's lap. The exile's dream, therefore, is not just about being back in the hall, but about showing loyalty and experiencing
closeness with the lord of that hall.
The phrase "yore-days" is a translation of the Old English word geardagum. It reminds us of the opening lines of Beowulf,
"Hwaet! Gardenas in geardagum" : "Listen! The Gar-Danes in days of yore" It's a word that evokes nostalgia for a
glorious past that has now disappeared.
The exile's dream makes him feel like he's back in the hall receiving treasure from his lord. The "gift-throne" might be a
stand-in or symbol for the lord himself, since he might sit on a throne to hand out treasure. This way of describing him
makes the lord into little more than a desirable object, rather than a person.

Lines 46-49
When the friendless man awakens again,
he sees before him fallow waves,
sea-birds bathing, wings spreading,
rime and snow falling mingled with hail.

Just as it did in line 37, the reality of the exile's situation eventually wakes him from his happy memory.
The world he awakens to is a wintry seascape where he sees sea-birds bathing in "fallow" (or pale yellow) waves. Yeah, the
image of yellow waves is not a pretty one, and it's probably not meant to be. The poem is trying to show that the landscape
as barren and threatening.
The "spreading" wings of the sea-birds emphasize their freedom to soar away. This freedom contrasts with the constraint or
"binding" the exile experiences in previous lines.
The "rime" (frost) and "snow falling mingled with hail" echo the winter imagery from previous lines.
Basically, this is no sunny day on the sea, folks. It is cold and miserable.

Lines 50-54
Then are the heart's wounds ever more heavy,
sore after sweet sorrow is renewed
when memory of kin turns through the mind;
he greets with glee-staves, eagerly surveys
companions of men. Again they swim away!

The memory of beloved kinsmen is a mixed blessing for the exile. On the one hand, it's certainly "sweet" to be
momentarily back in the hall. But on the other hand, the painfulness of the exile's present is clearer in contrast with his
previous life. This is why the "heart's wounds [are] ever more heavy" when he awakes.
The phrase "heart's wounds" returns to the idea of the exile's interiority that was so important in lines 9-18.
As the exile greets "companions of men," or human companions, with "glee-staves" (joyful songs) it's almost like the
characters leap out of the exile's memory to become real. He is able to look at ("eagerly survey") these figures and, now
given tangible bodies, they are able to "swim away."
The earth-stepper says that the human companions "swim away" from the exile, rather than just saying that they disappear
from his mind. It's like these figures from his memory become a part of the seascape around him. They become fish or
animals like the sea-birds he observes in line 48.

Lines 55-58
Spirits of seafarers bring but seldom
known speech and song. Care is renewed
to the one who frequently sends
over the wave's binding, weary, his thought.

What the translator has given here as "seafarers" is actually the Old English word fleotendra, or floating ones. So "spirits of
seafarers [or floating ones]" probably refers to the companions who swim away in line 55.
These visions of kinsmen fail to bring with them the familiar conversations and songs the exile misses from his days in the
hall, perhaps because they swim away from him too quickly.
Memories and dreams of better times bring no relief for the exile. Instead, they make things worse.
The poem describes the exile's act of remembering or dreaming as sending his thoughts over the "wave's binding," as
though the dreamer physically transports his mind (or thoughts) back to the hall. This description makes the mind into a
physical object, similar to the way the mind was a "spirit-chest" or "wealth-chamber" in previous lines.

The idea of the sea as somehow physically constraining the exile returns with the "wave's binding." This phrase is also the
fourth appearance of some form of the verb "to bind."

Lines 59-63a
Therefore, I know not, throughout this world,
why thought in my mind does not grow dark
when the life of men I fully think through,
how they suddenly abandoned the hall,
headstrong retainers.

Now, the earth-stepper ends his description of the experience of the exile to reflect upon what this experience teaches him
about life more generally.
The experience of the exile seems to cause the earth-stepper to reflect upon how all life eventually comes to an end: the
"headstrong retainers'" abandonment of the hall is actually a way of talking about their death.
When confronted with the inevitability of death, the earth-stepper does not know why his mind does not "grow dark,"
which is a way of saying that the inevitability of death should cause him to get really upset.
The fact that the earth-stepper's mind doesn't "grow dark" suggests that there's something what, we don't yet know that
keeps him hopeful regardless of death's inevitability.
Another person who abandons his hall out of necessity is the exile, and particularly the earth-stepper, who seems to have
left his hall behind because of warfare. So, talking about death as an abandonment of a hall makes a connection between
death and exile.

Lines 63b-66a
This Middle-Earth
each of all days so fails and falls
that a man gains no wisdom before he is dealt
his winters in the world.

The logic of these lines is not entirely clear. They implicitly make two statements: 1) This Middle-Earth (the world
between heaven and hell our world) "fails and falls," and 2) A man is not wise until he has lived a long time. What's
unclear is the relationship between them. Why should the failing and falling of this earth mean that a person is not wise
until he has lived a long time?
What happens to Middle-Earth its inevitable decline and fall is like what happens to the retainers in the previous few
lines. Just like people, our world, too, is dying, and will eventually disappear.
Saying that someone has many "winters in the world" is just a fancy way of saying that he's old. But saying that in this way
also connects the elderly to the exile, who is defined by his exposure to wintry weather.
Like the exile, the elderly have special knowledge available to no one else.
Brain Snack: If you're a Lord of the Rings fan and recognize the term "Middle-Earth," you should know that J.R.R. Tolkien
was a big fan of Anglo-Saxon poetry, including "The Wanderer."

Lines 66b-70
The wise man is patient,
not too hot-hearted, nor too quick tongued,
nor a warrior too weak, nor too foolhardy,
neither frightened nor fain, nor yet too wealth-greedy,
nor ever of boasts too eager, before he knows enough.

Now the earth-stepper expands upon some of the special knowledge the elderly have. This section resembles two other Old
English poems, Maxims I and II, which are collections of proverbs simple and concrete sayings popularly known and
repeated.
The wise man is patient: he is not too "hot-hearted," meaning that he doesn't allow his emotions to make him do something
stupid. We might call this "hotheaded."
He is not too "quick tongued," meaning that he thinks before he speaks. This last characterization of the wise man returns
us to the idea of guarding one's thoughts in the "spirit-chest," or mind, that we saw in the opening section.
The important traits for a warrior overlap somewhat with those of a wise man. It's important for a warrior to be strong, of
course, but he must also avoid foolhardiness, a similar trait to hot-heartedness.
The warrior must have courage. He must also not be too "wealth-greedy." This last one is interesting because we've already
seen that when the exile longs for his lord, he's longing for the treasure his lord gives him, too. Yet it's important for a

warrior not to be too wealth-greedy, which suggests that he must combine his longing for treasure from his lord with true
loyalty and respect for him.
The caution against excessive greed might also be directed specifically at warrior-lords. These men have to be generous
with their wealth, because it's only through giving handouts to their followers that they can retain power.
Like the wise man, the warrior must not be too quick-tongued: he must not speak a boast too eagerly.
A boast was an important way for a warrior to build a reputation among others, but failure to fulfill a boast brought horrible
shame. The good warrior waits until he "knows enough," that is, until he is certain that he can fulfill his boast, before
speaking it.

Lines 71-73
A warrior should wait when he speaks a vow,
until, bold in mind, he clearly knows
whither mind's thought after will turn.

A vow differs from a boast because it is a promise made to another person, whereas a boast is just an announced intention
to do something. A boast isn't necessarily directed at anyone in particular.
As he must be with a boast, a warrior must be careful about speaking a vow. He must not speak it until he has made up his
mind to keep the promise.
The idea that the "mind's thought" might turn in a direction the possessor can't predict makes the thought into a separate
entity, an object distinct from the owner of it. This description of thought is similar to the one in line 59 in which the exile
sends his mind over the waves. There, though, the exile had control over his thoughts.
Just like the exile, the wise man and the warrior must play their cards close to their chest that is, they must guard their
tongue and be careful about which thoughts they reveal in speech. The necessity of guarding one's thoughts carefully
connects exile, warrior, and wise man.

Lines 74-78
A wise man perceives how ghastly it will be
when all the world's weal desolate stands,
as now here and there across this Middle-Earth
blown on by wind walls stand
covered with rime, the buildings storm-shaken.

Now, the earth-stepper returns to the idea of the impermanence of existence.

A wise man, he says, recognizes how horrible it will be when all the world's "weal" (prosperity or wealth) is deserted
(presumably because the owners have died or been forced into exile).
The word translated here as "ghastly" is the Old English word gastlice, which can also mean "ghostly." Both meanings are
appropriate here, since after all people have died, the world will have a haunted feeling.
He compares this desertedness to that of abandoned buildings he sees "here and there" throughout his world.
Just like the exile, these buildings are wracked by the wintry weather: they are "storm-shaken," and covered with "rime"
(frost).

Lines 79-81a
The wine-halls molder, the wielder lies down
deprived of rejoicing, the warband all fallen,
proud by the wall.

Still talking about abandoned buildings, the earth-stepper now imagines next to them the lifeless bodies of the people who
once occupied them: the "wielder" (ruler) and the "warband" that served him.
Calling the hall a "wine-hall" makes us think of all the big parties that happened inside, during which wine might have
freely flowed. This phrase, along with the mention of "rejoicing" in line 80, paints a picture of a celebration inside the hall
one that has now ended.
The word that's translated here as "molder" (decay), is the Old English verb worian. This word can mean "move, totter,
crumble to pieces," but its primary meaning is "to wander about, be a vagabond."
Who else "wanders about"? That's right, the speaker of our poem and the exile he describes. So, this word makes a
connection between the decaying building and the exile.

Lines 81b-85

Some war took utterly,

carried on forth-way; one a bird bore off
over the high holm; one the hoar wolf
dealt over to death, one a warrior,
drear-faced, hid in an earth-cave.

Now, the speaker imagines the fates of the bodies that lie fallen by the wall.
A recurring image in Old English poetry makes an appearance: the "beasts of battle," or animals who feed on fallen bodies
on the battlefield.
The beasts of battle the bird and the wolf are aligned in this passage with war and the "drear-faced" warrior, because all
four of these somehow carry men away from where they were before.
The equation of these four acts of body-taking also compares marching away to war with physical dismemberment and
burial. It implies that the warrior has no more choice about going to war than he does about what happens to his body after
death. In all cases, he is "carried away."
The "hoar wolf" is the grey wolf. But "hoar" can also mean old.
The "drear-faced" warrior who buries his friends reminds us of the earth-stepper himself, since we know that he, too, has
had to bury his kinsmen.
The poem says that the "drear-faced" man "hides" the warrior, as though he is afraid of some threat to this body. Given
what we've just learned about the fate of a body left to the beasts of battle, we don't blame him for hiding his friend's body
well.

Lines 86-88
Thus the shaper of men destroyed this earth-yard,
until, lacking the cries, the revels of men,
old giants' work stood worthless.

God has destroyed the "earth-yard," or city, until it is completely silent. Without men to occupy them, the poem implies, the
old buildings are worthless.
At the beginning of the poem, God was called the "Measurer." Now he is the "shaper of men." Both ways of describing
God emphasize his work as a creator. Like a craftsman, he measures and shapes his creation men.
The primary mark of desertedness here is the absence of noise of the voices of men that once filled the hall. This lack of
noisy revelry reminds us of the silence the exile hears in lines 56-59 when the apparitions of his kinsmen fail to bring the
"known speech and song" he longs for.
The buildings the speaker refers to are called the "old giants' work." This description of them conveys the idea of huge,
even monumental buildings, making their desertedness seem even more profound.
Calling the buildings the work of giants implies that the people who built them were truly great. Yet, even the monumental
work of great ones eventually decays, like everything else in the world.

Lines 89-92a
When he with wise mind this wall-stone
and this dark life deeply thinks through
the wise one in mind oft remembers afar
many a carnage, and this word he speaks:

Now, the earth-stepper returns to the thought he had in lines 59-66, of fully thinking through the "life of man." Except here
the "life of man" has become "this dark life." The earth-stepper is already pretty convinced that life sucks.
In addition to considering the life of man, the earth-stepper contemplates "this wall-stone," which probably represents the
abandoned buildings he discussed in the previous lines.
When he fully thinks through "this dark life" and the abandoned buildings, the first thing he thinks about is "many a
carnage," or gruesome death. This turn of mind makes sense given the meaning that abandoned buildings took on in the
previous lines.
"This word he speaks" signals that the wise man is now moving from contemplation about life to what he has learned from
that contemplation. We assume that the wise man is going to talk about the conclusions he draws from his reflection, and
he may even recite some proverbs as he did in lines 66-73.

Lines 92b-97
Where is the horse? Where the young warrior? Where now the gift-giver?
Where are the feast-seats? Where all the hall-joys?

Alas for the bright cup! Alas byrnied warrior!

Alas the lord's glory! How this time hastens,
grows dark under night-helm, as it were not!

Instead of reciting proverbs about exile like he did in lines 66-73, the earth-stepper gets all emotional, lamenting all of the
things that have passed away with time.
The wise man draws attention to how the things you might find in and surrounding a great hall with a lord at its center have
all passed away.
As in previous lines, the lord of the hall is called a "gift-giver," marking his role as someone who distributes wealth.
The combination of people, objects, and emotions the wise man laments suggests that the thing he misses is the feast: he
mentions "feast-seats," or places at a dinner table, and the bright cup from which the feasters would drink mead, a honeyed
wine. These are some of the "hall-joys" that have disappeared.
"Byrnied" is a word that means "armored."
"Night-helm" means "cover of night." But "helm" also refers to the cover a warrior wears over his face, the knight's helm.
The "night-helm" is therefore a military image, suggesting that part of what "darkens" the time is warfare.
"Time hastens," meaning that it quickly passes. Another meaning of the verb given here as "hastens," gewitan, is "to depart,
go away." Like the exile, the time, too departs.

Lines 98-101
Stands now behind the dear warband
a wondrous high wall, varied with snake-shapes,
warriors foretaken by might of ash-spears,
corpse-hungry weapons famous that fate

Now, the wise man focuses in more detail on the fallen bodies of the warriors next to the wall.
He calls the warband "dear," suggesting that these bodies are people he was close to.
The warband has fallen in front of a "wondrous high wall," a description that recalls the description of it as "old giants'
work" in line 88. This wall is big.
The wall is "varied with snake-shapes," suggesting that it has a serpent-like decoration carved into it. This image makes us
think of the idea of the "beasts of battle" from lines 81-85. It makes the wall, like the beasts, seem sort of menacing.
The word given here as "foretaken" is the Old English forniman, a verb that means "take away, deform, plunder, destroy."
So, it's not just that the warriors have been taken away they've been destroyed or even plundered stolen.
What has stolen the warriors away? "Ash-spears, corpse-hungry weapons." This description of the spears personifies them,
making the weapons the agents of death, rather than the warriors who wield them.
Describing the spears that killed the fallen as "ash-spears" draws attention to their origin as part of an ash-tree. Since the
poem also personifies the ash-spears, this description essentially pits man against nature once again.
The ash-spears are "corpse-hungry," just like the beasts of battle in lines 81-85.
The fate of these warriors is "famous," or well-known. This line can suggest two things: 1) That the fallen warriors served
well in battle, so that their story has been repeated and is now well-known. Or, 2) That to die in battle is a fate well-known,
even infamous.

Lines 102-106
And this stone-cliff storms dash on;
snowstorm, attacking, binds all the ground,
tumult of winter, when the dark one comes,
night-shadow blackens, sends from the north
rough hailstorm in anger toward men.

The wise man returns and expands upon the idea from lines 74 to 78, of the walls wracked by the wintry weather.
He refers to the walls as a "stone-cliff." An alternate translation is "rocky slopes," but both ways of referring to the wall
make it more into a part of nature than a work of man. These forms of description foreshadow the return to nature that will
eventually occur as the wind weathers the wall away.
Like the ash-spears in line 100, the personified snowstorm attacks. It joins the personified "night-shadow," which sends a
hailstorm, in destroying the wall.
We see the fifth appearance of a form of the verb "to bind," this time with the snowstorm that "binds all the ground" with
winter.
Who is this "dark one" or "night-shadow"? These may just be ways of referring to the winter weather. But in any case, it is
angry. Once again, the weather (and nature) are menacing threats.

Lines 107-111
All is the earth-realm laden with hardship,
fate of creation turns world under heaven.
Here goldhoard passes, here friendship passes,
here mankind passes, here kinsman passes:
all does this earth-frame turn worthless!

The speaker turns away from a contemplation of the fallen warriors before the wall to reflect upon what this sight teaches
him.
What he concludes, basically, is that life sucks and then you die.
More specifically, the "fate of creation" turns the world, meaning that fate governs events in this world.
With the idea of the world being governed by the "fate of creation," in Old English wyrd gesceaft, the poem returns to the
idea from line 5, that "fate is established": that it governs events and can't be changed.
At the same time, pairing fate with "creation" hints at the idea of the creator. His relationship to fate is unclear, but the idea
of an intelligent design behind creation is a slightly contradictory one to the randomness of fate.
In an echo of lines 92-97, in which the speaker lamented the passing of the joys of the hall, he now remarks again upon
how the good things in life eventually disappear.
In contrast to lines 92-97, in which the joys the speaker lamented were an equal mixture of people and objects, here the list
is dominated by people: kinsmen, mankind, friends.
What the translator has given here as "passes" is the Old English word laene, or "loaned." The idea is that the gold-hoard,
friends, kinsmen, and mankind are all "on loan" from someone. The owner might be fate or God.
Just as the speaker remarked that the deserted buildings were worthless without occupants, so the "earth-frame" becomes
worthless without people to occupy it.

Lines 112-115a
So said the one wise in mind, at secret conclaves sat him apart.
Good, he who keeps faith, nor too quickly his grief
from his breast makes known, except he, noble, knows how beforehand
to do cure with courage.

"So said the one wise in mind" marks the end of the earth-stepper's speech that began in line 8. Alternatively, this line
might be the speaker's attempt to signal that the following lines come from the wise man that began contemplating the
fallen warriors in line 89.
We get one more piece of information about this mysterious wise man: that he sits apart from everyone else at "secret
conclaves." This line can also be translated "sat apart in secret contemplation."
The wise man sits apart from others. Even in company, he is as isolated as he was in exile. Perhaps, his separateness
derives from his experience of exile, which gives him a knowledge that only other exiles share. This knowledge might be
the "secret contemplation."
The poem's speaker repeats a proverb from earlier in the poem, revising it somewhat. This time, it is good for a person both
to "keep faith" (keep his promise), and to refrain from speaking about his sorrow until he knows how to "cure" it.
This combination of ideas keeping one's promise and refraining from speech also occurred in lines 66-73, framed as the
wisdom available only to the elderly or, perhaps, the exile.
The grief one would do well to keep silent about comes "from his breast." Once again, the poem returns to the image of the
body as a container for thoughts and emotions.
The idea that it's particularly important not to speak about sorrow occurred in lines 14-18. There, the reason given for this
necessity was that speaking about one's troubles couldn't possibly make them better. Here, however, the speaker suggests
that a cure might exist for sorrow (in which case it would be OK to talk about it).

Lines 115b-117
Well will it be
to him who seeks favor, refuge and comfort,
from the Father in heaven, where all fastness stands.

Now, the speaker suggests a cure for sorrow: God.

At the beginning of the poem, the lone-dweller was waiting for God's favor. These final lines return us to that idea and
validate the lone-dweller's hope.
The translator gives the Old English word frofre, comfort or consolation, as "refuge and comfort," suggesting with "refuge"
that the comforter to be had from God is specifically a place of retreat, perhaps from the stormy weather the exile faces.

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God is the place "where all fastness stands." This "fastness" (stability) directly contrasts with the "passing away" of all
other joys mentioned in the poem, as well as with the crumbling of buildings and the constant travel of the exile.
This mention of God as a solution to all the desolation the speaker has observed makes sense in the Christian context in
which the poem was transcribed. But it seems kind of sudden and brief after a hundred lines lamenting the inevitability of
death.

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