First few lines of The Wanderer.

Rána
 
"I erinqua lillume                Eruanna hire
Rehtaro raine,                   *aita, rácina, sen
Mauya mole                       manten andave,
Nentiessen norta             nixe earon,
Etyaron tie.                         Ambar orturuva!"

Eque I ranyar                     urcarion istima,
Nwalce ohtaron,              nossion lanteo.
“Erea lillume                       ora nin ilaure
Nwalmanya naina.           Náto, úquen cuina
Yen veryan nyare             inwisti enye
Órenyo aqua.                    É ente istan
I acca arata                          atano haime
I noaryar nute                   nirmenen tanca,
note harmaryar,               nave ve meris."


“Oft him anhaga are gebideð,
metudes miltse, þeah þe he modcearig
geond lagulade longe sceolde
hreran mid hondum hrimcealde sæ,
wadan wræclastas. Wyrd bið ful aræd!”
Swa cwæð eardstapa, earfeþa gemyndig,
wraþra wælsleahta, winemæga hryre:
“Oft ic sceolde ana uhtna gehwylce
mine ceare cwiþan. Nis nu cwicra nan
þe ic him modsefan minne durre
sweotule asecgan. Ic to soþe wat
þæt biþ in eorle indryhten þeaw,
þæt he his ferðlocan fæste binde,
healde his hordcofan, hycge swa he wille.


“Often the solitary one experiences mercy for himself,
the mercy of the Measurer, although he, troubled in spirit,
over the ocean must long
stir with his hands the rime-cold sea,
travel the paths of exile – Fate is inexorable.”
So said the wanderer, mindful of hardships,
of cruel deadly combats, the fall of dear kinsmen –
“Often alone each morning I must
Bewail my sorrow; there is now none living to whom I dare tell clearly my inmost thoughts.
I know indeed
that it is a noble custom in a man
to bind fast his thoughts with restraint,
hold his treasure-chest, think what he will.

*aita 'if so, even so, though'