Drag the words to the correct places to complete the poem. To reset the game, click on the "Reset Game" button located below the poem. This will clear all the words you've placed in the blanks, returning them to the word bank and resetting the poem to its original state with empty blanks.
Iċ þis ġiedd wrece bi mē ful ġeōmorre, mīnre sylfre sīð. Iċ þæt secgan mæġ, hwæt iċ yrmþa ġebād, siþþan iċ ūp wēox, nīwes oþþe ealdes, nō mā þonne nū. Ā iċ wīte wonn mīnra wræcsīþa. Ǣrest mīn hlāford ġewāt heonan of lēodum ofer ȳþa ġelāc; hæfde iċ ūhtċeare hwǣr mīn lēodfruma londes wǣre. Ðā iċ mē fēran ġewāt folgað sēċan, winelēas wræċċa, for mīnre wēaþearfe, ongunnon þæt þæs monnes māgas hycgan þurh dyrne ġeþōht þæt hȳ tōdǣlden unc, þæt wit ġewīdost in woruldrīċe lifdon lāðlicost, ond mec longade. Hēt mec hlāford mīn herheard niman. Āhte iċ lēofra lȳt on þissum londstede, holdra frēonda; for þon is mīn hyġe ġeōmor. Ðā iċ mē ful ġemæcne monnan funde— heardsǣliġne, hyġeġeōmorne, mōd mīþendne, morþor hycgendne— blīþe ġebǣro ful oft wit bēotedan þæt unc ne ġedǣlde nemne dēað āna ōwiht elles. Eft is þæt onhworfen; is nū ġeworden swā hit nō wǣre frēondscipe uncer. Sceal iċ feor ġe nēah mīnes felalēofan fǣhðe drēogan. Heht mec mon wunian on wuda bearwe, under āctrēo in þām eorðscræfe. Eald is þes eorðsele; eal iċ eom oflongad. Sindon dena dimme, dūna ūphēa, bitre burgtūnas brērum beweaxne, wīċ wynna lēas. Ful oft mec hēr wrāþe beġeat fromsīþ frēan. Frȳnd sind on eorþan lēofe lifġende, leġer weardiað, þonne iċ on ūhtan āna gonge under āctrēo ġeond þās eorðscrafu. Þǣr iċ sittan mōt sumorlangne dæġ; þǣr iċ wēpan mæġ mīne wræcsīþas, earfoþa fela, for þon iċ ǣfre ne mæġ þǣre mōdċeare mīnre ġerestan, ne ealles þæs longaþes þe mec on þissum līfe beġeat. Ā scyle ġeong mon wesan ġeōmormōd, heard heortan ġeþōht; swylċe habban sceal blīþe ġebǣro, ēac þon brēostċeare, sinsorgna ġedreag. Sȳ æt him sylfum ġelong eal his worulde wyn, sȳ ful wīde fāh feorres folclondes, þæt mīn frēond siteð under stānhliþe storme behrīmed, wine wēriġmōd, wætre beflōwen on drēorsele, drēogeð se mīn wine miċle mōdċeare. Hē ġemon tō oft wynlicran wīċ. Wā bið þām þe sceal of langoþe lēofes ābīdan.
I share this song about myself, deeply sorrowful, my own journey. I can tell what hardships I've endured since I grew up, new or old, never more than now. Always I suffer the torment of my exile. First, my lord departed from his people over the tossing waves; I had grief at dawn, wondering where my chieftain might be. Then I set out to go seeking service, a friendless exile, for my woeful need. They began to plot, that man's kinsmen, through secret thought, to separate us, so that we two would live farthest apart in the world, most wretched, and it pained me. My lord commanded me to take up residence here. I had few dear ones in this land, faithful friends; so my mind is sad. Then I found a man fully suitable— ill-fated, sorrowful in spirit, concealing his heart, plotting murder. With cheerful demeanor, often we two vowed that nothing would separate us except death alone, nothing else. Now that is reversed; it is now as if it had never been, our friendship. I must, far and near, endure the enmity of my beloved. They ordered me to dwell in a forest grove, under an oak tree in this earth-cave. Old is this earth-hall; I am utterly longing. The valleys are dark, the hills high, bitter the enclosures overgrown with briars, a joyless dwelling. Often here grief seizes me because of my lord's departure. Friends are in the earth, beloved ones living, they dwell in their beds, while I at dawn alone go under the oak tree through these earth-caves. There I must sit the long summer day; there I can weep over my exile, many hardships, for I can never rest from the cares of my mind, nor all the longing that has seized me in this life. A young man must always be sad-minded, stern in heart, yet he must have a cheerful demeanor, and also heartache, a multitude of constant sorrows. Let it depend upon himself for all his worldly joy; let him be utterly outlawed, in a distant foreign land, so that my friend sits under a rocky cliff, frozen by storms, my weary-hearted friend, surrounded by water in a dreary hall; my friend endures great mental anguish. He remembers too often a happier home. Woe to those who must wait with longing for a loved one.
This website uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience on our website.
Got it!
