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This tale is true, and mine. It tells How the sea took me, swept me back And forth in sorrow and fear and pain, Showed m
This tale is true, and mine. It tells How the sea took me, swept me back And forth in sorrow and fear and pain, Showed me suffering in a hundred ships, In a thousand ports, and in me. It tells Of smashing surfs when I sweated in the cold Of an anxious watch, perched in the bow As it dashed under cliffs. My feet were cast In icy bands, bound with frost, With frozen chains, and hardship groaned Around my heart. Hunger tore At my sea-weary soul. No man sheltered On the quiet fairness of earth can feel How wretched I was, drifting through winter On an ice-cold sea, whirled in sorrow, Alone in a world blown clear of love, Hung with icicles. The hailstorms flew. The only sound was the roaring sea, The freezing waves. The song of the swan 5 Might serve for pleasure, the cry of the sea-fowl The death-noise of birds instead of laughter, The mewing of gulls instead of mead.
Storms beat on the rocky cliffs and were echoed
By icy-feathered terns and the eagle's screams;
No kinsman could offer comfort there,
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To a soul left drowning in desolation.
And who could believe, knowing but The passion of cities, swelled proud with wine And no taste of misfortune, how often, how wearily, I put myself back on the paths of the sea.
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The horizon, seeking foreigners' homes.
Night would blacken; it would snow from the north; Frost bound the earth and hail would fall, The coldest seeds. And how my heart would begin to beat, knowing once more The salt waves tossing and the towering sea! The time for journeys would come and my soul called me eagerly out, sent me over اول مقطع
This story is true and it's mine. It talks about how the sea took me, moving me back and forth in sadness, fear, and pain, showing me suffering on many ships, in many ports, and inside myself. It talks about the crashing waves when I sweated in the cold, nervously watching from the front of the ship as it dashed under cliffs. My feet were trapped in icy bands, tied with frost, with frozen chains, and hardship groaned around my heart. Hunger tore at my tired soul from the sea. No man on the quiet, fair earth can understand how miserable I was, drifting through winter on an ice-cold sea, spun in sadness, alone in a world without love, covered with icicles. The hailstorms flew. The only sound was the roaring sea, the freezing waves. The swan's song might be nice, the cry of the sea-bird instead of laughter, the gulls' cries instead of drinking mead. Storms hit the rocky cliffs and were echoed by icy-feathered terns and the eagle's screams; no relative could offer comfort there, to a soul left drowning in loneliness.
And who could believe, knowing only the excitement of cities, filled with pride from wine and no taste of bad luck, how often, how tiredly, I went back to the paths of the sea.
The horizon, looking for foreign homes. Night would get dark; snow would fall from the north; frost covered the earth and hail would fall, the coldest seeds. And how my heart would start to beat, knowing once more the salty waves tossing and the tall sea! The time for journeys would come and my soul called me eagerly out, sending me over the sea.