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,
So must I my heart –
often wretched with cares, deprived of homeland,
fasten with fetters.
[…] Long ago earth covered
my lord in darkness, and I, wretched,
mad and desolate as winter,
over the wave's binding sought, hall-dreary,
a giver of treasure, where far or near
I might find one.