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.
Oft must I, alone, the hour before dawn
lament my care.
Therefore glory-seekers, oft bind fast
in breast-chamber a dreary mind.
So must I my heart –
often wretched with cares, deprived of homeland,
far from kin – fasten with fetters.