The Ruin
Autor: Eirien
Wondrous is this stone-wall, wrecked by fate;
The city-buildings crumble, the works of the giants decay.
Roofs have caved in, towers collapsed,
Barred gates are broken, hoar frost clings to mortar,
Houses are gaping, tottering, and fallen,
Undermined by age. The earth's embrace,
Its fierce grip, holds the mighty craftsman;
They are perished and gone. A hundred generations
Have passed away since then. This wall, grey with lichen
And red of hue, outlines kingdom after kingdom,
but it remained standing under the storms;
steep and wider it perished.
the wall stone remains still;
a ring design resolutely bound the wall with wire roots;
wonder together, bright were the city buildings,
the bathing halls many, the high gables,
the great sound of the army and many a mead-hall,
full of the joys of men, yet mighty wyrd changed that.
the slaughtered perished far and wide,
the days of pestilence came.
death took away all of the brave men.
thei defences became deserted places.
the city-place decayed. the repairers perished.
armies to dust.
and so these buildings grow desolate
and this red-arch parts from the tiles, the roof of the vault,
the ruin decays to the ground, broken to mounds of stone;
where long ago many a man, happy and bright with gold,
adorned with splendour, proud and flushed with wine,
shone in his war trappings.
he looked on treasure, on silver, on crafted gems,
on wealth, on property, on precious stones,
on this bright enclosure of the broad kingdom.
stone buildings stood, a stream threw out heat, a wide surge.
a wall all encompassed in its bright bosom
where the baths were hot in the heart.
such was fortune.
auf alt-Englisch klingt es gleich noch einmal so gut.