When the sad exile so often must send
Thoughts of his suffering spirit to wander
Wide o'er the waves where the rough billows blend.
So, lest the thought of my mind should be clouded,
Close must I prison my sadness of heart,
When I remember my bold comrade-kinsmen,
How from the mede-hall I saw them depart.
Thus is the earth with its splendor departing--
Day after day it is passing away,
Nor may a mortal have much of true wisdom