The faring of my lord afar. Friends there are on earth
Living in love, in lasting bliss,
35 While, wakeful at dawn, I wander alone
Under the oak-tree the earth-cave near.
Sadly I sit there the summer-long day,
Wearily weeping my woeful exile,
My many miseries. Hence I may not ever
40 Cease my sorrowing, my sad bewailing,
Nor all the longings of my life of woe.
Always may the young man be mournful of spirit,