The Wanderer

Grim's post mentioning the Havamal put me in mind of the Anglo-Saxon poem "The Wanderer." It is a world-weary anonymous poem of the late 10th C, though written as much as a full century earlier.  The poet, or scop (pronounced "shope" and meaning shaper) laments what he has lost since the time of his youth, when he lived in the court of a king and spent days singing and feasting with friends and kinsmen.  But they were all killed in battle, and now he roams the earth looking for another lord to attach himself to. It is a melancholy poem, certainly.  It is usually associated with two other Old English poems of that era, "The Battle of Maldon" and "The Seafarer," the former for linguistic reasons and the latter for thematic ones. It is compared to the Havamal, the earliest bits of which date from the same time and a similar culture. Yet I have thought it bears comparison to Ecclesiastes.  Though the final composer of the poem is a Christian, it is unlikely he had strong familiarity with the Wisdom literature of the Old Testament.  It was in no way emphasised outside clerical circles until centuries later. Yet this melancholy man who has lost everything comes to the same solace as the Hebrew writer. At the end of the poem one almost expects him to break out into Vanity, vanity, all is vanity,

All is fraught with hardship in the kingdom of earth, the creation of the fates changes the world under the heavens.

Here wealth is temporary, here a friend is temporary, here oneself is temporary, here a kinsman is temporary; all this foundation of the earth will become worthless!

So said the one wise in spirit, sat himself apart in secret meditation.

Good is he who his maintains his faith, nor ought a man ever his grief too quickly of his breast make known, unless he, the nobleman, before then knows how to bring about amends with courage. Well is it for that one who seeks mercy for himself, consolation from the Father in the heavens, where for us all the fastness stands.

Readers of Tolkien will perk their ears up at another part of the poem, though. 

Where has the horse gone? Where has the young man gone? Where has the treasure-giver gone? Where have the seats of the feasts gone? Where are the hall-­joys? Alas, bright goblet! Alas mail-­warrior! Alas, glory of the prince! How that time departed, grew dark under helm of night, as if it never was. A wall wondrously high, decorated with serpent shapes, stands now in the track of the beloved troop of seasoned retainers.

is very reminiscent of Aragorn's lament in The Two Towers

Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?

Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?

Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?

Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?

They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;

The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.

Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,

Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

Well, no surprise there, as not only was this Tolkien's professional field overall, but this poem was one he took special interest in. He thought it should more properly be entitled "The Exile."