The days have been slipping away,
And all the pomps of the kingdoms of the earth.
Not now kings or gold-giving lords.
The glorious company has perished.
The weaker remain and occupy the world.
Splendor has been humbled. Earth’s nobility
Ages and grows sere, just as man now does
Throughout middle-earth.
Now, therefore, my thought roves
Beyond the confines of my heart.
My mind fares widely with the ocean tide
Over the whale-path, and comes back
Avid and covetous.
The lone sea-flyer calls and urges the spirit
Over the waters of oceans.
I do not believe that material treasure
Will last eternally. One of three things will befall:
Ill-health, old age, or the sword’s violence
Will snatch the life from the heedless man.
For everyone, therefor, praise from the living
Is the best of epitaphs, that before he had
To be on his way, he made goodly gains
Against the malice of fiends.
– An anonymous seventh-century Old English poem translated by Michael R. Burch