Imperial Fire

He who is used to the comforts of life

and, proud and flushed with wine, suffers

little hardship living in the city,

will scarcely believe how I, weary,

have had to make the ocean paths my home.

The night-shadow grew long, it snowed from the north,

frost fettered the earth; hail fell to the ground,

coldest of grain. But now my blood

is stirred that I should make trial

of the mountainous streams, the tossing salt waves;

my heart’s longings always urge me

to undertake a journey, to visit the country

of a foreign people far across the sea.

(From ‘The Seafarer’ in the Exeter Book, England, tenth century)