Page:King Alfred's Version of the Consolations of Boethius.djvu/257



To straying men    strong in its place.

Yet may the sage    deep in his spirit

Feel great shame    for the lust of glory,

When the thirst for fame    fiercely presses,

Although he may not    make it to spread,

In no wise whatever,    over these narrow

Quarters of earth. How idle is glory!

Why ever, O proud ones,    take you pleasure

To bow your own necks    beneath the yoke

Heavy and grievous,    glad that you may?

Why do you labour    so long in vain,

Aim to possess    fame in the world,

Over the nations,    more than you need?

Though it befell    that southward and north

The uttermost denizens,        dwellers of earth,

In many a tongue    intoned your praises;

Though you were known    for noblest birth,

Worshipped for wealth,    waxing in splendour,

Dear for your valour;    Death heeds these not

When heaven's Governor    gives him leave.

But the wealthy man,    and the wanting in goods,

Death makes equal,    in all things alike.

Where now are the wise one's,    Weland's bones,

The worker in gold,        once greatest in glory?

I ask where the bones        of Weland are buried

For never any    that on earth lives

May lose any virtue    lent him by Christ;

Nor may one poor wretch    be robbed with more ease

Of his soul's virtue,    than may the sun

Be swung from his path,    or the swift heavens