The Poet's Superiority
Slender girl, here's my displeasure,
after summer, woe to you for the gift -
grievous smithcraft - woe to me,
4 fair maid, that I should present it to you.
Woe to the man who pursues anger
and who rebukes the jealous husband;
woe to him who knows (an ache like burning wax),
8 with pale-blue tears, the pain of jealousy.
I have praised in song your image,
a costly vocation, I am full of care.
My anxiety (a man's vengeance)
12 is greater than that of a man who's shackled
to a stone rack (a comfortless wall),
who the Pope would slay with his glistening steel,
lest the tale concerning you (a clear insistent denial)
16 be true, bright slender-handed maid.
There is (most woefully), according to some,
a proud and valiant lad, a splendid youth
(eight crimes of passion), who praises you
20 while you live, intent on violating you.
Though he might be splendid (bright conscience)
and a praiseworthy peacock, noble, proud,
before you take him (a great peril)
24 you should bear in mind, Indeg's twin,
that he'll not endure (I'm full of anger)
as much rain or wind, bright gossamer hue,
as I have endured to woo you,
28 stripped of dignity, neither here nor there.
My darling, he'll not wander
at night for your sake, star-bright girl,
through bramble-knots,
32 sweet gentle maid, as I did,
all those times (a resolute, persistent journey)
I ventured to where you were.
He'll not stay out (a feeble trickle)
36 beneath the weeping roof of a pleasant maid
lost in memory and on the verge of a quest
(most foolish journey), as I have stayed.
He'll not put upon his cheeks, in all earnestness,
40 as many torrents
of warm water this year,
Eigr of love, as I have done.
He'll not sing in praise of you
44 in the presence of lords till Judgement Day
a hundredth part (colour of a coat of mountain snow)
of all that I have sung from the canon of verse.
Our trysts you stubbornly deny,
48 your replies are foolish.
If you will now be unfaithful
on account of another, most cunning man,
the poets of Christendom will say
52 to you, colour of a stream's stone ford:
'A double curse upon you, pleasant maid,
for providing your poet, colour of torrent foam -
my comely, well-mannered darling -
56 with bad horsemanship, dazzling girl,
of the colour of fair foaming shallows,
and the one who's your own age, it's he who had you.'