Oft ic sceal wiþ wæge winnan ond wiþ winde feohtan
somod wið þam sæcce, þonne ic secan gewite
eorþan yþum þeaht; me biþ se eþel fremde.
Ic beom strong þæs gewinnes, gif ic stille weorþe;
5 gif me þæs tosæleð, hi beoð swiþran þonne ic
ond mec slitende sona flymað,
willað oþfergan þæt ic friþian sceal.
Ic him þæt forstonde, gif min steort þolað
ond mec stiþne wiþ stanas moton
10 fæste gehabban. Frige hwæt ic hatte.
Often I must struggle against the waves, and fight against the wind,
war against them both together, then I endeavour to seek out
the ground covered by waves; the land is alien to me.
I am strong in that fight, if I become still;
5 if it should go wrong for me, they will be stronger than I,
and, ripping, will straightaway put me to flight,
they want to ferry away what I am meant to protect.
I prevent them from that, if my end endures
and stones are able to keep me fixed
10 resolutely fast. Figure out what I am called.
Highlight the box with your cursor to reveal the possible solution: Anchor