þurh mōdgemynd, bi þām miclan hwale.
Sē bið unwillum oft gemēted,
5 frēcne and fer[_h_]ðgrim, fareðlācendum,
niþþa gehwylcum; þām is noma cenned,
fyr[ge]nstrēama geflotan, Fastitocalon.
Is þæs hīw gelīc hrēofum stāne,
swylce wōrie bi wædes ōfre,
10 sondbeorgum ymbseald, sǣrȳrica mǣst,
swā þæt wēnaþ wǣglīþende
þæt hȳ on ēalond sum ēagum wlīten;
and þonne gehȳd[_i_]að hēahstefn scipu
tō þām unlonde oncyrrāpum,
15 s[_ǣ_]laþ sǣmearas sundes æt ende,

* * * * *

Now will I spur again my wit, and use
Poetic skill to weave words into song,
Telling of one among the race of fish,
The great asp-turtle. Men who sail the sea
Often unwillingly encounter him,
Dread preyer on mankind. His name we know,
The ocean-swimmer, Fastitocalon.
Dun, like rough stone in color, as he floats
He seems a heaving bank of reedy grass
Along the shore, with rolling dunes behind,
So that sea-wanderers deem their gaze has found
An island. Boldly then their high-prowed ships
They moor with cables to that shore, a land
That is no land. Still floating on the waves,