gārsecges gæst, grund gesēceð,
30 and þonne in dēaðsele drence bifæsteð
scipu mid scealcum.
Swā bið scinn[_en_]a þēaw,
dēofla wīse, þæt hī droht[i]ende
þurh dyrne meaht duguðe beswīcað,
and on teosu tyhtaþ tilra dǣda,
35 wēmað on willan, þæt hȳ wraþe sēcen,

* * * * *

The weary-hearted sailors mount the isle,
And, free from thought of peril, there abide.
Elated, on the sands they build a fire,
A mounting blaze. There, light of heart, they sit--
No more discouraged--eager for sweet rest.
Then when the crafty fiend perceives that men,
Encamped upon him, making their abode,
Enjoy the gentle weather, suddenly
Under the salty waves he plunges down,
Straight to the bottom deep he drags his prey;
He, guest of ocean, in his watery haunts
Drowns ships and men, and fast imprisons them
Within the halls of death.
Such is the way
Of demons, devils' wiles: to hide their power,
And stealthily inveigle heedless men,
Inciting them against all worthy deeds,
And luring them to seek for help and comfort