The Old English poem "The Wanderer" (c. 975) is usually considered an elegy, since the narrator mourns the loss of earthly joys and companions:
Wat se þe cunna›,
hu sliþen bi› sorg to geferan,
þam þe him lyt hafa› leofra geholena.
Wara› hine wræclast, nales wunden gold,
fer›loca freorig, nalæs foldan blæd.
Gemon he selesecgas ond sincþege,
hu hine on geogu›e his goldwine
wenede to wiste. Wyn eal gedreas!
Forþon wat se þe sceal his winedryhtnes
leofes larcwidum longe forþolian,
›onne sorg ond slæp somod ætgædre
earmne anhogan oft gebinda›.
þince› him on mode þæt he his mondryhten
clyppe ond cysse, ond on cneo lecge
honda ond heafod, swa he hwilum ær
in geardagum giefstolas breac.
›onne onwæcne› eft wineleas guma,
gesih› him biforan fealwe wegas,
baþian brimfuglas, brædan feþra,
hreosan hrim ond snaw, hagle gemenged.
and how, in his youth, his gold-friend
entertained him. Those joys have all vanished. A man who lacks advice for a long while from his loved lord understands this, that when sorrow and sleep together hold the wretched wanderer in their grip, it seems that he clasps and kisses his lord, and lays hands and head
upon his lord’s knee as he had sometimes done when he enjoyed the gift-throne in earlier days. Then the friendless man wakes again and sees the dark waves surging around him, the sea-birds bathing, spreading their feathers,
frost and snow falling mingled with hail.
