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THE WANDERER (excerpt) for a cappella voices from a tenth century anglo-saxon text Oft the lone one yearns for grace-- the Maker's mercy-- though long his oars must first stir the frost-cold sea, with anxious heart, o'er ocean way to fare the paths of exile. Fate is fixed! So said a wanderer, remembering woe, cruel carnage, dear kinsmen's death: Oft I must lament my misery alone, before dawn's light. None now lives to whom I dare openly express my inmost thoughts. In truth I know it well befits a noble warrior to guard close his heart's key, restrain his thought-horde, resolve what he will. A desperate mind cannot withstand destiny, nor tempestuous soul oppose fate. Hence ambitious men must keep somber moods remote within their hearts. And so I, oft miserable, home bereft, far from kinsmen, must also fasten my feelings with fetters, for long it is since earth's darkness enfolded my lord and I fared forth, poor, winter-wearied, onward bound o'er t
