Hraefnas windath, cealliath crawe. Cyle ne thaer is. Gif he slaw weorthe, man mid swipe hine drifth. The sun in the south burns like torment. Wide and big and woefully heavy is the burden on his back.
Great mountains rise around the road.
No rest is there. He does not know why he came on that road, nor for what purpose men loaded him. He does not have high strength like a horse to resist the commands of men when their counsel is hard. The top of the pass is high and far. Ravens circle, crows call.