All alone in my little cell, without the company of a single person;
precious has been the pilgrimage before going to meet death.
A hidden secluded little hut, for the forgiveness of my sins:
an upright, untroubled conscience towards holy heaven …
A cold and anxious bed, like the lying down of a doomed man:
a brief, apprehensive sleep; invocations frequent and early.
My food as befits my station, precious has been my captivity:
my dinner, without doubt, would not make me full-blooded.
Dry bread weighed out, well we bow the head;
water of the man-coloured hillside, that is the drink I would take.
A bitter meagre dinner; diligently feeding the sick;
keeping off strife and visits; a calm, serene conscience …
All alone in my little cell, all alone thus;
alone I came into the world, alone I shall go from it.
If on my own I have sinned through pride of this world,
hear me wail for it all alone, O God!
- Poem in the 700s or 800s