The Ruin: A Fresh Translation

I've always loved "The Ruin," a damaged Anglo-Saxon poem from the Exeter Book. I had occasion to revisit it in April 2021, and I decided to translate it again, for my own pleasure and to help me think through some writing I was doing for The Lost Tales of Sir Galahad. I share it here in hopes that it may amuse and/or edify you.

You can see the original Anglo-Saxon and a different translation of it at this wikipedia page.

Jewel-like is this wallstone,    Fate-broken.
The castle burst;    its giant-work crumbles.
Roofs have fallen,    towers lie in ruin.
The frostgate is riven,     rime on lime,
The storm-refuge in shards,    shorn to disaster,
Eaten from beneath by age.    Earth’s grip holds
The castle’s mighty makers,    withered and gone.
Soil's hard grasp will hold them    until a hundred generations
Of mankind have passed.    Oft this wall endured,
Lichen-grey and red of hue,    in one kingdom after another;
It held up under storms:    Steep, lofty, lost.
It crumbles still, the ...s heaped up
Abide...
Grimly ground ...
... shone, they ...
... clever work, ancient ...
... a ring of dried mud ...
mind ... swift, crafty,
Determined in rings,    bound the high roof
A wire-helmed wall,    ingeniously joined.
Bright were the castle-halls,    many bath-houses,
High treasure-horns,    great troop-sounds,
Many meadhalls,    full of men's joy,
Until that was turned    severely by Fate.
The battle-felled ranged wide,    the pestilence-days came.
Death carried off    rough and ready swordsmen;
Their battlegrounds    became abandoned wastes.
The castle crumbled;    its repairers themselves crumpled to the ground.
Thus, these houses    have collapsed,
And the red arch    is sundered from the tiles,
The pillared-vault's roof.    It has all collapsed,
Broken to bits,    where many a warrior,
Glad-minded and gold-bright,    gleamingly adorned,
Proud and wine-brave,    shone in battle-array.
He looked at loot,    at silver, at stunning gems,
At wealth, at possessions,    at goblet-stones,
At the bright fortress    of a broad kingdom.
The stonecastle stood,    streams brought heat,
A wide spring.    A wall surrounded it all,
Its bright bosom,    where the baths were,
Hot in its heart.    That was convenient.
They let it out...
Over grey stone    the hot streams 
Un- ...
... that ring-pool    hot...
... where the baths were ...
Then is ... 
...-re;    That is a kingly thing
How the ... castle ...