Wulf and Eadwacer

trans. James Schuller (TCD)

Leodum is minum swylce him mon lac gife;
willað hy hine aþecgan gif he on þreat cymeð.

Ungelic is us.
Wulf is on iege, ic on oþerre
fæst is þæt eglond, fenne biworpen.
Sindon wælreowe weras þær on ige
willað hy hine aþecgan hif he on þreat cymeð.

Ungelice is us.
Wulfes ic mines widlastum wenum dogode
þonne hit wæs renig weder ond ic reotugu sæt
þonne mec se beaducafa bogum bilegde;
wæs me wyn to þon, wæs me hwæþre eac lað.

Wulf, min Wulf, wena me þine
seoce gedydon þine selcymas
murnende mod, nales meteliste.

Gehyrest þu, Eadwacer? Uncerne earmne hwelp
bireð wulf to wuda.
Þæt mon eaþe tosliteð þætte næfre gesomnad wæs
uncer giedd geador.

One like him would be their sacrifice;
they will kill him if he comes into our company.

We are not the same.
Wulf is on one isle, and I on the other;
that island is closed, cut off with fens
and the blood-mantled men on that island
will kill him if he comes into their company.

We are not the same.
My hopes followed in Wulf’s wide track,
and I sat weeping under gray skies.
Then battle-brave arms embraced me;
there was joy in that, but also hate.

Wulf, my Wulf! My dreams of you
are fever and famine, your absence
sharp hunger and sickness.

Do you hear, Eadwacer?
Our whelp in its jaws, the wolf to the wood is fleeing,
and that which never was bound is easily broken
our tale together.