Wulf
This is just my own translation of the Anglo-Saxon poem usually known as Wulf and Eadwacer. It is famously ambiguous, with much debate about the identity of Eadwacer. In this version, I treat Eadwacer as a term of endearment for Wulf. ‘Ead’ can mean riches, joy, happiness. ‘Wace’ is related to watching, guarding, keeping. The original poem is in the West Saxon literary dialect. I always imagine it being composed, sung, by a woman on the Somerset Levels, when they were islands.
| To my people it as if they were given a gift.
They will do for him, if he comes with force. Fast is this island, fen surrounded, There are bloodthirsty men here on the island; We are apart. When it was rainy weather, and I sat tearfully, When the battle-strong warrior surrounded me with his arms. Have made me sick, your seldom coming, My mourning mood, not lack of food. Do you hear, holder of happiness? Our wretched whelp Is born by the wolf to the woods. Men easily tear apart that which was never joined, our song together. |
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, gif he on þreat cymeð. Ungelice is us. Wulfes ic mines widlastum wenum hogode; þonne hit wæs renig weder ond ic reotugu sæt, murnende mod, nales meteliste. |
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