Wulf and Eadwacer

Wulf and Eadwacer is a very obscure, but strangely appealing Old English poem. The speaker seems to be a woman involved in some way with two men named Wulf and Eadwacer which are male Anglo-Saxon names, but beyond that we have little but conjecture. To some extent, this puts the interested reader on a par with the scholar, because anyone may read the poem and allow it to speak its message on its own terms. It is what you make of it, an intimate yet mysterious glimpse through the shifting mists of ancient times. 

It is to my people as if someone gave them my gift.

They want to kill him, if he comes with a troop.

It is different for us.

Wulf is on one island I on another.

That island, surrounded by fens, is secure.

There on the island are bloodthirsty men.

They want to kill him, if he comes with a troop.

It is different for us.

I thought of my Wulf with far-wandering hopes,

Whenever it was rainy weather, and I sat tearfully,

Whenever the warrior bold in battle encompassed me with his arms.

To me it was pleasure in that, it was also painful.

Wulf, my Wulf, my hopes for you have caused

My sickness, your infrequent visits,

A mourning spirit, not at all a lack of food.

Do you hear, Eadwacer? A wolf is carrying

our wretched whelp to the forest,

that one easily sunders which was never united:

our song together.