Creative Corner #6

Got pretty bored on Sunday, so bored in fact that I decided to translate a poem from Old English - my favourite olde poem going, which has suffered some truly baaaad translations over the years. I'm feeling a little big smug about my effort though!

Leodum is minum swylce him mon lác gife willað hy hi
ne aþecgan gif he on þreat cymeð ungelic is ús . wulf
is on iege icon oþerre fæst is þæt eglond fenne bi
worpen sindon wæl reowe weras þær on ige willað hy
hine aþecgan gif he on þreat cymeð ungelice is us
wulfes ic mines wid lastum wenum dogode þon hit wæs
renig weder & ic reo tugu sæt . þon mec se beadu cafa
bogum bilegde wæs me wyn to þon wæs me hwæþre eac
lað . wulf min wulf wena me þine seoce gedydon þine.
seld cymas murnende mód nales mete liste gehyrest þu
ead wacer uncerne earne hwelp bireð wulf to wuda þæt
mon eaþe tosliteð þætte næfre gesomnad wæs uncer giedd
geador

Wulf

To my people, it is as if one has given them a gift.
They will consume him, if he comes with a threat, but it is different with us.
Wulf is on one island, I on another, fast with a ring of fen.
There are men of slaughter on that island, who desire
To consume him, if he comes with a threat, but it is different with us.
Wulf, like a dog at your feet, my expectations have journeyed long.
When, in rainy weather I sat lamenting, he who is battle-bold
Took me in his arms, and it was a comfort of sorts, but also
A great sorrow. Wulf, my wolf, the thought of you has caused me sickness.
Your infrequent visits made me anxious, not any lack of food. Do you hear?
Eadwacer, our wretched cub is born to the woods by a wolf.
Man easily tears apart that which was never made, our song
Together.