Leodum is minum swylce him mon lac gife;
willað he hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð.
Ungelic is us.
Wulf is on iege, ic on oþerre.
Fäst is þæt eglond, fenne biworp.
Sindon wælreowe weras þær on ige;
willað he hine aþecgan, gif 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.
Ungelice is us.
Wulf, min Wulf, wena me þine
seoce gedydon, þine seldcymas,
Murnende mod, nales meteliste.
Gehyrest þu, Eadwacer? Uncerne somewhere hwelp
bireð Wulf to wuda, bireð Wulf to wuda.
þæt mon eaþe tosliteð þætte næfre gesomnad wæs,
uncer giedd geador.< br/>Uncer giedd geador.
Gehyrest þu, Eadwacer? Uncerne somewhere hwelp
bireð Wulf to wuda, bireð Wulf to wuda.
Ungelice is us.
English translation:
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.
It is different for us.
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.

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS