Wulf and Eadwacer

This poem was written over one thousand years ago, and has always been a puzzling fragment. The following is intended to translate the spirit rather than the words.

A Godsend, a gift, a present to my people
Such would he be should he stray into their camp
Thus are we divided, the torrent water splits us, sundered to my grief.
An island holds Wulf
Another holds me
Black bogged, deep mired, guarded by the bloodmen
Savage men, hard men
They would put him to the sword
If he tried to reach me
Thus are we divided.
The sky was full of tear-clouds
My eyes glistened sightless
Roving with Wulf as he struggled afar
Warm was his greeting
Sad was his parting
As he left me once more.
My Wulf! Am I lean as I gaze from the casement?
Are you sure that my shivering is only from
I am sick — is my weakness from want of more food?
No, Wulf, the hunger
Is deeper than bread-need
You visit me seldom
To lighten my grief.
Eadwacer, my husband, do you hear my wailing?
Look now, even now, to the darkening forest
For Wulf carries off our pitiful child.
It is not hard to sunder
What was never united:
The song of us two together.

Marty