Wreccan wifes ged [The Wife's Lament; The Wife's Complaint]
anonimo
Originale | Traduzione inglese moderna di Richard Hamer (2002) |
WRECCAN WIFES GED [THE WIFE'S LAMENT; THE WIFE'S COMPLAINT] Ic þis giedd wrece bi me ful geomorre minre sylfre sið; ic þæt secgan mæg hwæt ic yrmþa gebad siþþan ic up weox niwes oþþe ealdes, noma þonne nu a ic wite wonn minra wræcsiþa! Ærest min hlaford gewat heonan of leodum ofer yþa gelac. Hæfde ic uhtceare hwær min leodfruma londes wære. Ða icme feran gewat folgað secan, wineleas wræcca, for minre weaþearfe. Ongunnon þæt þæs monnes magas hycgan þurh dyrne geþoht þæt hy todælden unc þæt wit gewidost in woruldrice lifdon laðlicost, and mec longade. Het mec hlaford min her heard niman. Ahte ic leofra lyt on þissum londstede, holdra freonda; for þon is min hyge geomor, ða icme ful gemæcne monnan funde heardsæligne, hygegeomorne, mod miþendne, morþor hycgende bliþe gebæro. Ful oft wit beotedan þæt unc ne gedælde nemne deað ana. owiht elles. Eft is þæt onhworfen is nu […....] swa hit no wære. freondscipe uncer! Sceal ic feor ge neah mines fela leofan fæhðu dreogan. Heht mec mon wunian on wuda bearwe under actreo in þam eorðscræfe. Eald is þes eorðsele eal ic eom oflongad; sindon dena dimme duna uphea, bitre burgtunas, brerum beweaxne, wic wynna leas. Ful oft mec her wraþe begeat fromsiþ frean. Frynd sind on eorþan leofe lifgende, leger weardiað, þonne ic on uhtan ana gonge under actreo geond þas eorðscrafu! Þær ic sittan mot sumorlangne dæg, þær ic wepan mæg mine wræcsiþas, earfoþa fela. For þon ic æfre ne mæg þære modceare minre gerestan. Ne ealles þæs longaþes þe mec on þissum life begeat. A scyle geong mon wesan geomormod, heard heortan geþoht, swylce habban sceal bliþe gebæro, eac þon breostceare, sinsorgna gedreag - sy æt him sylfum gelong eal his worulde wyn sy ful wide fah feorres folclondes þæt min freond siteð under stanhliþe. storme behrimed wine werigmod, wætre beflowen on dreorsele. Dreogeð se min wine micle modceare; he gemon to oft wynlicran wic. Wa bið þam þe sceal of langoþe leofes abidan! | THE WIFE'S LAMENT I sing this song about myself, full sad, My own distress, and tell what hardships I Have had to suffer since I first grew up, Present and past, but never more than now; I ever suffered grief through banishment. For since my lord departed from this people Over the sea, each dawn have I had care Wondering where my lord may be on land. When I set off to join and serve my lord, A friendless exile in my sorry plight, My husband's kinsmen plotted secretly How they might separate us from each other That we might live in wretchedness apart Most widely in the world: and my heart longed. In the first place my lord had ordered me To take up my abode here, though I had Among these people few dear loyal friends; Therefore my heart is sad. Then had I found A fitting man, but one ill-starred, distressed, Whose hiding heart was contemplating crime, Though cheerful his demeanour. We had vowed Full many a time that nought should come between us But death alone, and nothing else at all. All that has changed, and it is now as though Our marriage and our love had never been, And far or near forever I must suffer The feud of my beloved husband dear. So in this forest grove they made me dwell, Under the oak-tree, in this earthy barrow. Old is this earth-cave, all I do is yearn. The dales are dark with high hills up above, Sharp hedge surrounds it, overgrown with briars, And joyless is the place. Full often here The absence of my lord comes sharply to me. Dear lovers in this world lie in their beds, While I alone at crack of dawn must walk Under the oak-tree round this earthy cave, Where I must stay the length of summer days, Where I may weep my banishment and all My many hardships, for I never can Contrive to set at rest my careworn heart, Nor all the longing that this life has brought me. A young man always must be serious, And tough his character; likewise he should Seem cheerful, even though his heart is sad With multitude of cares. All earthly joy Must come from his own self. Since my dear lord Is outcast, far off in a distant land, Frozen by storms beneath a stormy cliff And dwelling in some desolate abode Beside the sea, my weary-hearted lord Must suffer pitiless anxiety. And all too often he will call to mind A happier dwelling. Grief must always be For him who yearning longs for his beloved. |