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Wreccan wifes ged [The Wife's Lament; The Wife's Complaint]

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OriginaleTraduzione inglese di Michael R. Burch
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 draw these words from deep wells of wild grief,
care-worn, unutterably sad.
I can recount woes I've borne since birth,
present and past, till I was driven mad.
I have won, from my exile-paths, only pain
here on earth.

First, my lord forsook his kin-folk, left,
crossed the seas' wide expanse, abandoning our tribe.
Since then, I've known only misery ...
wrenching dawn-griefs, despair in wild tides;
where, oh where can he be?

Then I, too, left—a lonely, lordless refugee,
full of unaccountable desires!
But the man's kinsmen schemed secretly
to estrange us, divide us, keep us apart, divorced from hope,
unable to touch, and my heart broke ...

Then my lord spoke:
"Take up residence here."
I had few acquaintances in this alien region, none close.
I was penniless, friendless;
Christ, I felt lost!

Eventually
I thought I had found a well-matched man—one meant for me,
but unfortunately he
was ill-starred and blind,
with a devious mind,
full of murderous intentions,
plotting some crime!

Before God we
vowed never to part, not till kingdom come, never!
But now that's all changed, forever—
our marriage is done, severed.
So now I must hear, far and near,
contempt for my husband.

Then other men bade me, "Go, live in repentance in the sacred grove,
beneath the great oak trees, in a grotto, alone."
Now in this ancient earth-cave I am lost and oppressed—
the valleys are dark, the hills strange, wild, immense,
and this cruel-briared enclosure—an arid abode!

Now the injustice assails me—my lord's absence!
Elsewhere on earth lovers share the same bed
while I pass through life dead,
in this dark abscess where I wilt in the heat, unable to rest
or forget the sorrows of my life's hard lot.

A young woman must always be
stern, hard-of-heart, unmoved, full of belief,
enduring breast-cares, suppressing her own feelings.
She must appear cheerful
even in a tumult of grief.

Now, like a criminal exiled to a far-off land,
moaning beneath insurmountable cliffs,
my weary-minded love, drenched by wild storms
and caught in the clutches of anguish, mourns,
reminded constantly of our former happiness.

Woe be it to them who abide in longing.


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