TAROT
DE LAS RUNAS
From the Beginning - ELP
willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð.
Ungelic is us.
Wulf is on iege, ic on oþerre.
Fæst is þæt eglond, fenne biworpen.
Sindon wælreowe weras þær on ige;
willað hy 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.
Wulf, min Wulf, wena me þine
seoce gedydon, þine seldcymas,
murnende mod, nales meteliste.
Gehyrest þu, Eadwacer? Uncerne earne hwelp
bireð Wulf to wuda.
þæt mon eaþe tosliteð þætte næfre gesomnad wæs,
uncer giedd geador.
It is to my people as if someone gave them a 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.
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.
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.
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.
Será para mi pueblo como entrar en batalla:
tal han de recibirlo, si llega en son de guerra.
¡Qué suertes más distintas!
Wulf está en una isla, mientras yo estoy en otra.
Es una plaza fuerte, rodeada de pozas.
Son feroces guerreros los hombres de esta isla.
Tal han de recibirlo, si llega en son de guerra.
¡Qué suertes más distintas!
Lejos mi Wulf va errante y yo sufro en la espera.
Cuando en tiempo de lluvias, me senté aquí y lloraba;
vino este combatiente y me apretó en sus brazos,
para delicia mía, mas también para pena.
Wulf, Wulf mío, esperanzas
de ti me tienen mala, tus venidas escasas,
el corazón en duelo, no el estar sin comer.
¿Me estás oyendo, Eadwacer? Nuestro pobre lobezno
lleva mi Wulf al bosque.
Fácilmente se rompe lo que no estaba unido,
nuestro cantar a una.
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