The Wife's Lament (Old English)

Iċ þis ġiedd wrece     bi mē ful ġeōmorre,
  mīnre sylfre sīð.     Iċ þæt secgan mæġ,
  hwæt iċ yrmþa ġebād,     siþþan iċ ūp wēox,
  nīwes oþþe ealdes,     nō mā þonne nū.
 Ā iċ wīte wonn     mīnra wræcsīþa.
  Ǣrest mīn hlāford ġewāt     heonan of lēodum
  ofer ȳþa ġelāc;     hæfde iċ ūhtċeare
  hwǣr mīn lēodfruma     londes wǣre.
  Ðā iċ mē fēran ġewāt     folgað sēċan,
 winelēas wræċċa,     for mīnre wēaþearfe,
  ongunnon þæt þæs monnes     māgas hycgan
  þurh dyrne ġeþōht     þæt hȳ tōdǣlden unc,
  þæt wit ġewīdost     in woruldrīċe
  lifdon lāðlicost,     ond mec longade.
 Hēt mec hlāford mīn     herheard niman.
  Āhte iċ lēofra lȳt     on þissum londstede,
  holdra frēonda;     for þon is mīn hyġe ġeōmor.
  Ðā iċ mē ful ġemæcne     monnan funde—
  heardsǣliġne,     hyġeġeōmorne,
 mōd mīþendne,     morþor hycgendne—
  blīþe ġebǣro     ful oft wit bēotedan
  þæt unc ne ġedǣlde     nemne dēað āna
  ōwiht elles.     Eft is þæt onhworfen;
  is nū ġeworden     swā hit nō wǣre
 frēondscipe uncer.     Sceal iċ feor ġe nēah
  mīnes felalēofan     fǣhðe drēogan.
  Heht mec mon wunian     on wuda bearwe,
  under āctrēo     in þām eorðscræfe.
  Eald is þes eorðsele;     eal iċ eom oflongad.
  Sindon dena dimme,     dūna ūphēa,
  bitre burgtūnas     brērum beweaxne,
  wīċ wynna lēas.     Ful oft mec hēr wrāþe beġeat
  fromsīþ frēan.     Frȳnd sind on eorþan
  lēofe lifġende,     leġer weardiað,
 þonne iċ on ūhtan     āna gonge
  under āctrēo     ġeond þās eorðscrafu.
  Þǣr iċ sittan mōt     sumorlangne dæġ;
  þǣr iċ wēpan mæġ     mīne wræcsīþas,
  earfoþa fela,     for þon iċ ǣfre ne mæġ
 þǣre mōdċeare     mīnre ġerestan,
  ne ealles þæs longaþes     þe mec on þissum līfe beġeat.
  Ā scyle ġeong mon     wesan ġeōmormōd,
  heard heortan ġeþōht;     swylċe habban sceal
  blīþe ġebǣro,     ēac þon brēostċeare,
 sinsorgna ġedreag.     Sȳ æt him sylfum ġelong
  eal his worulde wyn,     sȳ ful wīde fāh
  feorres folclondes,     þæt mīn frēond siteð
  under stānhliþe     storme behrīmed,
  wine wēriġmōd,     wætre beflōwen
 on drēorsele,     drēogeð se mīn wine
  miċle mōdċeare.     Hē ġemon tō oft
  wynlicran wīċ.     Wā bið þām þe sceal
  of langoþe     lēofes ābīdan.

I share this song about myself, deeply sorrowful,
my own journey. I can tell
what hardships I've endured since I grew up,
new or old, never more than now.
Always I suffer the torment of my exile.
First, my lord departed from his people
over the tossing waves; I had grief at dawn,
wondering where my chieftain might be.
Then I set out to go seeking service,
a friendless exile, for my woeful need.
They began to plot, that man's kinsmen,
through secret thought, to separate us,
so that we two would live farthest apart in the world,
most wretched, and it pained me.
My lord commanded me to take up residence here.
I had few dear ones in this land,
faithful friends; so my mind is sad.
Then I found a man fully suitable—
ill-fated, sorrowful in spirit,
concealing his heart, plotting murder.
With cheerful demeanor, often we two vowed
that nothing would separate us except death alone,
nothing else. Now that is reversed;
it is now as if it had never been,
our friendship. I must, far and near,
endure the enmity of my beloved.
They ordered me to dwell in a forest grove,
under an oak tree in this earth-cave.
Old is this earth-hall; I am utterly longing.
The valleys are dark, the hills high,
bitter the enclosures overgrown with briars,
a joyless dwelling. Often here grief seizes me
because of my lord's departure. Friends are in the earth,
beloved ones living, they dwell in their beds,
while I at dawn alone go
under the oak tree through these earth-caves.
There I must sit the long summer day;
there I can weep over my exile,
many hardships, for I can never
rest from the cares of my mind,
nor all the longing that has seized me in this life.
A young man must always be sad-minded,
stern in heart, yet he must have
a cheerful demeanor, and also heartache,
a multitude of constant sorrows. Let it depend upon himself
for all his worldly joy; let him be utterly outlawed,
in a distant foreign land, so that my friend sits
under a rocky cliff, frozen by storms,
my weary-hearted friend, surrounded by water
in a dreary hall; my friend endures
great mental anguish. He remembers too often
a happier home. Woe to those who must
wait with longing for a loved one.