He's as good as wild game given to my folk.
They want to kill him if he comes to their clan.
Different is our lot.
Wulf is on an isle, I on another.
Secure is that island, surrounded by marshland.
Men brawl on that isle with bloodlust beset.
They want to kill him if he comes to their clan.
Different is our lot.
My wayfaring hope tracked my Wulf like a hound,
When I sat wailing in rain-wracked weather,
When that sword-strong lord laid his limbs about me
And gave me joy though it grieved me greatly.
Wulf, my Wulf! It wasn't lack of food
But the lack of you, my longing for you,
And how seldom I saw you that made me sick.
Eadwacer, do you hear me? Wulf whisks our poor whelp
Away to the woodland.
What was never united is not hard to sunder:
Our tale together.