The Husband's Message is an anonymous Old English poem, 54 lines long and found only on folio 123 of the Exeter Book. The poem is cast as the private address of an unknown first-person speaker to a wife, challenging to reader to discover the speaker's identity and the nature of the conversation, the mystery of which is enhanced by a burn-hole at the beginning of the poem.
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See I bring thee a secret message!
A sapling once in the woods I grew;
I was cut for a stave and covered with writing;
Skilled men cunningly carved upon me
Letters fair, in a farwaway land.
Since have I crossed the salt-streams often,
Carried in ships to countries strange;
Sent by my lord, his speech to deliver
In many a towering mead-hall high.
Hither Iâve sped, the swift keep brought me,
Trial to make of thy trust in my master;
Look thou shalt find him loyal and true.
He told me to come that carved this letter,
And bid thee recall, in thy costly array,
Ye gave to each other in days of old,
When still in the land ye lived together,
Happily mated, and held in the mead-halls
Your home and abode. A bitter feud
Banished him far. He bids me call thee,
Earnestly urge thee overseas.
When thou hast heard, from the brow of the hill,
The mournful cuckoo call in the wood,
Let no man living delay thy departure,
Hinder thy going, or hold thee at home.
Away to the sea, where the gulls are circling!
Board me a ship thatâs bound from the shore:
Sail away South, to seek thy own husband:
Over the water he waits for thee.
No keener joy could come to his heart,
No greater happiness gladden his soul,
Than if God who wieldeth the world, should grant
That ye together should yet give rings,
Treasure of gold to trusty liegemen.
A home he hath found in a foreign land,
Fair abode and followers true,
Hardy heroes, though hence he was driven;
Shoved his boat from the shore in distress,
Steered for the open, sped oâer the ocean,
Weary wave-tossed wanderer he.
Past are his woes, he has won through his perils,
He lives in plenty, no pleasure he lacks;
Nor horses nor goods nor gold of the mead-hall;
All the wealth of earls upon earth
Belongs to my lord, he lacks but thee.
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