The Wife's Lament: An Anglo-Saxon or Old English poem of fifty-three lines preserved in the Exeter Book,10th-century codex of Anglo-Saxon poetry.

Here's the original text:

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.
5Ā 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,
10winelēas 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.
15Hēt 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,
20mōd 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
25frēondscipe 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.
30Sindon 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,
35þonne 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
40þǣre 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,
45sinsorgna 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
50on drēorsele,     drēogeð se mīn wine
 miċle mōdċeare.     Hē ġemon tō oft
 wynlicran wīċ.     Wā bið þām þe sceal
 of langoþe     lēofes ābīdan.

A Creative and Idiomatic Translation of the Poem is as follows:

I tell this narrative of my vile sad  

self at large. I may tell that 

what hardships I experience after I grew up 

but new or old, no more now than 

always I suffered punishment, my misery.

First my lord had left his people

for the tumult of waves, I had grief before dawn

where the land of my leader of men is.

Then, I departed my way to seek retinue

as a friendless wanderer, for my grievous need

began when the kinsmen of this man,

through secret thought, separated the two of us

as far as possible in the kingdom of the world, 

we lived in the most wretched fashion,and I afflicted with longing.

My lord obliged me to take up an abode in the grove

I possessed few loved ones or loyal friends on this country,

for this reason is my heart sad.

Then, I found the vile man suitable to me, 

unfortunate, sad at heart,

concealing murderous thoughts in his heart 

in a cheerful demeanour.Vile punishment often promised

but we two never separated except [by] death alone and 

nothing else;afterwards, that is changed,    

it is now so, that there was never  

friendship between two of us.Must I far and near 

suffer the enmity of my dearly loved lord ?

My man ordered me to dwell in a forest grove.

under an oak tree in that cave.

Old is this cave, all I am seized with longing.

The valleys are gloomy, the mountains are lofty 

, briers are grown over with bitter protecting hedges

and this abode  joyless. Very often the absence of my lord

 took hold of me cruelly here. Lovers are on earth,

lovers live, occupy their beds,

Then, just before dawn, I walk alone

under an oak tree throughout this cave.

There I may sit a long summer’s day;

There I may weep for my exile,

my many hardships;for this reason, I may never

 afterwards rest that grief of my heart 

nor all the longing which has seized me in this life.

Young man must always be serious,

resolute, his heart’s thoughts likewise must have 

a cheerful demeanour, and also grief of heart,

a tumult of constant sorrows. All his world’s joy

is dependent on himself, he is vile far outcast                                                                                                                  

in distant country,  there my lover sits

under a cliff in a storm covered with frost.

Disconsolate Lord, water had flown around

in the hall of sorrow,my lord suffers that 

great sorrow of heart; he often remembers

of this delightful abode. Woe is that you must

wait in longing of the beloved.

......