Chapter 4

For translations of other riddles than those here given see Brooke, _English Literature from the Beginning to the Norman Conquest_, Pancoast and Spaeth, _Early English Poems_, and Cook and Tinker, _Selections from Old English Poetry_.

There is no proof as to the authorship. There were probably one hundred of them in the original collection though only about ninety are left. Many of them are translations from the Latin. Some are true folk-riddles and some are learned.

In the riddles we find particulars of Anglo-Saxon life that we cannot find elsewhere. The _Cambridge History of English Literature_ sums their effect up in the following sentence: "Furthermore, the author or authors of the Old English riddles borrow themes from native folk-songs and saga; in their hands inanimate objects become endowed with life and personality; the powers of nature become objects of worship such as they were in olden times; they describe the scenery of their own country, the fen, the river, and the sea, the horror of the untrodden forest, sun and moon engaged in perpetual pursuit of each other, the nightingale and the swan, the plow guided by the 'gray-haired enemy of the wood,' the bull breaking up clods left unturned by the plow, the falcon, the arm-companion of æthelings--scenes, events, characters familiar in the England of that day."]

I. A Storm

What man is so clever, so crafty of mind, As to say for a truth who sends me a-traveling? When I rise in my wrath, raging at times, Savage is my sound. Sometimes I travel, 5 Go forth among the folk, set fire to their homes And ravage and rob them; then rolls the smoke Gray over the gables; great is the noise, The death-struggle of the stricken. Then I stir up the woods And the fruitful forests; I fell the trees, 10 I, roofed over with rain, on my reckless journey, Wandering widely at the will of heaven. I bear on my back the bodily raiment, The fortunes of folk, their flesh and their spirits, Together to sea. Say who may cover me, 15 Or what I am called, who carry this burden?

1. Some scholars feel that the first three riddles, all of which describe storms, are in reality one, with three divisions. There is little to indicate whether the scribe thought of them as separate or not.

II. A Storm

At times I travel in tracks undreamed of, In vasty wave-depths to visit the earth, The floor of the ocean. Fierce is the sea . . . . . . . the foam rolls high; 5 The whale-pool roars and rages loudly; The streams beat the shores, and they sling at times Great stones and sand on the steep cliffs, With weeds and waves, while wildly striving Under the burden of billows on the bottom of ocean 10 The sea-ground I shake. My shield of waters I leave not ere he lets me who leads me always In all my travels. Tell me, wise man, Who was it that drew me from the depth of the ocean When the streams again became still and quiet, 15 Who before had forced me in fury to rage?

III. A Storm

At times I am fast confined by my Master, Who sendeth forth under the fertile plain My broad bosom, but bridles me in. He drives in the dark a dangerous power 5 To a narrow cave, where crushing my back Sits the weight of the world. No way of escape Can I find from the torment; so I tumble about The homes of heroes. The halls with their gables, The tribe-dwellings tremble; the trusty walls shake, 10 Steep over the head. Still seems the air Over all the country and calm the waters, Till I press in my fury from my prison below, Obeying His bidding who bound me fast In fetters at first when he fashioned the world, 15 In bonds and in chains, with no chance of escape From his power who points out the paths I must follow. Downward at times I drive the waves, Stir up the streams; to the strand I press The flint-gray flood: the foamy wave 20 Lashes the wall. A lurid mountain Rises on the deep; dark in its trail Stirred up with the sea a second one comes, And close to the coast it clashes and strikes On the lofty hills. Loud soundeth the boat, 25 The shouting of shipmen. Unshaken abide The stone cliffs steep through the strife of the waters, The dashing of waves, when the deadly tumult Crowds to the coast. Of cruel strife The sailors are certain if the sea drive their craft 30 With its terrified guests on the grim rolling tide; They are sure that the ship will be shorn of its power, Be deprived of its rule, and will ride foam-covered On the ridge of the waves. Then ariseth a panic, Fear among folk of the force that commands me, 35 Strong on my storm-track. Who shall still that power? At times I drive through the dark wave-vessels That ride on my back, and wrench them asunder And lash them with sea-streams; or I let them again Glide back together. It is the greatest of noises, 40 Of clamoring crowds, of crashes the loudest, When clouds as they strive in their courses shall strike Edge against edge; inky of hue In flight o'er the folk bright fire they sweat, A stream of flame; destruction they carry 45 Dark over men with a mighty din. Fighting they fare. They let fall from their bosom A deafening rain of rattling liquid, Of storm from their bellies. In battle they strive, The awful army; anguish arises, 50 Terror of mind to the tribes of men, Distress in the strongholds, when the stalking goblins, The pale ghosts shoot with their sharp weapons. The fool alone fears not their fatal spears; But he perishes too if the true God send 55 Straight from above in streams of rain, Whizzing and whistling the whirlwind's arrows, The flying death. Few shall survive Whom that violent guest in his grimness shall visit. I always stir up that strife and commotion; 60 Then I bear my course to the battle of clouds, Powerfully strive and press through the tumult, Over the bosom of the billows; bursteth loudly The gathering of elements. Then again I descend In my helmet of air and hover near the land, 65 And lift on my back the load I must bear, Minding the mandates of the mighty Lord. So I, a tried servant, sometimes contend: Now under the earth; now from over the waves I drive to the depths; now dropping from heaven, 70 I stir up the streams, or strive to the skies, Where I war with the welkin. Wide do I travel, Swift and noisily. Say now my name, Or who raises me up when rest is denied me, Or who stays my course when stillness comes to me?

V. A Shield

A lonely warrior, I am wounded with iron, Scarred with sword-points, sated with battle-play, Weary of weapons. I have witnessed much fighting, Much stubborn strife. From the strokes of war 5 I have no hope for help or release Ere I pass from the world with the proud warrior band. With brands and billies they beat upon me; The hard edges hack me; the handwork of smiths In crowds I encounter; with courage I endure 10 Ever bitterer battles. No balm may I find, And no doctor to heal me in the whole field of battle, To bind me with ointments and bring me to health, But my grievous gashes grow ever sorer Through death-dealing strokes by day and night.

VII. A Swan

My robe is noiseless when I roam the earth, Or stay in my home, or stir up the water. At times I am lifted o'er the lodgings of men By the aid of my trappings and the air above. 5 The strength of the clouds then carries me far, Bears me on its bosom. My beautiful ornament, My raiment rustles and raises a song, Sings without tiring. I touch not the earth But wander a stranger over stream and wood.

VIII. A Nightingale

With my mouth I am master of many a language; Cunningly I carol; I discourse full oft In melodious lays; loud do I call, Ever mindful of melody, undiminished in voice. 5 An old evening-scop, to earls I bring Solace in cities; when, skillful in music, My voice I raise, restful at home They sit in silence. Say what is my name, That call so clearly and cleverly imitate 10 The song of the scop, and sing unto men Words full welcome with my wonderful voice.

XIV. A Horn

I was once an armed warrior. Now the worthy youth Gorgeously gears me with gold and silver, Curiously twisted. At times men kiss me. Sometimes I sound and summon to battle 5 The stalwart company. A steed now carries me Across the border. The courser of the sea Now bears me o'er the billows, bright in my trappings. Now a comely maiden covered with jewels Fills my bosom with beer. On the board now I lie 10 Lidless and lonely and lacking my trappings. Now fair in my fretwork at the feast I hang In my place on the wall while warriors drink. Now brightened for battle, on the back of a steed A war-chief shall bear me. Then the wind I shall breathe, 15 Shall swell with sound from someone's bosom. At times with my voice I invite the heroes, The warriors to wine; or I watch for my master, And sound an alarm and save his goods, Put the robber to flight. Now find out my name.

8. Cosijn's reading has been adopted for the first half line.

XV. A Badger

My throat is like snow, and my sides and my head Are a swarthy brown; I am swift in flight. Battle-weapons I bear; on my back stand hairs, And also on my cheeks. O'er my eyes on high 5 Two ears tower; with my toes I step On the green grass. Grief comes upon me If the slaughter-grim hunter shall see me in hiding, Shall find me alone where I fashion my dwelling, Bold with my brood. I abide in this place 10 With my strong young children till a stranger shall come And bring dread to my door. Death then is certain. Hence, trembling I carry my terrified children Far from their home and flee unto safety. If he crowds me close as he comes behind, 15 I bare my breast. In my burrow I dare not Meet my furious foe (it were foolish to do so), But, wildly rushing, I work a road Through the high hill with my hands and feet. I fail not in defending my family's lives; 20 If I lead the little ones below to safety, Through a secret hole inside the hill, My beloved brood, no longer need I Fear the offense of the fierce-battling dogs. 25 Whenever the hostile one hunts on my trail, Follows me close, he will fail not of conflict, Of a warm encounter, when he comes on my war-path, If I reach, in my rage, through the roof of my hill And deal my deadly darts of battle 30 On the foe I have feared and fled from long.

29. The "deadly darts of battle" have caused "porcupine" to be proposed as a solution to this riddle, though when all the details are considered "badger" seems on the whole the more reasonable.

XXIII. A Bow

My name is spelled _AGOB_ with the order reversed. I am marvelously fashioned and made for fighting. When I am bent and my bosom sends forth Its poisoned stings, I straightway prepare 5 My deadly darts to deal afar. As soon as my master, who made me for torment, Loosens my limbs, my length is increased Till I vomit the venom with violent motions, The swift-killing poison I swallowed before. 10 Not any man shall make his escape, Not one that I spoke of shall speed from the fight, If there falls on him first what flies from my belly. He pays with his strength for the poisonous drink, For the fatal cup which forfeits his life. 15 Except when fettered fast, I am useless. Unbound I shall fail. Now find out my name.

XXVI. A Bible

A stern destroyer struck out my life, Deprived me of power; he put me to soak, Dipped me in water, dried me again, And set me in the sun, where I straightway lost 5 The hairs that I had. Then the hard edge Of the keen knife cut me and cleansed me of soil; Then fingers folded me. The fleet quill of the bird With speedy drops spread tracks often Over the brown surface, swallowed the tree-dye, 10 A deal of the stream, stepped again on me, Traveled a black track. With protecting boards Then a crafty one covered me, enclosed me with hide, Made me gorgeous with gold. Hence I am glad and rejoice At the smith's fair work with its wondrous adornments. 15 Now may these rich trappings, and the red dye's tracings, And all works of wisdom spread wide the fame Of the Sovereign of nations! Read me not as a penance! If the children of men will cherish and use me, They shall be safer and sounder and surer of victory, 20 More heroic of heart and happier in spirit, More unfailing in wisdom. More friends shall they have, Dear and trusty, and true and good, And faithful always, whose honors and riches Shall increase with their love, and who cover their friends 25 With kindness and favors and clasp them fast With loving arms. I ask how men call me Who aid them in need. My name is far famed. I am helpful to men, and am holy myself.

1. Here, of course, a "codex," or manuscript of a Bible is in the writer's mind. He describes first the killing of the animal and the preparation of the skin for writing. Then the writing and binding of the book is described. Last of all, the writer considers the use the book will be to men.

XLV. Dough

In a corner I heard a curious weak thing Swelling and sounding and stirring its cover. On that boneless body a beautiful woman Laid hold with her hands; the high-swelled thing She covered with a cloth, the clever lord's daughter.

XLVII. A Bookworm

A moth ate a word. To me that seemed A curious happening when I heard of that wonder, That a worm should swallow the word of a man, A thief in the dark eat a thoughtful discourse 5 And the strong base it stood on. He stole, but he was not A whit the wiser when the word had been swallowed.

LX. A Reed

I stood on the strand to the sea-cliffs near, Hard by the billows. To the home of my birth Fast was I fixed. Few indeed are there Of men who have ever at any time 5 Beheld my home in the hard waste-land. In the brown embrace of the billows and waves I was locked each dawn. Little I dreamed That early or late I ever should With men at the mead-feast mouthless speak forth 10 Words of wisdom. It is a wondrous thing, And strange to the sight when one sees it first That the edge of a knife and the active hand And wit of the earl who wields the blade Should bring it about that I bear unto thee 15 A secret message, meant for thee only, Boldly announce it, so that no other man May speak our secrets or spread them abroad.

1. This riddle occurs in the manuscript just before _The Husband's Message_, and some editors think that in the riddle we have a proper beginning for the poem. First is the account of the growth of the reed, or block of wood, then the account of its voyages, and last the message conveyed. There is really no way of telling whether the poems were meant to go together.

EXETER GNOMES

[Critical edition: Blanche Colton Williams, _Gnomic Poetry in Anglo-Saxon_, New York, 1914.

There are two sets of gnomes or proverbs in Old English. The Exeter collection, from which these are taken, consists of three groups. The second group, which contains the justly popular lines about the Frisian wife, is typical of the whole set.]

Group II

All frost shall freeze, fire consume wood, Earth grow its fruits. Ice shall bridge water, Which shall carry its cover and cunningly lock 75 The herbs of earth. One only shall loose The fetter of frost, the Father Almighty. Winter shall away, the weather be fair, The sun hot in summer. The sea shall be restless. The deep way of death is the darkest of secrets. 80 Holly flames on the fire. Afar shall be scattered The goods of a dead man. Glory is best. A king shall with cups secure his queen, Buy her with bracelets. Both shall at first Be generous with gifts. Then shall grow in the man 85 The pride of war, and his wife shall prosper, Cherished by the folk; cheerful of mood, She shall keep all counsel and in kindness of heart Give horses and treasure; before the train of heroes With full measure of mead on many occasions 90 She shall lovingly greet her gracious lord, Shall hold the cup high and hand him to drink Like a worthy wife. Wisely shall counsel The two who hold their home together. The ship shall be nailed, the shield be bound, 95 The light linden-wood. When he lands in the haven, To the Frisian wife is the welcome one dear: The boat is at hand and her bread-winner home, Her own provider. She invites him in And washes his sea-stained garments and gives him new ones to wear: 100 It is pleasant on land when the loved one awaits you. Woman shall be wedded to man, and her wickedness oft shall disgrace him; Some are firm in their faith, some forward and curious And shall love a stranger while their lord is afar. A sailor is long on his course, but his loved one awaits his coming, 105 Abides what can not be controlled, for the time will come at last For his home return, if his health permit, and the heaving waters High over his head do not hold him imprisoned.

THE FATES OF MEN

[Text: Grein-Wülcker, _Bibliothek der Angelsächischen Poesie_, iii, 148. The poem is typical of a large group of Old English poems which give well-known sayings or proverbs. Other poems of this group are _The Gifts of Men_, _The Wonders of Creation_, _A Father's Instructions to His Son_, and the like.]