2. GNOMIC GROUP

WALDHERE[Critical text and translation: Dickins,Runic and Heroic Poems, p. 56.Date: Probably eighth century.Information as to the story is found in a number of continental sources. Its best known treatment is in a Latin poem,Waltharius, by Ekkehard of St. Gall, dating from the first half of the tenth century. Ekkehard’s story is thus summarized in theCambridge History of English Literature: “Alphere, king of Aquitaine, had a son named Waltharius, and Heriricus, king of Burgundy, an only daughter named Hiltgund, who was betrothed to Waltharius. While they were yet children, however, Attila, king of the Huns, invaded Gaul, and the kings seeing no hope in resistance, gave up their children to him as hostages, together with much treasure. Under like compulsion treasure was obtained also from Gibicho, king of the Franks, who sent as hostage a youth of noble birth named Hagano. In Attila’s service, Waltharius and Hagano won great renown as warriors, but the latter eventually made his escape. When Waltharius grew up, he became Attila’s chief general; yet he remembered his old engagement with Hiltgund. On his return from a victorious campaign he made a great feast for the king and his court, and when all were sunk in their drunken sleep, he and Hiltgund fled laden with much gold. On their way home they had to cross the Rhine near Worms. There the king of the Franks, Guntharius, the son of Gibicho, heard from the ferryman of the gold they were carrying and determined to secure it. Accompanied by Hagano and eleven other picked warriors, he overtook them as they rested in a cave in the Vosges. Waltharius offered him a large share of the gold in order to obtain peace; but the king demanded the whole, together with Hiltgund and the horses. Stimulated by the promise of great rewards, the eleven warriors now attacked Waltharius one after another, but he slew them all. Hagano had tried to dissuade Guntharius from the attack; but now, since his nephew was among the slain, he formed a plan with the king for surprising Waltharius. On the following day they both fell upon him after he had quitted his stronghold, and, in the struggle that ensued, all three were maimed. Waltharius, however, was able to proceed on his way with Hiltgund, and the story ends happily with their marriage.”Both our fragments, which are found on two leaves in the Royal Library at Copenhagen, refer to a time immediately before the final encounter. The first is spoken by the lady; the second by the man. We cannot tell how long this poem may have been. What we have may be leaves from a long epic, or a short poem, or an episode in a long epic.]A.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .she eagerly heartened him:“Lo, the work ofWelandshall not weaken or failFor the man who the mightyMimmingcan wield,The frightful brand.Oft in battle have fallen5Sword-wounded warriorsone after the other.6Vanguard of Attila,thy valor must everEndure the conflict!The day is now come,9When fate shall award youone or the other:10To lose your lifeor have lasting glory,Through all the ages,O Ælfhere’s son!No fault do I find,my faithful lover,Saying I have seen theeat sword-play weaken,Yield like a cowardto a conqueror’s arms,15Flee from the fieldof fight and escape,Protect thy body,though bands of the foemenWere smiting thy burnieswith broad-edged swords;But unfalt’ring still fartherthe fight thou pursuedstOver the line of battle;hence, my lord, I am burdened20With fear that too fiercelyto the fight thou shalt rushTo the place of encounteringthy opponent in conflict,To wage on him war.Be worthy of thyselfIn glorious deedswhile thy God protects thee!Have no fear as to swordfor the fine-gemmed weapon25Has been given thee to aid us:on Guthhere with itThou shalt pay back the wrongof unrighteously seekingTo stir up the struggleand strife of battle;He rejected that swordand the jewelled treasure,The lustrous gems;now, leaving them all,30He shall flee from this fieldto find his lord,His ancient land,or lie here foreverAsleep, if he   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .”1.The speaker is Hildegyth (the Old English form for Hiltgund).2.Weland:the blacksmith of Teutonic myth. SeeDeor’s Lament,introductory note, and notes tovv. 1and8.3.Mimmingwas the most famous of the swords made by Weland.28.Waldhere had offered Guthhere a large share of the treasure as an inducement for him to desist from the attack, and Guthhere had refused it.B“ .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .a better swordExcept that other,which also I haveClosely encasedin its cover of jewels.I know that Theodoricthought that to Widia5Himself he would send it,and the sword he would joinWith large measure of jewelsand many other brands,Worked all with gold.This reward he would sendBecause, when a captive,the kinsman of Nithhad,Weland’s son, Widia,from his woes had released him—10Thus in haste he escapedfrom the hands of the giants.”Waldhere spoke,the warrior brave;He held in his handhis helper in battle,He grasped his weapon,shouting words of defiance:“Indeed, thou hadst faith,Ofriend of the Burgundians,15That the hand ofHagenahad held me in battle,Defeated me on foot.Fetch now, if thou darest,From me weary with warmy worthy gray corselet!It lies on my shoulderas ’twas left me by Ælfhere,Goodly and gorgeousand gold-bedecked,20The most honorable of allfor an atheling to holdWhen he goes into battleto guard his life,To fight with his foes:fail me it will neverWhen a stranger bandshall strive to encounter me,Besiege me with swords,as thou soughtest to do.25He alone will vouchsafethe victory who alwaysIs eager and readyto aid every right:He who hopes for the helpof the holy Lord,For the grace of God,shall gain it surely,If his earlier workhas earned the reward.30Well may the brave warriorsthen their wealth enjoy,Take pride in their property!That is   .   .   .   .”1.The opening of the second fragment finds the two champions ready for the final struggle. Guthhere is finishing his boast, in which he praises his equipment.3.The meaning of this passage is obscure, but the translation here given seems to be the most reasonable conjecture. He probably refers to a sword that he has at hand in a jewelled case ready for use.4.Stopping thus to give a history of the weapon calls to mind many similar passages in the Homeric poems. The particular story in mind here is the escape of Theodoric from the giants. He loses his way and falls into the hands of one of the twelve giants who guard Duke Nitger. He gains the favor of Nitger’s sister, and through her lets his retainers, Hildebrand, Witige, and Heime know of his plight. They defeat the giants and release him. Witige and Heime are the Middle High German forms for the old EnglishWidia(seeDeor’s Lament, v. 8, note), or Wudga and Hama (seeWidsith, vv. 124, 130, note).14.Friend of the Burgundians:a usual old English expression for “king.” Guthhere was king of the Burgundians in the middle of the fifth century (seeWidsith,vv. 19,66, notes).15.Hagena is now the only one of Guthhere’s comrades that has not been killed by Waldhere. Cf.Widsith, v. 21.THE FIGHT AT FINNSBURG[Edition used: Chambers,Beowulf, p. 158. See also Dickins,Runic and Heroic Poems, p. 64.Alliterative translation, Gummere,Oldest English Epic, p. 160.The manuscript is now lost. We have only an inaccurate version printed by Hickes at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Many difficulties are therefore found in the text. For a good discussion of the text, see an article by Mackie inThe Journal of English and Germanic Philology, xvi, 250.This fragment belongs to the epic story of Finn which is alluded to at some length inBeowulf(vv. 1068-1159). The saga can be reconstructed in its broad outlines, though it is impossible to be sure of details. One of the most puzzling of these details is the position in which the “Fight” occurs. In the story are two fights, either one of which may be the one described in the fragment. The weight of opinion seems to favor the first conflict, that in which Hnæf is killed. As summarized by Möller, the Finn story is briefly as follows:“Finn, king of the Frisians, had carried off Hildeburh, daughter of Hoc (Beowulf, v. 1076), probably with her consent. Her father Hoc seems to have pursued the fugitives, and to have been slain in the fight which ensued on his overtaking them. After the lapse of some twenty years, Hoc’s sons Hnæf and Hengest, were old enough to undertake the duty of avenging their father’s death. They make an inroad into Finn’s country and a battle takes place in which many warriors, among them Hnæf and a son of Finn (1074, 1079, 1115), are killed. Peace is therefore solemnly concluded, and the slain warriors are burnt (1068-1124).“As the year is too far advanced for Hengest to return home (1130 ff.), he and those of his men who survive remain for the winter in the Frisian country with Finn. But Hengest’s thoughts dwell constantly on the death of his brother Hnæf, and he would gladly welcome any excuse to break the peace which had been sworn by both parties. His ill concealed desire for revenge is noticed by the Frisians, who anticipate it by themselves taking the initiative and attacking Hengest and his men whilst they are sleeping in the hall. This is the night attack described in the “Fight.” It would seem that after a brave and desperate resistance Hengest himself falls in this fight at the hands of Hunlafing (1143), but two of his retainers, Guthlaf and Oslaf, succeed in cutting their way through their enemies and in escaping to their own land. They return with fresh troops, attack and slay Finn, and carry his queen, Hildeburh, off with them (1125-1159).”—Wyatt,Beowulf, (1901), p. 145.Professor Gummere finds in the fragment an example bearing out his theory of the development of the epic. “The qualities which difference it fromBeowulf,” he says, “are mainly negative; it lacks sentiment, moralizing, the leisure of the writer; it did not attempt probably to cover more than a single event; and one will not err in finding it a fair type of the epic songs which roving singers were wont to sing before lord and liegeman in hall and which were used with more or less fidelity by makers of complete epic poems.”]“.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .Arethe gables not burning?”Boldly replied thenthebattle-young king:“The day is not dawning;no dragon is flying,And the high gable-hornsof the hall are not burning,5Butthe brave men are bearingthe battle line forward,Whilebloodthirsty singthe birds of slaughter.Now clangs the gray corselet,clashes the war-wood,Shield answers shaft.Now shineth the moon,Through its cover of clouds.Now cruel days press us10That will drive this folkto deadly fight.But wake at once,my warriors bold,Stand now to your armorand strive for honor;Fight at the frontunafraid and undaunted.”Thenarose from their rest,ready and valiant,15Gold-bedeckedsoldiers,and girded their swords.The noble knightswent now to the doorAnd seized their swords,Sigeferthand Eaha,And to the other doorOrdlaf and Guthlaf,AndHengestwho followedto help the defense.20NowGuthere restrainedGarulf from strife,Lest fearless at the firstof the fight he rushTo the door and daringlyendanger his life,Since now it was stormedby so stalwart a hero.But unchecked by these wordsa challenge he shouted,25Boldly demandingwhat man held the door.“I amSigferth,” he said,“the Secgan’s prince;Wide have I wandered;many woes have I knownAndbitter battles.Be it bad or goodThoushalt surely receivewhat thou seekest from me.”30At the wall by the doorrose the din of battle;In the hands of heroesthe hollow bucklersShattered the shields.Shook then the hall floorTill there fell in the fightthe faithfulGarulf,Most daring and doughtyof the dwellers on earth,35The son of Guthlaf;and scores fell with him.O’er the corpses hoveredthe hungry raven,Swarthy and sallow-brown.A sword-gleam blazedAs though all Finnsburgin flames were burning.Never heard I of heroesmore hardy in war,40Of sixty who strovemore strongly or bravely,Of swains who repaidtheir sweet mead betterThan his loyal liegemento their loved Hnæf.Five days they fought,but there fell not a oneOf the daring band,though the doors they held always.45Now went from the warfarea wounded chief.He said that his burniewas broken asunder,His precious war-gear,and pierced was his helmet.Thenquestionedtheir chiefand inquired of himHow the warriors recoveredfrom the wounds they received,50Or which of the youths.   .   .   .   .   .   .1.The fragment begins in the middle of a word.2.The “battle-young king” is probably the Hengest ofv. 19. Possibly he is to be identified with Hengest, the conqueror of Kent.5, 6.In the original these lines seem to be incomplete. The translation attempts to keep the intended meaning.14, 15.In the original these appear as a single greatly expanded line, which was probably at one time two lines.17.Sigeferth(see alsoline 26), prince of the Secgans is probably identical with Sæferth who ruled the Secgans inWidsith, v. 31.18.Ordlaf and Guthlafappear in the account inBeowulf(vv. 1148, ff.) as Oslaf and Guthlaf. They are the avengers of Hnæf.20.From the construction it is impossible to tell who is the speaker and who is being restrained. But fromline 33it is seen to be Garulf who neglects the advice and is killed. Garulf and Guthere are, of course, of the attacking band.26.Sigferth, one of the defenders. Seev. 17, above.28, 29.These lines are obscure. Probably they mean that Garulf may have as good as he sends in the way of a fight.35.Guthlaf, the father of Garulf (the assailant) was probably not the Guthalf ofline 18, who was a defender. If we have here a conflict between father and son, very little is made of it.45.It is impossible to tell who the wounded warrior was or which chief is referred to inline 48.2. GNOMIC GROUPCHARMS[Edition used: Kluge,Angelsächsisches Lesebuch.Critical edition and discussion of most of the charms: Felix Grendon,Journal of American Folk-lore, xxii, 105 ff. See that article for bibliography.Grendon divides the charms into five classes:1. Exorcisms of diseases and disease spirits.2. Herbal charms.3. Charms for transferring disease.4. Amulet charms.5. Charm remedies.These charms contain some of the most interesting relics of the old heathen religion of the Anglo-Saxons incongruously mingled with Christian practices. They were probably written down at so late a time that the churchmen felt they could no longer do harm.]I. For Bewitched LandHere is the remedy by which thou mayst improve thy fields if they will not produce well or if any evil thing is done to them by means of sorcery or witchcraft:5Take at night, before daybreak, four pieces of turf from the four corners of the land and mark the places where they have stood. Take then oil and honey and yeast and the milk of every kind of cattle that is on that land and a piece of every kind of tree that is grown10on that land, except hard wood, and a piece of every kind of herb known by name, except burdock alone. Then put holy water on these and dip it thrice in thebase of the turfs and say these words:Crescite,grow, et multiplicamini,and multiply, et replete,and fill, terram,15this earth, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti sint benedicti;andPater Nosteras often as anything else.Then carry the turfs to the church and have the priest sing four masses over them and have the green sides20turned toward the altar. Then bring them back before sunset to the place where they were at first. Now make four crosses of aspen and write on the end of eachMatheusandMarcusandLucasandJohannes.Lay the crosses on the bottom of each hole and then say:25Crux Matheus, crux Marcus, crux Lucas, crux Sanctus Johannes.Then take the sods and lay them on top and say nine times the wordCrescite,and thePater Nosteras often. Turn then to the east and bow humbly nine times and say these words:30Eastward I stand,for honors I pray;I pray to the God of glory;I pray to the gracious Lord;I pray to the high and holyHeavenly Father;I pray to the earthand all of the heavens,And to the true and virtuousvirgin Saint Mary,35And to the high hallof Heaven and its power,That with God’s blessingI may unbind this spellWith my open teeth,and through trusty thoughtMay awaken the growthfor our worldly advantage,May fill these fieldsby fast belief,40May improve this planting,for the prophet saithThat he hath honors on earthwhose alms are free,Who wisely gives,by the will of God.Then turn three times following the course of the sun, stretch thyself prostrate, and chant the litanies.45Then saySanctus, Sanctus, Sanctusthrough to the end. Then chantBenedictewith outstretched arms, and theMagnificatandPater Nosterthree times and commend thy prayer to the praise and glory of Christ and Saint Mary and the Holy Rood, and to the honor50of him who owns the land and to all those that are subject to him. When all this is done, get some unknown seed from beggars, and give them twice as much as thou takest from them. Then gather all thy plowing gear together and bore a hole in the beam and put in55it incense and fennel and consecrated soap and consecrated salt. Take the seed and put it on the body of the plow, and then say:Erce, Erce, Erce,of earth the mother,May he graciously grant thee,God Eternal,60To have fertile fieldsand fruitful harvests,Growing in profitand gaining in power;A host of productsand harvests in plenty,Bright with the broadbarley harvest;And heavy with the whiteharvest of wheat,65And all the harvest of the earth.May the Almighty Lord grantAnd all his saintswho are seated in heaven,That against all of the enemiesthis earth may be guarded,Protected and made proofagainst the powers of evil,Against sorceries and spellsdispersed through the land.70Now I pray to the Powerwho planned the creationThat no woman of witchcraft,no worker of magic,May change or unspellthe charm I have spoken.Then drive forth the plow and turn the first furrow and say:75Hail to thee, Earth,of all men the mother,Be goodly thy growthin God’s embrace,Filled with foodas a favor to men.Then take meal of every kind and bake a loaf as broad as it will lie between the two hands, kneading80it with milk and with holy water, and lay it under the first furrow. Say then:Full be the fieldwith food for mankind,Blossoming brightly.Blessed by thouBy the holy nameof Heaven’s Creator,85And the maker of Earth,which men inhabit.May God who created the groundgrant us growing gifts,That each kernel of cornmay come to use.Say then three times, Crescite in nomine patris, sint benedicti. AmenandPater Nosterthree times.30.Irregularities in the meter in the translations are imitations of similar irregularities in the original.58.Erce:probably the name of an old Teutonic deity, the Mother of Earth. This reference is all we have to preserve the name.75.The conception of a goddess as Mother of Earth and of Earth as Mother of Men is entirely pagan. This charm is a peculiar complex of Christian and pagan ideas.II. Against a Sudden StitchAgainst asudden stitchtake feverfew, and the red nettle that grows through the house, and plantain. Boil in butter.Loud were they, lo loud,as over the lea they rode;5Resolute they werewhen they rode over the land.Protect thyself that thy troublebecome cured and healed.Out, little stick,if it still isI stood under the linden,under the light shield,Where the mighty womentheir magic prepared,10And they sent their spearsspinning and whistling.But I will send thema spear in return,Unerringly aiman arrow against them.Out, little stick,if it still is within!There sat a smithand a small knife forged15.   .   .   .   .   .   .sharply with a stroke of iron.Out little stickif it still is within!Six smiths sat andworked their war-spears.Out, spear!be not in, spear!If it still is there,the stick of iron,20The work of the witches,away it shall melt.Ifthou wert shot in the skin,or sore wounded in the flesh,If in the blood thou wert shot,or in the bone thou wert shot,If in the joint thou wert shot,there will be no jeopardy to your life.If some deity shot it,or some devil shot it,25Or if some witch has shot it,now I am willing to help thee.This is a remedy for a deity’s shot;this is a remedy for a devil’s shot;This is a remedy for a witch’s shot.I am willing to help thee.Fleethere into the forests.   .   .   .   .   .   .Be thou wholly healed.Thy help be from God.30Then take the knife and put it into the liquid.1.The sudden stitch in the side (or rheumatic pain) is here thought of as coming from the arrows shot by the “mighty women”—the witches.21-28.These irregular lines are imitated from the original.RIDDLES[Critical editions: Wyatt, Tupper, and Trautmann. Wyatt (Boston, 1912, Belles Lettres edition) used as a basis for these translations. His numbering is always one lower than the other editions, since he rejects one riddle.Date: Probably eighth century for most of them.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. TheCambridge History of English Literaturesums 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 StormWhat man is so clever,so crafty of mind,As to say for a truthwho sends me a-traveling?When I rise in my wrath,raging at times,Savage is my sound.Sometimes I travel,5Go forth among the folk,set fire to their homesAnd ravage and rob them;then rolls the smokeGray over the gables;great is the noise,The death-struggle of the stricken.Then I stir up the woodsAnd the fruitful forests;I fell the trees,10I, roofed over with rain,on my reckless journey,Wandering widelyat the will of heaven.I bear on my backthe bodily raiment,The fortunes of folk,their flesh and their spirits,Together to sea. Say who may cover me,15Or 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 StormAt times I travelin tracks undreamed of,In vasty wave-depthsto visit the earth,The floor of the ocean.Fierce is the sea.   .   .   .   .   .   .the foam rolls high;5The whale-pool roarsand rages loudly;The streams beat the shores,and they sling at timesGreat stones and sandon the steep cliffs,With weeds and waves,while wildly strivingUnder the burden of billowson the bottom of ocean10The sea-ground I shake.My shield of watersI leave not ere he lets mewho leads me alwaysIn all my travels.Tell me, wise man,Who was it that drew mefrom the depth of the oceanWhen the streams againbecame still and quiet,15Who before had forced mein fury to rage?III. A StormAt times I am fastconfined by my Master,Who sendeth forthunder the fertile plainMy broad bosom,but bridles me in.He drives in the darka dangerous power5To a narrow cave,where crushing my backSits the weight of the world.No way of escapeCan I find from the torment;so I tumble aboutThe homes of heroes.The halls with their gables,The tribe-dwellings tremble;the trusty walls shake,10Steep over the head.Still seems the airOver all the countryand calm the waters,Till I press in my furyfrom my prison below,Obeying His biddingwho bound me fastIn fetters at firstwhen he fashioned the world,15In bonds and in chains,with no chance of escapeFrom his power who points outthe paths I must follow.Downward at timesI drive the waves,Stir up the streams;to the strand I pressThe flint-gray flood:the foamy wave20Lashes the wall.A lurid mountainRises on the deep;dark in its trailStirred up with the seaa second one comes,And close to the coastit clashes and strikesOn the lofty hills.Loud soundeth the boat,25The shouting of shipmen.Unshaken abideThe stone cliffs steepthrough the strife of the waters,The dashing of waves,when the deadly tumultCrowds to the coast.Of cruel strifeThe sailors are certainif the sea drive their craft30With its terrified guestson the grim rolling tide;They are sure that the shipwill be shorn of its power,Be deprived of its rule,and will ride foam-coveredOn the ridge of the waves.Then ariseth a panic,Fear among folkof the force that commands me,35Strong on my storm-track.Who shall still that power?At times I drivethrough the dark wave-vesselsThat ride on my back,and wrench them asunderAnd lash them with sea-streams;or I let them againGlide back together.It is the greatest of noises,40Of clamoring crowds,of crashes the loudest,When clouds as they strivein their courses shall strikeEdge against edge;inky of hueIn flight o’er the folkbright fire they sweat,A stream of flame;destruction they carry45Dark over menwith a mighty din.Fighting they fare.They let fall from their bosomA deafening rainof rattling liquid,Of storm from their bellies.In battle they strive,The awful army;anguish arises,50Terror of mindto the tribes of men,Distress in the strongholds,when the stalking goblins,The pale ghosts shootwith their sharp weapons.The fool alone fears nottheir fatal spears;But he perishes tooif the true God send55Straight from abovein streams of rain,Whizzing and whistlingthe whirlwind’s arrows,The flying death.Few shall surviveWhom that violent guestin his grimness shall visit.I always stir upthat strife and commotion;60Then I bear my courseto the battle of clouds,Powerfully striveand press through the tumult,Over the bosom of the billows;bursteth loudlyThe gathering of elements.Then again I descendIn my helmet of airand hover near the land,65And lift on my backthe load I must bear,Minding the mandatesof the mighty Lord.So I, a tried servant,sometimes contend:Now under the earth;now from over the wavesI drive to the depths;now dropping from heaven,70I 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 upwhen rest is denied me,Or who stays my coursewhen stillness comes to me?V. A ShieldA 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 war5I have no hopefor help or releaseEre I pass from the worldwith the proud warrior band.With brands and billiesthey beat upon me;The hard edges hack me;the handwork of smithsIn crowds I encounter;with courage I endure10Ever bitterer battles.No balm may I find,And no doctor to heal mein the whole field of battle,To bind me with ointmentsand bring me to health,But my grievous gashesgrow ever sorerThrough death-dealing strokesby day and night.VII. A SwanMy robe is noiselesswhen I roam the earth,Or stay in my home,or stir up the water.At times I am liftedo’er the lodgings of menBy the aid of my trappingsand the air above.5The strength of the cloudsthen carries me far,Bears me on its bosom.My beautiful ornament,My raiment rustlesand raises a song,Sings without tiring.I touch not the earthBut wander a strangerover stream and wood.VIII. A NightingaleWith my mouth I am masterof many a language;Cunningly I carol;I discourse full oftIn melodious lays;loud do I call,Ever mindful of melody,undiminished in voice.5An old evening-scop,to earls I bringSolace in cities;when, skillful in music,My voice I raise,restful at homeThey sit in silence.Say what is my name,That call so clearlyand cleverly imitate10The song of the scop,and sing unto menWords full welcomewith my wonderful voice.XIV. A HornI was once an armed warrior.Now the worthy youthGorgeously gears mewith gold and silver,Curiously twisted.At times men kiss me.Sometimes I soundand summon to battle5The stalwart company.A steed now carries meAcross the border.The courser of the seaNow bears me o’er the billows,bright in my trappings.Now a comely maidencovered with jewelsFills my bosom with beer.On the board now I lie10Lidless and lonelyand lacking my trappings.Now fair in my fretworkat the feast I hangIn my place on the wallwhile warriors drink.Now brightened for battle,on the back of a steedA war-chief shall bear me.Then the wind I shall breathe,15Shall swell with soundfrom someone’s bosom.At times with my voiceI invite the heroes,The warriors to wine;or I watch for my master,And sound an alarmand 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 BadgerMy throat is like snow,and my sides and my headAre 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 high5Two ears tower;with my toes I stepOn the green grass.Grief comes upon meIf the slaughter-grim huntershall see me in hiding,Shall find me alonewhere I fashion my dwelling,Bold with my brood.I abide in this place10With my strong young childrentill a stranger shall comeAnd bring dread to my door.Death then is certain.Hence, trembling I carrymy terrified childrenFar from their homeand flee unto safety.If he crowds me closeas he comes behind,15I bare my breast.In my burrow I dare notMeet my furious foe(it were foolish to do so),But, wildly rushing,I work a roadThrough the high hillwith my hands and feet.I fail not in defendingmy family’s lives;20If I lead the little onesbelow to safety,Through a secret holeinside the hill,My beloved brood,no longer need IFear the offenseof the fierce-battling dogs.25Whenever the hostile onehunts 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 hillAnd deal my deadlydartsof battle30On the foe I have fearedand 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 BowMy name is spelledAGOBwith the order reversed.I am marvelously fashionedand made for fighting.When I am bentand my bosom sends forthIts poisoned stings,I straightway prepare5My deadly dartsto deal afar.As soon as my master,who made me for torment,Loosens my limbs,my length is increasedTill I vomit the venomwith violent motions,The swift-killing poisonI swallowed before.10Not any manshall make his escape,Not one that I spoke ofshall speed from the fight,If there falls on him firstwhat flies from my belly.He pays with his strengthfor the poisonous drink,For the fatal cupwhich forfeits his life.15Except when fetteredfast, I am useless.Unbound I shall fail.Now find out my name.XXVI. A BibleA stern destroyerstruck 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 lost5The hairs that I had.Then the hard edgeOf the keen knife cut meand cleansed me of soil;Then fingers folded me.The fleet quill of the birdWith speedy dropsspread tracks oftenOver the brown surface,swallowed the tree-dye,10A deal of the stream,stepped again on me,Traveled a black track.With protecting boardsThen a crafty one covered me,enclosed me with hide,Made me gorgeous with gold.Hence I am glad and rejoiceAt the smith’s fair workwith its wondrous adornments.15Now may these rich trappings,and the red dye’s tracings,And all works of wisdomspread wide the fameOf the Sovereign of nations!Read me not as a penance!If the children of menwill cherish and use me,They shall be safer and sounderand surer of victory,20More heroic of heartand 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 richesShall increase with their love,and who cover their friends25With kindness and favorsand clasp them fastWith loving arms.I ask how men call meWho 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. DoughIn a corner I hearda curious weak thingSwelling and soundingand stirring its cover.On that boneless bodya beautiful womanLaid hold with her hands;the high-swelled thingShe covered with a cloth,the clever lord’s daughter.XLVII. A BookwormA moth ate a word.To me that seemedA curious happeningwhen I heard of that wonder,That a worm should swallowthe word of a man,A thief in the darkeat a thoughtful discourse5And the strong base it stood on.He stole, but he was notA whit the wiserwhen the word had been swallowed.LX. A ReedI stood on the strandto the sea-cliffs near,Hard by the billows.To the home of my birthFast was I fixed.Few indeed are thereOf men who have everat any time5Beheld my homein the hard waste-land.In the brown embraceof the billows and wavesI was locked each dawn.Little I dreamedThat early or lateI ever shouldWith men at the mead-feastmouthless speak forth10Words of wisdom.It is a wondrous thing,And strange to the sightwhen one sees it firstThat the edge of a knifeand the active handAnd wit of the earlwho wields the bladeShould bring it aboutthat I bear unto thee15A secret message,meant for thee only,Boldly announce it,so that no other manMay speak our secretsor spread them abroad.1.This riddle occurs in the manuscript just beforeThe 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.

WALDHERE[Critical text and translation: Dickins,Runic and Heroic Poems, p. 56.Date: Probably eighth century.Information as to the story is found in a number of continental sources. Its best known treatment is in a Latin poem,Waltharius, by Ekkehard of St. Gall, dating from the first half of the tenth century. Ekkehard’s story is thus summarized in theCambridge History of English Literature: “Alphere, king of Aquitaine, had a son named Waltharius, and Heriricus, king of Burgundy, an only daughter named Hiltgund, who was betrothed to Waltharius. While they were yet children, however, Attila, king of the Huns, invaded Gaul, and the kings seeing no hope in resistance, gave up their children to him as hostages, together with much treasure. Under like compulsion treasure was obtained also from Gibicho, king of the Franks, who sent as hostage a youth of noble birth named Hagano. In Attila’s service, Waltharius and Hagano won great renown as warriors, but the latter eventually made his escape. When Waltharius grew up, he became Attila’s chief general; yet he remembered his old engagement with Hiltgund. On his return from a victorious campaign he made a great feast for the king and his court, and when all were sunk in their drunken sleep, he and Hiltgund fled laden with much gold. On their way home they had to cross the Rhine near Worms. There the king of the Franks, Guntharius, the son of Gibicho, heard from the ferryman of the gold they were carrying and determined to secure it. Accompanied by Hagano and eleven other picked warriors, he overtook them as they rested in a cave in the Vosges. Waltharius offered him a large share of the gold in order to obtain peace; but the king demanded the whole, together with Hiltgund and the horses. Stimulated by the promise of great rewards, the eleven warriors now attacked Waltharius one after another, but he slew them all. Hagano had tried to dissuade Guntharius from the attack; but now, since his nephew was among the slain, he formed a plan with the king for surprising Waltharius. On the following day they both fell upon him after he had quitted his stronghold, and, in the struggle that ensued, all three were maimed. Waltharius, however, was able to proceed on his way with Hiltgund, and the story ends happily with their marriage.”Both our fragments, which are found on two leaves in the Royal Library at Copenhagen, refer to a time immediately before the final encounter. The first is spoken by the lady; the second by the man. We cannot tell how long this poem may have been. What we have may be leaves from a long epic, or a short poem, or an episode in a long epic.]A.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .she eagerly heartened him:“Lo, the work ofWelandshall not weaken or failFor the man who the mightyMimmingcan wield,The frightful brand.Oft in battle have fallen5Sword-wounded warriorsone after the other.6Vanguard of Attila,thy valor must everEndure the conflict!The day is now come,9When fate shall award youone or the other:10To lose your lifeor have lasting glory,Through all the ages,O Ælfhere’s son!No fault do I find,my faithful lover,Saying I have seen theeat sword-play weaken,Yield like a cowardto a conqueror’s arms,15Flee from the fieldof fight and escape,Protect thy body,though bands of the foemenWere smiting thy burnieswith broad-edged swords;But unfalt’ring still fartherthe fight thou pursuedstOver the line of battle;hence, my lord, I am burdened20With fear that too fiercelyto the fight thou shalt rushTo the place of encounteringthy opponent in conflict,To wage on him war.Be worthy of thyselfIn glorious deedswhile thy God protects thee!Have no fear as to swordfor the fine-gemmed weapon25Has been given thee to aid us:on Guthhere with itThou shalt pay back the wrongof unrighteously seekingTo stir up the struggleand strife of battle;He rejected that swordand the jewelled treasure,The lustrous gems;now, leaving them all,30He shall flee from this fieldto find his lord,His ancient land,or lie here foreverAsleep, if he   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .”1.The speaker is Hildegyth (the Old English form for Hiltgund).2.Weland:the blacksmith of Teutonic myth. SeeDeor’s Lament,introductory note, and notes tovv. 1and8.3.Mimmingwas the most famous of the swords made by Weland.28.Waldhere had offered Guthhere a large share of the treasure as an inducement for him to desist from the attack, and Guthhere had refused it.B“ .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .a better swordExcept that other,which also I haveClosely encasedin its cover of jewels.I know that Theodoricthought that to Widia5Himself he would send it,and the sword he would joinWith large measure of jewelsand many other brands,Worked all with gold.This reward he would sendBecause, when a captive,the kinsman of Nithhad,Weland’s son, Widia,from his woes had released him—10Thus in haste he escapedfrom the hands of the giants.”Waldhere spoke,the warrior brave;He held in his handhis helper in battle,He grasped his weapon,shouting words of defiance:“Indeed, thou hadst faith,Ofriend of the Burgundians,15That the hand ofHagenahad held me in battle,Defeated me on foot.Fetch now, if thou darest,From me weary with warmy worthy gray corselet!It lies on my shoulderas ’twas left me by Ælfhere,Goodly and gorgeousand gold-bedecked,20The most honorable of allfor an atheling to holdWhen he goes into battleto guard his life,To fight with his foes:fail me it will neverWhen a stranger bandshall strive to encounter me,Besiege me with swords,as thou soughtest to do.25He alone will vouchsafethe victory who alwaysIs eager and readyto aid every right:He who hopes for the helpof the holy Lord,For the grace of God,shall gain it surely,If his earlier workhas earned the reward.30Well may the brave warriorsthen their wealth enjoy,Take pride in their property!That is   .   .   .   .”1.The opening of the second fragment finds the two champions ready for the final struggle. Guthhere is finishing his boast, in which he praises his equipment.3.The meaning of this passage is obscure, but the translation here given seems to be the most reasonable conjecture. He probably refers to a sword that he has at hand in a jewelled case ready for use.4.Stopping thus to give a history of the weapon calls to mind many similar passages in the Homeric poems. The particular story in mind here is the escape of Theodoric from the giants. He loses his way and falls into the hands of one of the twelve giants who guard Duke Nitger. He gains the favor of Nitger’s sister, and through her lets his retainers, Hildebrand, Witige, and Heime know of his plight. They defeat the giants and release him. Witige and Heime are the Middle High German forms for the old EnglishWidia(seeDeor’s Lament, v. 8, note), or Wudga and Hama (seeWidsith, vv. 124, 130, note).14.Friend of the Burgundians:a usual old English expression for “king.” Guthhere was king of the Burgundians in the middle of the fifth century (seeWidsith,vv. 19,66, notes).15.Hagena is now the only one of Guthhere’s comrades that has not been killed by Waldhere. Cf.Widsith, v. 21.

[Critical text and translation: Dickins,Runic and Heroic Poems, p. 56.Date: Probably eighth century.Information as to the story is found in a number of continental sources. Its best known treatment is in a Latin poem,Waltharius, by Ekkehard of St. Gall, dating from the first half of the tenth century. Ekkehard’s story is thus summarized in theCambridge History of English Literature: “Alphere, king of Aquitaine, had a son named Waltharius, and Heriricus, king of Burgundy, an only daughter named Hiltgund, who was betrothed to Waltharius. While they were yet children, however, Attila, king of the Huns, invaded Gaul, and the kings seeing no hope in resistance, gave up their children to him as hostages, together with much treasure. Under like compulsion treasure was obtained also from Gibicho, king of the Franks, who sent as hostage a youth of noble birth named Hagano. In Attila’s service, Waltharius and Hagano won great renown as warriors, but the latter eventually made his escape. When Waltharius grew up, he became Attila’s chief general; yet he remembered his old engagement with Hiltgund. On his return from a victorious campaign he made a great feast for the king and his court, and when all were sunk in their drunken sleep, he and Hiltgund fled laden with much gold. On their way home they had to cross the Rhine near Worms. There the king of the Franks, Guntharius, the son of Gibicho, heard from the ferryman of the gold they were carrying and determined to secure it. Accompanied by Hagano and eleven other picked warriors, he overtook them as they rested in a cave in the Vosges. Waltharius offered him a large share of the gold in order to obtain peace; but the king demanded the whole, together with Hiltgund and the horses. Stimulated by the promise of great rewards, the eleven warriors now attacked Waltharius one after another, but he slew them all. Hagano had tried to dissuade Guntharius from the attack; but now, since his nephew was among the slain, he formed a plan with the king for surprising Waltharius. On the following day they both fell upon him after he had quitted his stronghold, and, in the struggle that ensued, all three were maimed. Waltharius, however, was able to proceed on his way with Hiltgund, and the story ends happily with their marriage.”Both our fragments, which are found on two leaves in the Royal Library at Copenhagen, refer to a time immediately before the final encounter. The first is spoken by the lady; the second by the man. We cannot tell how long this poem may have been. What we have may be leaves from a long epic, or a short poem, or an episode in a long epic.]

[Critical text and translation: Dickins,Runic and Heroic Poems, p. 56.

Date: Probably eighth century.

Information as to the story is found in a number of continental sources. Its best known treatment is in a Latin poem,Waltharius, by Ekkehard of St. Gall, dating from the first half of the tenth century. Ekkehard’s story is thus summarized in theCambridge History of English Literature: “Alphere, king of Aquitaine, had a son named Waltharius, and Heriricus, king of Burgundy, an only daughter named Hiltgund, who was betrothed to Waltharius. While they were yet children, however, Attila, king of the Huns, invaded Gaul, and the kings seeing no hope in resistance, gave up their children to him as hostages, together with much treasure. Under like compulsion treasure was obtained also from Gibicho, king of the Franks, who sent as hostage a youth of noble birth named Hagano. In Attila’s service, Waltharius and Hagano won great renown as warriors, but the latter eventually made his escape. When Waltharius grew up, he became Attila’s chief general; yet he remembered his old engagement with Hiltgund. On his return from a victorious campaign he made a great feast for the king and his court, and when all were sunk in their drunken sleep, he and Hiltgund fled laden with much gold. On their way home they had to cross the Rhine near Worms. There the king of the Franks, Guntharius, the son of Gibicho, heard from the ferryman of the gold they were carrying and determined to secure it. Accompanied by Hagano and eleven other picked warriors, he overtook them as they rested in a cave in the Vosges. Waltharius offered him a large share of the gold in order to obtain peace; but the king demanded the whole, together with Hiltgund and the horses. Stimulated by the promise of great rewards, the eleven warriors now attacked Waltharius one after another, but he slew them all. Hagano had tried to dissuade Guntharius from the attack; but now, since his nephew was among the slain, he formed a plan with the king for surprising Waltharius. On the following day they both fell upon him after he had quitted his stronghold, and, in the struggle that ensued, all three were maimed. Waltharius, however, was able to proceed on his way with Hiltgund, and the story ends happily with their marriage.”

Both our fragments, which are found on two leaves in the Royal Library at Copenhagen, refer to a time immediately before the final encounter. The first is spoken by the lady; the second by the man. We cannot tell how long this poem may have been. What we have may be leaves from a long epic, or a short poem, or an episode in a long epic.]

A.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .she eagerly heartened him:“Lo, the work ofWelandshall not weaken or failFor the man who the mightyMimmingcan wield,The frightful brand.Oft in battle have fallen5Sword-wounded warriorsone after the other.6Vanguard of Attila,thy valor must everEndure the conflict!The day is now come,9When fate shall award youone or the other:10To lose your lifeor have lasting glory,Through all the ages,O Ælfhere’s son!No fault do I find,my faithful lover,Saying I have seen theeat sword-play weaken,Yield like a cowardto a conqueror’s arms,15Flee from the fieldof fight and escape,Protect thy body,though bands of the foemenWere smiting thy burnieswith broad-edged swords;But unfalt’ring still fartherthe fight thou pursuedstOver the line of battle;hence, my lord, I am burdened20With fear that too fiercelyto the fight thou shalt rushTo the place of encounteringthy opponent in conflict,To wage on him war.Be worthy of thyselfIn glorious deedswhile thy God protects thee!Have no fear as to swordfor the fine-gemmed weapon25Has been given thee to aid us:on Guthhere with itThou shalt pay back the wrongof unrighteously seekingTo stir up the struggleand strife of battle;He rejected that swordand the jewelled treasure,The lustrous gems;now, leaving them all,30He shall flee from this fieldto find his lord,His ancient land,or lie here foreverAsleep, if he   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .”1.The speaker is Hildegyth (the Old English form for Hiltgund).2.Weland:the blacksmith of Teutonic myth. SeeDeor’s Lament,introductory note, and notes tovv. 1and8.3.Mimmingwas the most famous of the swords made by Weland.28.Waldhere had offered Guthhere a large share of the treasure as an inducement for him to desist from the attack, and Guthhere had refused it.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .she eagerly heartened him:“Lo, the work ofWelandshall not weaken or failFor the man who the mightyMimmingcan wield,The frightful brand.Oft in battle have fallen5Sword-wounded warriorsone after the other.6Vanguard of Attila,thy valor must everEndure the conflict!The day is now come,9When fate shall award youone or the other:10To lose your lifeor have lasting glory,Through all the ages,O Ælfhere’s son!No fault do I find,my faithful lover,Saying I have seen theeat sword-play weaken,Yield like a cowardto a conqueror’s arms,15Flee from the fieldof fight and escape,Protect thy body,though bands of the foemenWere smiting thy burnieswith broad-edged swords;But unfalt’ring still fartherthe fight thou pursuedstOver the line of battle;hence, my lord, I am burdened20With fear that too fiercelyto the fight thou shalt rushTo the place of encounteringthy opponent in conflict,To wage on him war.Be worthy of thyselfIn glorious deedswhile thy God protects thee!Have no fear as to swordfor the fine-gemmed weapon25Has been given thee to aid us:on Guthhere with itThou shalt pay back the wrongof unrighteously seekingTo stir up the struggleand strife of battle;He rejected that swordand the jewelled treasure,The lustrous gems;now, leaving them all,30He shall flee from this fieldto find his lord,His ancient land,or lie here foreverAsleep, if he   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .”

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .she eagerly heartened him:

“Lo, the work ofWelandshall not weaken or fail

For the man who the mightyMimmingcan wield,

The frightful brand.Oft in battle have fallen

5Sword-wounded warriorsone after the other.

6Vanguard of Attila,thy valor must ever

Endure the conflict!The day is now come,

9When fate shall award youone or the other:

10To lose your lifeor have lasting glory,

Through all the ages,O Ælfhere’s son!

No fault do I find,my faithful lover,

Saying I have seen theeat sword-play weaken,

Yield like a cowardto a conqueror’s arms,

15Flee from the fieldof fight and escape,

Protect thy body,though bands of the foemen

Were smiting thy burnieswith broad-edged swords;

But unfalt’ring still fartherthe fight thou pursuedst

Over the line of battle;hence, my lord, I am burdened

20With fear that too fiercelyto the fight thou shalt rush

To the place of encounteringthy opponent in conflict,

To wage on him war.Be worthy of thyself

In glorious deedswhile thy God protects thee!

Have no fear as to swordfor the fine-gemmed weapon

25Has been given thee to aid us:on Guthhere with it

Thou shalt pay back the wrongof unrighteously seeking

To stir up the struggleand strife of battle;

He rejected that swordand the jewelled treasure,

The lustrous gems;now, leaving them all,

30He shall flee from this fieldto find his lord,

His ancient land,or lie here forever

Asleep, if he   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .”

1.The speaker is Hildegyth (the Old English form for Hiltgund).2.Weland:the blacksmith of Teutonic myth. SeeDeor’s Lament,introductory note, and notes tovv. 1and8.3.Mimmingwas the most famous of the swords made by Weland.28.Waldhere had offered Guthhere a large share of the treasure as an inducement for him to desist from the attack, and Guthhere had refused it.

1.The speaker is Hildegyth (the Old English form for Hiltgund).

2.Weland:the blacksmith of Teutonic myth. SeeDeor’s Lament,introductory note, and notes tovv. 1and8.

3.Mimmingwas the most famous of the swords made by Weland.

28.Waldhere had offered Guthhere a large share of the treasure as an inducement for him to desist from the attack, and Guthhere had refused it.

B“ .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .a better swordExcept that other,which also I haveClosely encasedin its cover of jewels.I know that Theodoricthought that to Widia5Himself he would send it,and the sword he would joinWith large measure of jewelsand many other brands,Worked all with gold.This reward he would sendBecause, when a captive,the kinsman of Nithhad,Weland’s son, Widia,from his woes had released him—10Thus in haste he escapedfrom the hands of the giants.”Waldhere spoke,the warrior brave;He held in his handhis helper in battle,He grasped his weapon,shouting words of defiance:“Indeed, thou hadst faith,Ofriend of the Burgundians,15That the hand ofHagenahad held me in battle,Defeated me on foot.Fetch now, if thou darest,From me weary with warmy worthy gray corselet!It lies on my shoulderas ’twas left me by Ælfhere,Goodly and gorgeousand gold-bedecked,20The most honorable of allfor an atheling to holdWhen he goes into battleto guard his life,To fight with his foes:fail me it will neverWhen a stranger bandshall strive to encounter me,Besiege me with swords,as thou soughtest to do.25He alone will vouchsafethe victory who alwaysIs eager and readyto aid every right:He who hopes for the helpof the holy Lord,For the grace of God,shall gain it surely,If his earlier workhas earned the reward.30Well may the brave warriorsthen their wealth enjoy,Take pride in their property!That is   .   .   .   .”1.The opening of the second fragment finds the two champions ready for the final struggle. Guthhere is finishing his boast, in which he praises his equipment.3.The meaning of this passage is obscure, but the translation here given seems to be the most reasonable conjecture. He probably refers to a sword that he has at hand in a jewelled case ready for use.4.Stopping thus to give a history of the weapon calls to mind many similar passages in the Homeric poems. The particular story in mind here is the escape of Theodoric from the giants. He loses his way and falls into the hands of one of the twelve giants who guard Duke Nitger. He gains the favor of Nitger’s sister, and through her lets his retainers, Hildebrand, Witige, and Heime know of his plight. They defeat the giants and release him. Witige and Heime are the Middle High German forms for the old EnglishWidia(seeDeor’s Lament, v. 8, note), or Wudga and Hama (seeWidsith, vv. 124, 130, note).14.Friend of the Burgundians:a usual old English expression for “king.” Guthhere was king of the Burgundians in the middle of the fifth century (seeWidsith,vv. 19,66, notes).15.Hagena is now the only one of Guthhere’s comrades that has not been killed by Waldhere. Cf.Widsith, v. 21.

“ .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .a better swordExcept that other,which also I haveClosely encasedin its cover of jewels.I know that Theodoricthought that to Widia5Himself he would send it,and the sword he would joinWith large measure of jewelsand many other brands,Worked all with gold.This reward he would sendBecause, when a captive,the kinsman of Nithhad,Weland’s son, Widia,from his woes had released him—10Thus in haste he escapedfrom the hands of the giants.”Waldhere spoke,the warrior brave;He held in his handhis helper in battle,He grasped his weapon,shouting words of defiance:“Indeed, thou hadst faith,Ofriend of the Burgundians,15That the hand ofHagenahad held me in battle,Defeated me on foot.Fetch now, if thou darest,From me weary with warmy worthy gray corselet!It lies on my shoulderas ’twas left me by Ælfhere,Goodly and gorgeousand gold-bedecked,20The most honorable of allfor an atheling to holdWhen he goes into battleto guard his life,To fight with his foes:fail me it will neverWhen a stranger bandshall strive to encounter me,Besiege me with swords,as thou soughtest to do.25He alone will vouchsafethe victory who alwaysIs eager and readyto aid every right:He who hopes for the helpof the holy Lord,For the grace of God,shall gain it surely,If his earlier workhas earned the reward.30Well may the brave warriorsthen their wealth enjoy,Take pride in their property!That is   .   .   .   .”

“ .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .a better sword

Except that other,which also I have

Closely encasedin its cover of jewels.

I know that Theodoricthought that to Widia

5Himself he would send it,and the sword he would join

With large measure of jewelsand many other brands,

Worked all with gold.This reward he would send

Because, when a captive,the kinsman of Nithhad,

Weland’s son, Widia,from his woes had released him—

10Thus in haste he escapedfrom the hands of the giants.”

Waldhere spoke,the warrior brave;

He held in his handhis helper in battle,

He grasped his weapon,shouting words of defiance:

“Indeed, thou hadst faith,Ofriend of the Burgundians,

15That the hand ofHagenahad held me in battle,

Defeated me on foot.Fetch now, if thou darest,

From me weary with warmy worthy gray corselet!

It lies on my shoulderas ’twas left me by Ælfhere,

Goodly and gorgeousand gold-bedecked,

20The most honorable of allfor an atheling to hold

When he goes into battleto guard his life,

To fight with his foes:fail me it will never

When a stranger bandshall strive to encounter me,

Besiege me with swords,as thou soughtest to do.

25He alone will vouchsafethe victory who always

Is eager and readyto aid every right:

He who hopes for the helpof the holy Lord,

For the grace of God,shall gain it surely,

If his earlier workhas earned the reward.

30Well may the brave warriorsthen their wealth enjoy,

Take pride in their property!That is   .   .   .   .”

1.The opening of the second fragment finds the two champions ready for the final struggle. Guthhere is finishing his boast, in which he praises his equipment.3.The meaning of this passage is obscure, but the translation here given seems to be the most reasonable conjecture. He probably refers to a sword that he has at hand in a jewelled case ready for use.4.Stopping thus to give a history of the weapon calls to mind many similar passages in the Homeric poems. The particular story in mind here is the escape of Theodoric from the giants. He loses his way and falls into the hands of one of the twelve giants who guard Duke Nitger. He gains the favor of Nitger’s sister, and through her lets his retainers, Hildebrand, Witige, and Heime know of his plight. They defeat the giants and release him. Witige and Heime are the Middle High German forms for the old EnglishWidia(seeDeor’s Lament, v. 8, note), or Wudga and Hama (seeWidsith, vv. 124, 130, note).14.Friend of the Burgundians:a usual old English expression for “king.” Guthhere was king of the Burgundians in the middle of the fifth century (seeWidsith,vv. 19,66, notes).15.Hagena is now the only one of Guthhere’s comrades that has not been killed by Waldhere. Cf.Widsith, v. 21.

1.The opening of the second fragment finds the two champions ready for the final struggle. Guthhere is finishing his boast, in which he praises his equipment.

3.The meaning of this passage is obscure, but the translation here given seems to be the most reasonable conjecture. He probably refers to a sword that he has at hand in a jewelled case ready for use.

4.Stopping thus to give a history of the weapon calls to mind many similar passages in the Homeric poems. The particular story in mind here is the escape of Theodoric from the giants. He loses his way and falls into the hands of one of the twelve giants who guard Duke Nitger. He gains the favor of Nitger’s sister, and through her lets his retainers, Hildebrand, Witige, and Heime know of his plight. They defeat the giants and release him. Witige and Heime are the Middle High German forms for the old EnglishWidia(seeDeor’s Lament, v. 8, note), or Wudga and Hama (seeWidsith, vv. 124, 130, note).

14.Friend of the Burgundians:a usual old English expression for “king.” Guthhere was king of the Burgundians in the middle of the fifth century (seeWidsith,vv. 19,66, notes).

15.Hagena is now the only one of Guthhere’s comrades that has not been killed by Waldhere. Cf.Widsith, v. 21.

THE FIGHT AT FINNSBURG[Edition used: Chambers,Beowulf, p. 158. See also Dickins,Runic and Heroic Poems, p. 64.Alliterative translation, Gummere,Oldest English Epic, p. 160.The manuscript is now lost. We have only an inaccurate version printed by Hickes at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Many difficulties are therefore found in the text. For a good discussion of the text, see an article by Mackie inThe Journal of English and Germanic Philology, xvi, 250.This fragment belongs to the epic story of Finn which is alluded to at some length inBeowulf(vv. 1068-1159). The saga can be reconstructed in its broad outlines, though it is impossible to be sure of details. One of the most puzzling of these details is the position in which the “Fight” occurs. In the story are two fights, either one of which may be the one described in the fragment. The weight of opinion seems to favor the first conflict, that in which Hnæf is killed. As summarized by Möller, the Finn story is briefly as follows:“Finn, king of the Frisians, had carried off Hildeburh, daughter of Hoc (Beowulf, v. 1076), probably with her consent. Her father Hoc seems to have pursued the fugitives, and to have been slain in the fight which ensued on his overtaking them. After the lapse of some twenty years, Hoc’s sons Hnæf and Hengest, were old enough to undertake the duty of avenging their father’s death. They make an inroad into Finn’s country and a battle takes place in which many warriors, among them Hnæf and a son of Finn (1074, 1079, 1115), are killed. Peace is therefore solemnly concluded, and the slain warriors are burnt (1068-1124).“As the year is too far advanced for Hengest to return home (1130 ff.), he and those of his men who survive remain for the winter in the Frisian country with Finn. But Hengest’s thoughts dwell constantly on the death of his brother Hnæf, and he would gladly welcome any excuse to break the peace which had been sworn by both parties. His ill concealed desire for revenge is noticed by the Frisians, who anticipate it by themselves taking the initiative and attacking Hengest and his men whilst they are sleeping in the hall. This is the night attack described in the “Fight.” It would seem that after a brave and desperate resistance Hengest himself falls in this fight at the hands of Hunlafing (1143), but two of his retainers, Guthlaf and Oslaf, succeed in cutting their way through their enemies and in escaping to their own land. They return with fresh troops, attack and slay Finn, and carry his queen, Hildeburh, off with them (1125-1159).”—Wyatt,Beowulf, (1901), p. 145.Professor Gummere finds in the fragment an example bearing out his theory of the development of the epic. “The qualities which difference it fromBeowulf,” he says, “are mainly negative; it lacks sentiment, moralizing, the leisure of the writer; it did not attempt probably to cover more than a single event; and one will not err in finding it a fair type of the epic songs which roving singers were wont to sing before lord and liegeman in hall and which were used with more or less fidelity by makers of complete epic poems.”]“.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .Arethe gables not burning?”Boldly replied thenthebattle-young king:“The day is not dawning;no dragon is flying,And the high gable-hornsof the hall are not burning,5Butthe brave men are bearingthe battle line forward,Whilebloodthirsty singthe birds of slaughter.Now clangs the gray corselet,clashes the war-wood,Shield answers shaft.Now shineth the moon,Through its cover of clouds.Now cruel days press us10That will drive this folkto deadly fight.But wake at once,my warriors bold,Stand now to your armorand strive for honor;Fight at the frontunafraid and undaunted.”Thenarose from their rest,ready and valiant,15Gold-bedeckedsoldiers,and girded their swords.The noble knightswent now to the doorAnd seized their swords,Sigeferthand Eaha,And to the other doorOrdlaf and Guthlaf,AndHengestwho followedto help the defense.20NowGuthere restrainedGarulf from strife,Lest fearless at the firstof the fight he rushTo the door and daringlyendanger his life,Since now it was stormedby so stalwart a hero.But unchecked by these wordsa challenge he shouted,25Boldly demandingwhat man held the door.“I amSigferth,” he said,“the Secgan’s prince;Wide have I wandered;many woes have I knownAndbitter battles.Be it bad or goodThoushalt surely receivewhat thou seekest from me.”30At the wall by the doorrose the din of battle;In the hands of heroesthe hollow bucklersShattered the shields.Shook then the hall floorTill there fell in the fightthe faithfulGarulf,Most daring and doughtyof the dwellers on earth,35The son of Guthlaf;and scores fell with him.O’er the corpses hoveredthe hungry raven,Swarthy and sallow-brown.A sword-gleam blazedAs though all Finnsburgin flames were burning.Never heard I of heroesmore hardy in war,40Of sixty who strovemore strongly or bravely,Of swains who repaidtheir sweet mead betterThan his loyal liegemento their loved Hnæf.Five days they fought,but there fell not a oneOf the daring band,though the doors they held always.45Now went from the warfarea wounded chief.He said that his burniewas broken asunder,His precious war-gear,and pierced was his helmet.Thenquestionedtheir chiefand inquired of himHow the warriors recoveredfrom the wounds they received,50Or which of the youths.   .   .   .   .   .   .1.The fragment begins in the middle of a word.2.The “battle-young king” is probably the Hengest ofv. 19. Possibly he is to be identified with Hengest, the conqueror of Kent.5, 6.In the original these lines seem to be incomplete. The translation attempts to keep the intended meaning.14, 15.In the original these appear as a single greatly expanded line, which was probably at one time two lines.17.Sigeferth(see alsoline 26), prince of the Secgans is probably identical with Sæferth who ruled the Secgans inWidsith, v. 31.18.Ordlaf and Guthlafappear in the account inBeowulf(vv. 1148, ff.) as Oslaf and Guthlaf. They are the avengers of Hnæf.20.From the construction it is impossible to tell who is the speaker and who is being restrained. But fromline 33it is seen to be Garulf who neglects the advice and is killed. Garulf and Guthere are, of course, of the attacking band.26.Sigferth, one of the defenders. Seev. 17, above.28, 29.These lines are obscure. Probably they mean that Garulf may have as good as he sends in the way of a fight.35.Guthlaf, the father of Garulf (the assailant) was probably not the Guthalf ofline 18, who was a defender. If we have here a conflict between father and son, very little is made of it.45.It is impossible to tell who the wounded warrior was or which chief is referred to inline 48.

[Edition used: Chambers,Beowulf, p. 158. See also Dickins,Runic and Heroic Poems, p. 64.Alliterative translation, Gummere,Oldest English Epic, p. 160.The manuscript is now lost. We have only an inaccurate version printed by Hickes at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Many difficulties are therefore found in the text. For a good discussion of the text, see an article by Mackie inThe Journal of English and Germanic Philology, xvi, 250.This fragment belongs to the epic story of Finn which is alluded to at some length inBeowulf(vv. 1068-1159). The saga can be reconstructed in its broad outlines, though it is impossible to be sure of details. One of the most puzzling of these details is the position in which the “Fight” occurs. In the story are two fights, either one of which may be the one described in the fragment. The weight of opinion seems to favor the first conflict, that in which Hnæf is killed. As summarized by Möller, the Finn story is briefly as follows:“Finn, king of the Frisians, had carried off Hildeburh, daughter of Hoc (Beowulf, v. 1076), probably with her consent. Her father Hoc seems to have pursued the fugitives, and to have been slain in the fight which ensued on his overtaking them. After the lapse of some twenty years, Hoc’s sons Hnæf and Hengest, were old enough to undertake the duty of avenging their father’s death. They make an inroad into Finn’s country and a battle takes place in which many warriors, among them Hnæf and a son of Finn (1074, 1079, 1115), are killed. Peace is therefore solemnly concluded, and the slain warriors are burnt (1068-1124).“As the year is too far advanced for Hengest to return home (1130 ff.), he and those of his men who survive remain for the winter in the Frisian country with Finn. But Hengest’s thoughts dwell constantly on the death of his brother Hnæf, and he would gladly welcome any excuse to break the peace which had been sworn by both parties. His ill concealed desire for revenge is noticed by the Frisians, who anticipate it by themselves taking the initiative and attacking Hengest and his men whilst they are sleeping in the hall. This is the night attack described in the “Fight.” It would seem that after a brave and desperate resistance Hengest himself falls in this fight at the hands of Hunlafing (1143), but two of his retainers, Guthlaf and Oslaf, succeed in cutting their way through their enemies and in escaping to their own land. They return with fresh troops, attack and slay Finn, and carry his queen, Hildeburh, off with them (1125-1159).”—Wyatt,Beowulf, (1901), p. 145.Professor Gummere finds in the fragment an example bearing out his theory of the development of the epic. “The qualities which difference it fromBeowulf,” he says, “are mainly negative; it lacks sentiment, moralizing, the leisure of the writer; it did not attempt probably to cover more than a single event; and one will not err in finding it a fair type of the epic songs which roving singers were wont to sing before lord and liegeman in hall and which were used with more or less fidelity by makers of complete epic poems.”]

[Edition used: Chambers,Beowulf, p. 158. See also Dickins,Runic and Heroic Poems, p. 64.

Alliterative translation, Gummere,Oldest English Epic, p. 160.

The manuscript is now lost. We have only an inaccurate version printed by Hickes at the beginning of the eighteenth century. Many difficulties are therefore found in the text. For a good discussion of the text, see an article by Mackie inThe Journal of English and Germanic Philology, xvi, 250.

This fragment belongs to the epic story of Finn which is alluded to at some length inBeowulf(vv. 1068-1159). The saga can be reconstructed in its broad outlines, though it is impossible to be sure of details. One of the most puzzling of these details is the position in which the “Fight” occurs. In the story are two fights, either one of which may be the one described in the fragment. The weight of opinion seems to favor the first conflict, that in which Hnæf is killed. As summarized by Möller, the Finn story is briefly as follows:

“Finn, king of the Frisians, had carried off Hildeburh, daughter of Hoc (Beowulf, v. 1076), probably with her consent. Her father Hoc seems to have pursued the fugitives, and to have been slain in the fight which ensued on his overtaking them. After the lapse of some twenty years, Hoc’s sons Hnæf and Hengest, were old enough to undertake the duty of avenging their father’s death. They make an inroad into Finn’s country and a battle takes place in which many warriors, among them Hnæf and a son of Finn (1074, 1079, 1115), are killed. Peace is therefore solemnly concluded, and the slain warriors are burnt (1068-1124).

“As the year is too far advanced for Hengest to return home (1130 ff.), he and those of his men who survive remain for the winter in the Frisian country with Finn. But Hengest’s thoughts dwell constantly on the death of his brother Hnæf, and he would gladly welcome any excuse to break the peace which had been sworn by both parties. His ill concealed desire for revenge is noticed by the Frisians, who anticipate it by themselves taking the initiative and attacking Hengest and his men whilst they are sleeping in the hall. This is the night attack described in the “Fight.” It would seem that after a brave and desperate resistance Hengest himself falls in this fight at the hands of Hunlafing (1143), but two of his retainers, Guthlaf and Oslaf, succeed in cutting their way through their enemies and in escaping to their own land. They return with fresh troops, attack and slay Finn, and carry his queen, Hildeburh, off with them (1125-1159).”—Wyatt,Beowulf, (1901), p. 145.

Professor Gummere finds in the fragment an example bearing out his theory of the development of the epic. “The qualities which difference it fromBeowulf,” he says, “are mainly negative; it lacks sentiment, moralizing, the leisure of the writer; it did not attempt probably to cover more than a single event; and one will not err in finding it a fair type of the epic songs which roving singers were wont to sing before lord and liegeman in hall and which were used with more or less fidelity by makers of complete epic poems.”]

“.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .Arethe gables not burning?”Boldly replied thenthebattle-young king:“The day is not dawning;no dragon is flying,And the high gable-hornsof the hall are not burning,5Butthe brave men are bearingthe battle line forward,Whilebloodthirsty singthe birds of slaughter.Now clangs the gray corselet,clashes the war-wood,Shield answers shaft.Now shineth the moon,Through its cover of clouds.Now cruel days press us10That will drive this folkto deadly fight.But wake at once,my warriors bold,Stand now to your armorand strive for honor;Fight at the frontunafraid and undaunted.”Thenarose from their rest,ready and valiant,15Gold-bedeckedsoldiers,and girded their swords.The noble knightswent now to the doorAnd seized their swords,Sigeferthand Eaha,And to the other doorOrdlaf and Guthlaf,AndHengestwho followedto help the defense.20NowGuthere restrainedGarulf from strife,Lest fearless at the firstof the fight he rushTo the door and daringlyendanger his life,Since now it was stormedby so stalwart a hero.But unchecked by these wordsa challenge he shouted,25Boldly demandingwhat man held the door.“I amSigferth,” he said,“the Secgan’s prince;Wide have I wandered;many woes have I knownAndbitter battles.Be it bad or goodThoushalt surely receivewhat thou seekest from me.”30At the wall by the doorrose the din of battle;In the hands of heroesthe hollow bucklersShattered the shields.Shook then the hall floorTill there fell in the fightthe faithfulGarulf,Most daring and doughtyof the dwellers on earth,35The son of Guthlaf;and scores fell with him.O’er the corpses hoveredthe hungry raven,Swarthy and sallow-brown.A sword-gleam blazedAs though all Finnsburgin flames were burning.Never heard I of heroesmore hardy in war,40Of sixty who strovemore strongly or bravely,Of swains who repaidtheir sweet mead betterThan his loyal liegemento their loved Hnæf.Five days they fought,but there fell not a oneOf the daring band,though the doors they held always.45Now went from the warfarea wounded chief.He said that his burniewas broken asunder,His precious war-gear,and pierced was his helmet.Thenquestionedtheir chiefand inquired of himHow the warriors recoveredfrom the wounds they received,50Or which of the youths.   .   .   .   .   .   .

“.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .Arethe gables not burning?”

Boldly replied thenthebattle-young king:

“The day is not dawning;no dragon is flying,

And the high gable-hornsof the hall are not burning,

5Butthe brave men are bearingthe battle line forward,

Whilebloodthirsty singthe birds of slaughter.

Now clangs the gray corselet,clashes the war-wood,

Shield answers shaft.Now shineth the moon,

Through its cover of clouds.Now cruel days press us

10That will drive this folkto deadly fight.

But wake at once,my warriors bold,

Stand now to your armorand strive for honor;

Fight at the frontunafraid and undaunted.”

Thenarose from their rest,ready and valiant,

15Gold-bedeckedsoldiers,and girded their swords.

The noble knightswent now to the door

And seized their swords,Sigeferthand Eaha,

And to the other doorOrdlaf and Guthlaf,

AndHengestwho followedto help the defense.

20NowGuthere restrainedGarulf from strife,

Lest fearless at the firstof the fight he rush

To the door and daringlyendanger his life,

Since now it was stormedby so stalwart a hero.

But unchecked by these wordsa challenge he shouted,

25Boldly demandingwhat man held the door.

“I amSigferth,” he said,“the Secgan’s prince;

Wide have I wandered;many woes have I known

Andbitter battles.Be it bad or good

Thoushalt surely receivewhat thou seekest from me.”

30At the wall by the doorrose the din of battle;

In the hands of heroesthe hollow bucklers

Shattered the shields.Shook then the hall floor

Till there fell in the fightthe faithfulGarulf,

Most daring and doughtyof the dwellers on earth,

35The son of Guthlaf;and scores fell with him.

O’er the corpses hoveredthe hungry raven,

Swarthy and sallow-brown.A sword-gleam blazed

As though all Finnsburgin flames were burning.

Never heard I of heroesmore hardy in war,

40Of sixty who strovemore strongly or bravely,

Of swains who repaidtheir sweet mead better

Than his loyal liegemento their loved Hnæf.

Five days they fought,but there fell not a one

Of the daring band,though the doors they held always.

45Now went from the warfarea wounded chief.

He said that his burniewas broken asunder,

His precious war-gear,and pierced was his helmet.

Thenquestionedtheir chiefand inquired of him

How the warriors recoveredfrom the wounds they received,

50Or which of the youths.   .   .   .   .   .   .

1.The fragment begins in the middle of a word.2.The “battle-young king” is probably the Hengest ofv. 19. Possibly he is to be identified with Hengest, the conqueror of Kent.5, 6.In the original these lines seem to be incomplete. The translation attempts to keep the intended meaning.14, 15.In the original these appear as a single greatly expanded line, which was probably at one time two lines.17.Sigeferth(see alsoline 26), prince of the Secgans is probably identical with Sæferth who ruled the Secgans inWidsith, v. 31.18.Ordlaf and Guthlafappear in the account inBeowulf(vv. 1148, ff.) as Oslaf and Guthlaf. They are the avengers of Hnæf.20.From the construction it is impossible to tell who is the speaker and who is being restrained. But fromline 33it is seen to be Garulf who neglects the advice and is killed. Garulf and Guthere are, of course, of the attacking band.26.Sigferth, one of the defenders. Seev. 17, above.28, 29.These lines are obscure. Probably they mean that Garulf may have as good as he sends in the way of a fight.35.Guthlaf, the father of Garulf (the assailant) was probably not the Guthalf ofline 18, who was a defender. If we have here a conflict between father and son, very little is made of it.45.It is impossible to tell who the wounded warrior was or which chief is referred to inline 48.

1.The fragment begins in the middle of a word.

2.The “battle-young king” is probably the Hengest ofv. 19. Possibly he is to be identified with Hengest, the conqueror of Kent.

5, 6.In the original these lines seem to be incomplete. The translation attempts to keep the intended meaning.

14, 15.In the original these appear as a single greatly expanded line, which was probably at one time two lines.

17.Sigeferth(see alsoline 26), prince of the Secgans is probably identical with Sæferth who ruled the Secgans inWidsith, v. 31.

18.Ordlaf and Guthlafappear in the account inBeowulf(vv. 1148, ff.) as Oslaf and Guthlaf. They are the avengers of Hnæf.

20.From the construction it is impossible to tell who is the speaker and who is being restrained. But fromline 33it is seen to be Garulf who neglects the advice and is killed. Garulf and Guthere are, of course, of the attacking band.

26.Sigferth, one of the defenders. Seev. 17, above.

28, 29.These lines are obscure. Probably they mean that Garulf may have as good as he sends in the way of a fight.

35.Guthlaf, the father of Garulf (the assailant) was probably not the Guthalf ofline 18, who was a defender. If we have here a conflict between father and son, very little is made of it.

45.It is impossible to tell who the wounded warrior was or which chief is referred to inline 48.

2. GNOMIC GROUPCHARMS[Edition used: Kluge,Angelsächsisches Lesebuch.Critical edition and discussion of most of the charms: Felix Grendon,Journal of American Folk-lore, xxii, 105 ff. See that article for bibliography.Grendon divides the charms into five classes:1. Exorcisms of diseases and disease spirits.2. Herbal charms.3. Charms for transferring disease.4. Amulet charms.5. Charm remedies.These charms contain some of the most interesting relics of the old heathen religion of the Anglo-Saxons incongruously mingled with Christian practices. They were probably written down at so late a time that the churchmen felt they could no longer do harm.]I. For Bewitched LandHere is the remedy by which thou mayst improve thy fields if they will not produce well or if any evil thing is done to them by means of sorcery or witchcraft:5Take at night, before daybreak, four pieces of turf from the four corners of the land and mark the places where they have stood. Take then oil and honey and yeast and the milk of every kind of cattle that is on that land and a piece of every kind of tree that is grown10on that land, except hard wood, and a piece of every kind of herb known by name, except burdock alone. Then put holy water on these and dip it thrice in thebase of the turfs and say these words:Crescite,grow, et multiplicamini,and multiply, et replete,and fill, terram,15this earth, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti sint benedicti;andPater Nosteras often as anything else.Then carry the turfs to the church and have the priest sing four masses over them and have the green sides20turned toward the altar. Then bring them back before sunset to the place where they were at first. Now make four crosses of aspen and write on the end of eachMatheusandMarcusandLucasandJohannes.Lay the crosses on the bottom of each hole and then say:25Crux Matheus, crux Marcus, crux Lucas, crux Sanctus Johannes.Then take the sods and lay them on top and say nine times the wordCrescite,and thePater Nosteras often. Turn then to the east and bow humbly nine times and say these words:30Eastward I stand,for honors I pray;I pray to the God of glory;I pray to the gracious Lord;I pray to the high and holyHeavenly Father;I pray to the earthand all of the heavens,And to the true and virtuousvirgin Saint Mary,35And to the high hallof Heaven and its power,That with God’s blessingI may unbind this spellWith my open teeth,and through trusty thoughtMay awaken the growthfor our worldly advantage,May fill these fieldsby fast belief,40May improve this planting,for the prophet saithThat he hath honors on earthwhose alms are free,Who wisely gives,by the will of God.Then turn three times following the course of the sun, stretch thyself prostrate, and chant the litanies.45Then saySanctus, Sanctus, Sanctusthrough to the end. Then chantBenedictewith outstretched arms, and theMagnificatandPater Nosterthree times and commend thy prayer to the praise and glory of Christ and Saint Mary and the Holy Rood, and to the honor50of him who owns the land and to all those that are subject to him. When all this is done, get some unknown seed from beggars, and give them twice as much as thou takest from them. Then gather all thy plowing gear together and bore a hole in the beam and put in55it incense and fennel and consecrated soap and consecrated salt. Take the seed and put it on the body of the plow, and then say:Erce, Erce, Erce,of earth the mother,May he graciously grant thee,God Eternal,60To have fertile fieldsand fruitful harvests,Growing in profitand gaining in power;A host of productsand harvests in plenty,Bright with the broadbarley harvest;And heavy with the whiteharvest of wheat,65And all the harvest of the earth.May the Almighty Lord grantAnd all his saintswho are seated in heaven,That against all of the enemiesthis earth may be guarded,Protected and made proofagainst the powers of evil,Against sorceries and spellsdispersed through the land.70Now I pray to the Powerwho planned the creationThat no woman of witchcraft,no worker of magic,May change or unspellthe charm I have spoken.Then drive forth the plow and turn the first furrow and say:75Hail to thee, Earth,of all men the mother,Be goodly thy growthin God’s embrace,Filled with foodas a favor to men.Then take meal of every kind and bake a loaf as broad as it will lie between the two hands, kneading80it with milk and with holy water, and lay it under the first furrow. Say then:Full be the fieldwith food for mankind,Blossoming brightly.Blessed by thouBy the holy nameof Heaven’s Creator,85And the maker of Earth,which men inhabit.May God who created the groundgrant us growing gifts,That each kernel of cornmay come to use.Say then three times, Crescite in nomine patris, sint benedicti. AmenandPater Nosterthree times.30.Irregularities in the meter in the translations are imitations of similar irregularities in the original.58.Erce:probably the name of an old Teutonic deity, the Mother of Earth. This reference is all we have to preserve the name.75.The conception of a goddess as Mother of Earth and of Earth as Mother of Men is entirely pagan. This charm is a peculiar complex of Christian and pagan ideas.II. Against a Sudden StitchAgainst asudden stitchtake feverfew, and the red nettle that grows through the house, and plantain. Boil in butter.Loud were they, lo loud,as over the lea they rode;5Resolute they werewhen they rode over the land.Protect thyself that thy troublebecome cured and healed.Out, little stick,if it still isI stood under the linden,under the light shield,Where the mighty womentheir magic prepared,10And they sent their spearsspinning and whistling.But I will send thema spear in return,Unerringly aiman arrow against them.Out, little stick,if it still is within!There sat a smithand a small knife forged15.   .   .   .   .   .   .sharply with a stroke of iron.Out little stickif it still is within!Six smiths sat andworked their war-spears.Out, spear!be not in, spear!If it still is there,the stick of iron,20The work of the witches,away it shall melt.Ifthou wert shot in the skin,or sore wounded in the flesh,If in the blood thou wert shot,or in the bone thou wert shot,If in the joint thou wert shot,there will be no jeopardy to your life.If some deity shot it,or some devil shot it,25Or if some witch has shot it,now I am willing to help thee.This is a remedy for a deity’s shot;this is a remedy for a devil’s shot;This is a remedy for a witch’s shot.I am willing to help thee.Fleethere into the forests.   .   .   .   .   .   .Be thou wholly healed.Thy help be from God.30Then take the knife and put it into the liquid.1.The sudden stitch in the side (or rheumatic pain) is here thought of as coming from the arrows shot by the “mighty women”—the witches.21-28.These irregular lines are imitated from the original.

[Edition used: Kluge,Angelsächsisches Lesebuch.Critical edition and discussion of most of the charms: Felix Grendon,Journal of American Folk-lore, xxii, 105 ff. See that article for bibliography.Grendon divides the charms into five classes:1. Exorcisms of diseases and disease spirits.2. Herbal charms.3. Charms for transferring disease.4. Amulet charms.5. Charm remedies.These charms contain some of the most interesting relics of the old heathen religion of the Anglo-Saxons incongruously mingled with Christian practices. They were probably written down at so late a time that the churchmen felt they could no longer do harm.]

[Edition used: Kluge,Angelsächsisches Lesebuch.

Critical edition and discussion of most of the charms: Felix Grendon,Journal of American Folk-lore, xxii, 105 ff. See that article for bibliography.

Grendon divides the charms into five classes:

These charms contain some of the most interesting relics of the old heathen religion of the Anglo-Saxons incongruously mingled with Christian practices. They were probably written down at so late a time that the churchmen felt they could no longer do harm.]

I. For Bewitched LandHere is the remedy by which thou mayst improve thy fields if they will not produce well or if any evil thing is done to them by means of sorcery or witchcraft:5Take at night, before daybreak, four pieces of turf from the four corners of the land and mark the places where they have stood. Take then oil and honey and yeast and the milk of every kind of cattle that is on that land and a piece of every kind of tree that is grown10on that land, except hard wood, and a piece of every kind of herb known by name, except burdock alone. Then put holy water on these and dip it thrice in thebase of the turfs and say these words:Crescite,grow, et multiplicamini,and multiply, et replete,and fill, terram,15this earth, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti sint benedicti;andPater Nosteras often as anything else.Then carry the turfs to the church and have the priest sing four masses over them and have the green sides20turned toward the altar. Then bring them back before sunset to the place where they were at first. Now make four crosses of aspen and write on the end of eachMatheusandMarcusandLucasandJohannes.Lay the crosses on the bottom of each hole and then say:25Crux Matheus, crux Marcus, crux Lucas, crux Sanctus Johannes.Then take the sods and lay them on top and say nine times the wordCrescite,and thePater Nosteras often. Turn then to the east and bow humbly nine times and say these words:30Eastward I stand,for honors I pray;I pray to the God of glory;I pray to the gracious Lord;I pray to the high and holyHeavenly Father;I pray to the earthand all of the heavens,And to the true and virtuousvirgin Saint Mary,35And to the high hallof Heaven and its power,That with God’s blessingI may unbind this spellWith my open teeth,and through trusty thoughtMay awaken the growthfor our worldly advantage,May fill these fieldsby fast belief,40May improve this planting,for the prophet saithThat he hath honors on earthwhose alms are free,Who wisely gives,by the will of God.Then turn three times following the course of the sun, stretch thyself prostrate, and chant the litanies.45Then saySanctus, Sanctus, Sanctusthrough to the end. Then chantBenedictewith outstretched arms, and theMagnificatandPater Nosterthree times and commend thy prayer to the praise and glory of Christ and Saint Mary and the Holy Rood, and to the honor50of him who owns the land and to all those that are subject to him. When all this is done, get some unknown seed from beggars, and give them twice as much as thou takest from them. Then gather all thy plowing gear together and bore a hole in the beam and put in55it incense and fennel and consecrated soap and consecrated salt. Take the seed and put it on the body of the plow, and then say:Erce, Erce, Erce,of earth the mother,May he graciously grant thee,God Eternal,60To have fertile fieldsand fruitful harvests,Growing in profitand gaining in power;A host of productsand harvests in plenty,Bright with the broadbarley harvest;And heavy with the whiteharvest of wheat,65And all the harvest of the earth.May the Almighty Lord grantAnd all his saintswho are seated in heaven,That against all of the enemiesthis earth may be guarded,Protected and made proofagainst the powers of evil,Against sorceries and spellsdispersed through the land.70Now I pray to the Powerwho planned the creationThat no woman of witchcraft,no worker of magic,May change or unspellthe charm I have spoken.Then drive forth the plow and turn the first furrow and say:75Hail to thee, Earth,of all men the mother,Be goodly thy growthin God’s embrace,Filled with foodas a favor to men.Then take meal of every kind and bake a loaf as broad as it will lie between the two hands, kneading80it with milk and with holy water, and lay it under the first furrow. Say then:Full be the fieldwith food for mankind,Blossoming brightly.Blessed by thouBy the holy nameof Heaven’s Creator,85And the maker of Earth,which men inhabit.May God who created the groundgrant us growing gifts,That each kernel of cornmay come to use.Say then three times, Crescite in nomine patris, sint benedicti. AmenandPater Nosterthree times.30.Irregularities in the meter in the translations are imitations of similar irregularities in the original.58.Erce:probably the name of an old Teutonic deity, the Mother of Earth. This reference is all we have to preserve the name.75.The conception of a goddess as Mother of Earth and of Earth as Mother of Men is entirely pagan. This charm is a peculiar complex of Christian and pagan ideas.

Here is the remedy by which thou mayst improve thy fields if they will not produce well or if any evil thing is done to them by means of sorcery or witchcraft:

5Take at night, before daybreak, four pieces of turf from the four corners of the land and mark the places where they have stood. Take then oil and honey and yeast and the milk of every kind of cattle that is on that land and a piece of every kind of tree that is grown10on that land, except hard wood, and a piece of every kind of herb known by name, except burdock alone. Then put holy water on these and dip it thrice in thebase of the turfs and say these words:Crescite,grow, et multiplicamini,and multiply, et replete,and fill, terram,15this earth, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti sint benedicti;andPater Nosteras often as anything else.

Then carry the turfs to the church and have the priest sing four masses over them and have the green sides20turned toward the altar. Then bring them back before sunset to the place where they were at first. Now make four crosses of aspen and write on the end of eachMatheusandMarcusandLucasandJohannes.Lay the crosses on the bottom of each hole and then say:25Crux Matheus, crux Marcus, crux Lucas, crux Sanctus Johannes.Then take the sods and lay them on top and say nine times the wordCrescite,and thePater Nosteras often. Turn then to the east and bow humbly nine times and say these words:

30Eastward I stand,for honors I pray;I pray to the God of glory;I pray to the gracious Lord;I pray to the high and holyHeavenly Father;I pray to the earthand all of the heavens,And to the true and virtuousvirgin Saint Mary,35And to the high hallof Heaven and its power,That with God’s blessingI may unbind this spellWith my open teeth,and through trusty thoughtMay awaken the growthfor our worldly advantage,May fill these fieldsby fast belief,40May improve this planting,for the prophet saithThat he hath honors on earthwhose alms are free,Who wisely gives,by the will of God.

30Eastward I stand,for honors I pray;

I pray to the God of glory;I pray to the gracious Lord;

I pray to the high and holyHeavenly Father;

I pray to the earthand all of the heavens,

And to the true and virtuousvirgin Saint Mary,

35And to the high hallof Heaven and its power,

That with God’s blessingI may unbind this spell

With my open teeth,and through trusty thought

May awaken the growthfor our worldly advantage,

May fill these fieldsby fast belief,

40May improve this planting,for the prophet saith

That he hath honors on earthwhose alms are free,

Who wisely gives,by the will of God.

Then turn three times following the course of the sun, stretch thyself prostrate, and chant the litanies.45Then saySanctus, Sanctus, Sanctusthrough to the end. Then chantBenedictewith outstretched arms, and theMagnificatandPater Nosterthree times and commend thy prayer to the praise and glory of Christ and Saint Mary and the Holy Rood, and to the honor50of him who owns the land and to all those that are subject to him. When all this is done, get some unknown seed from beggars, and give them twice as much as thou takest from them. Then gather all thy plowing gear together and bore a hole in the beam and put in55it incense and fennel and consecrated soap and consecrated salt. Take the seed and put it on the body of the plow, and then say:

Erce, Erce, Erce,of earth the mother,May he graciously grant thee,God Eternal,60To have fertile fieldsand fruitful harvests,Growing in profitand gaining in power;A host of productsand harvests in plenty,Bright with the broadbarley harvest;And heavy with the whiteharvest of wheat,65And all the harvest of the earth.May the Almighty Lord grantAnd all his saintswho are seated in heaven,That against all of the enemiesthis earth may be guarded,Protected and made proofagainst the powers of evil,Against sorceries and spellsdispersed through the land.70Now I pray to the Powerwho planned the creationThat no woman of witchcraft,no worker of magic,May change or unspellthe charm I have spoken.

Erce, Erce, Erce,of earth the mother,

May he graciously grant thee,God Eternal,

60To have fertile fieldsand fruitful harvests,

Growing in profitand gaining in power;

A host of productsand harvests in plenty,

Bright with the broadbarley harvest;

And heavy with the whiteharvest of wheat,

65And all the harvest of the earth.May the Almighty Lord grant

And all his saintswho are seated in heaven,

That against all of the enemiesthis earth may be guarded,

Protected and made proofagainst the powers of evil,

Against sorceries and spellsdispersed through the land.

70Now I pray to the Powerwho planned the creation

That no woman of witchcraft,no worker of magic,

May change or unspellthe charm I have spoken.

Then drive forth the plow and turn the first furrow and say:

75Hail to thee, Earth,of all men the mother,Be goodly thy growthin God’s embrace,Filled with foodas a favor to men.

75Hail to thee, Earth,of all men the mother,

Be goodly thy growthin God’s embrace,

Filled with foodas a favor to men.

Then take meal of every kind and bake a loaf as broad as it will lie between the two hands, kneading80it with milk and with holy water, and lay it under the first furrow. Say then:

Full be the fieldwith food for mankind,Blossoming brightly.Blessed by thouBy the holy nameof Heaven’s Creator,85And the maker of Earth,which men inhabit.May God who created the groundgrant us growing gifts,That each kernel of cornmay come to use.

Full be the fieldwith food for mankind,

Blossoming brightly.Blessed by thou

By the holy nameof Heaven’s Creator,

85And the maker of Earth,which men inhabit.

May God who created the groundgrant us growing gifts,

That each kernel of cornmay come to use.

Say then three times, Crescite in nomine patris, sint benedicti. AmenandPater Nosterthree times.

30.Irregularities in the meter in the translations are imitations of similar irregularities in the original.58.Erce:probably the name of an old Teutonic deity, the Mother of Earth. This reference is all we have to preserve the name.75.The conception of a goddess as Mother of Earth and of Earth as Mother of Men is entirely pagan. This charm is a peculiar complex of Christian and pagan ideas.

30.Irregularities in the meter in the translations are imitations of similar irregularities in the original.

58.Erce:probably the name of an old Teutonic deity, the Mother of Earth. This reference is all we have to preserve the name.

75.The conception of a goddess as Mother of Earth and of Earth as Mother of Men is entirely pagan. This charm is a peculiar complex of Christian and pagan ideas.

II. Against a Sudden StitchAgainst asudden stitchtake feverfew, and the red nettle that grows through the house, and plantain. Boil in butter.Loud were they, lo loud,as over the lea they rode;5Resolute they werewhen they rode over the land.Protect thyself that thy troublebecome cured and healed.Out, little stick,if it still isI stood under the linden,under the light shield,Where the mighty womentheir magic prepared,10And they sent their spearsspinning and whistling.But I will send thema spear in return,Unerringly aiman arrow against them.Out, little stick,if it still is within!There sat a smithand a small knife forged15.   .   .   .   .   .   .sharply with a stroke of iron.Out little stickif it still is within!Six smiths sat andworked their war-spears.Out, spear!be not in, spear!If it still is there,the stick of iron,20The work of the witches,away it shall melt.Ifthou wert shot in the skin,or sore wounded in the flesh,If in the blood thou wert shot,or in the bone thou wert shot,If in the joint thou wert shot,there will be no jeopardy to your life.If some deity shot it,or some devil shot it,25Or if some witch has shot it,now I am willing to help thee.This is a remedy for a deity’s shot;this is a remedy for a devil’s shot;This is a remedy for a witch’s shot.I am willing to help thee.Fleethere into the forests.   .   .   .   .   .   .Be thou wholly healed.Thy help be from God.30Then take the knife and put it into the liquid.1.The sudden stitch in the side (or rheumatic pain) is here thought of as coming from the arrows shot by the “mighty women”—the witches.21-28.These irregular lines are imitated from the original.

Against asudden stitchtake feverfew, and the red nettle that grows through the house, and plantain. Boil in butter.

Loud were they, lo loud,as over the lea they rode;5Resolute they werewhen they rode over the land.Protect thyself that thy troublebecome cured and healed.Out, little stick,if it still isI stood under the linden,under the light shield,Where the mighty womentheir magic prepared,10And they sent their spearsspinning and whistling.But I will send thema spear in return,Unerringly aiman arrow against them.Out, little stick,if it still is within!There sat a smithand a small knife forged15.   .   .   .   .   .   .sharply with a stroke of iron.Out little stickif it still is within!Six smiths sat andworked their war-spears.Out, spear!be not in, spear!If it still is there,the stick of iron,20The work of the witches,away it shall melt.Ifthou wert shot in the skin,or sore wounded in the flesh,If in the blood thou wert shot,or in the bone thou wert shot,If in the joint thou wert shot,there will be no jeopardy to your life.If some deity shot it,or some devil shot it,25Or if some witch has shot it,now I am willing to help thee.This is a remedy for a deity’s shot;this is a remedy for a devil’s shot;This is a remedy for a witch’s shot.I am willing to help thee.Fleethere into the forests.   .   .   .   .   .   .Be thou wholly healed.Thy help be from God.

Loud were they, lo loud,as over the lea they rode;

5Resolute they werewhen they rode over the land.

Protect thyself that thy troublebecome cured and healed.

Out, little stick,if it still is

I stood under the linden,under the light shield,

Where the mighty womentheir magic prepared,

10And they sent their spearsspinning and whistling.

But I will send thema spear in return,

Unerringly aiman arrow against them.

Out, little stick,if it still is within!

There sat a smithand a small knife forged

15.   .   .   .   .   .   .sharply with a stroke of iron.

Out little stickif it still is within!

Six smiths sat andworked their war-spears.

Out, spear!be not in, spear!

If it still is there,the stick of iron,

20The work of the witches,away it shall melt.

Ifthou wert shot in the skin,or sore wounded in the flesh,

If in the blood thou wert shot,or in the bone thou wert shot,

If in the joint thou wert shot,there will be no jeopardy to your life.

If some deity shot it,or some devil shot it,

25Or if some witch has shot it,now I am willing to help thee.

This is a remedy for a deity’s shot;this is a remedy for a devil’s shot;

This is a remedy for a witch’s shot.I am willing to help thee.

Fleethere into the forests.   .   .   .   .   .   .

Be thou wholly healed.Thy help be from God.

30Then take the knife and put it into the liquid.

1.The sudden stitch in the side (or rheumatic pain) is here thought of as coming from the arrows shot by the “mighty women”—the witches.21-28.These irregular lines are imitated from the original.

1.The sudden stitch in the side (or rheumatic pain) is here thought of as coming from the arrows shot by the “mighty women”—the witches.

21-28.These irregular lines are imitated from the original.

RIDDLES[Critical editions: Wyatt, Tupper, and Trautmann. Wyatt (Boston, 1912, Belles Lettres edition) used as a basis for these translations. His numbering is always one lower than the other editions, since he rejects one riddle.Date: Probably eighth century for most of them.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. TheCambridge History of English Literaturesums 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 StormWhat man is so clever,so crafty of mind,As to say for a truthwho sends me a-traveling?When I rise in my wrath,raging at times,Savage is my sound.Sometimes I travel,5Go forth among the folk,set fire to their homesAnd ravage and rob them;then rolls the smokeGray over the gables;great is the noise,The death-struggle of the stricken.Then I stir up the woodsAnd the fruitful forests;I fell the trees,10I, roofed over with rain,on my reckless journey,Wandering widelyat the will of heaven.I bear on my backthe bodily raiment,The fortunes of folk,their flesh and their spirits,Together to sea. Say who may cover me,15Or 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 StormAt times I travelin tracks undreamed of,In vasty wave-depthsto visit the earth,The floor of the ocean.Fierce is the sea.   .   .   .   .   .   .the foam rolls high;5The whale-pool roarsand rages loudly;The streams beat the shores,and they sling at timesGreat stones and sandon the steep cliffs,With weeds and waves,while wildly strivingUnder the burden of billowson the bottom of ocean10The sea-ground I shake.My shield of watersI leave not ere he lets mewho leads me alwaysIn all my travels.Tell me, wise man,Who was it that drew mefrom the depth of the oceanWhen the streams againbecame still and quiet,15Who before had forced mein fury to rage?III. A StormAt times I am fastconfined by my Master,Who sendeth forthunder the fertile plainMy broad bosom,but bridles me in.He drives in the darka dangerous power5To a narrow cave,where crushing my backSits the weight of the world.No way of escapeCan I find from the torment;so I tumble aboutThe homes of heroes.The halls with their gables,The tribe-dwellings tremble;the trusty walls shake,10Steep over the head.Still seems the airOver all the countryand calm the waters,Till I press in my furyfrom my prison below,Obeying His biddingwho bound me fastIn fetters at firstwhen he fashioned the world,15In bonds and in chains,with no chance of escapeFrom his power who points outthe paths I must follow.Downward at timesI drive the waves,Stir up the streams;to the strand I pressThe flint-gray flood:the foamy wave20Lashes the wall.A lurid mountainRises on the deep;dark in its trailStirred up with the seaa second one comes,And close to the coastit clashes and strikesOn the lofty hills.Loud soundeth the boat,25The shouting of shipmen.Unshaken abideThe stone cliffs steepthrough the strife of the waters,The dashing of waves,when the deadly tumultCrowds to the coast.Of cruel strifeThe sailors are certainif the sea drive their craft30With its terrified guestson the grim rolling tide;They are sure that the shipwill be shorn of its power,Be deprived of its rule,and will ride foam-coveredOn the ridge of the waves.Then ariseth a panic,Fear among folkof the force that commands me,35Strong on my storm-track.Who shall still that power?At times I drivethrough the dark wave-vesselsThat ride on my back,and wrench them asunderAnd lash them with sea-streams;or I let them againGlide back together.It is the greatest of noises,40Of clamoring crowds,of crashes the loudest,When clouds as they strivein their courses shall strikeEdge against edge;inky of hueIn flight o’er the folkbright fire they sweat,A stream of flame;destruction they carry45Dark over menwith a mighty din.Fighting they fare.They let fall from their bosomA deafening rainof rattling liquid,Of storm from their bellies.In battle they strive,The awful army;anguish arises,50Terror of mindto the tribes of men,Distress in the strongholds,when the stalking goblins,The pale ghosts shootwith their sharp weapons.The fool alone fears nottheir fatal spears;But he perishes tooif the true God send55Straight from abovein streams of rain,Whizzing and whistlingthe whirlwind’s arrows,The flying death.Few shall surviveWhom that violent guestin his grimness shall visit.I always stir upthat strife and commotion;60Then I bear my courseto the battle of clouds,Powerfully striveand press through the tumult,Over the bosom of the billows;bursteth loudlyThe gathering of elements.Then again I descendIn my helmet of airand hover near the land,65And lift on my backthe load I must bear,Minding the mandatesof the mighty Lord.So I, a tried servant,sometimes contend:Now under the earth;now from over the wavesI drive to the depths;now dropping from heaven,70I 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 upwhen rest is denied me,Or who stays my coursewhen stillness comes to me?V. A ShieldA 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 war5I have no hopefor help or releaseEre I pass from the worldwith the proud warrior band.With brands and billiesthey beat upon me;The hard edges hack me;the handwork of smithsIn crowds I encounter;with courage I endure10Ever bitterer battles.No balm may I find,And no doctor to heal mein the whole field of battle,To bind me with ointmentsand bring me to health,But my grievous gashesgrow ever sorerThrough death-dealing strokesby day and night.VII. A SwanMy robe is noiselesswhen I roam the earth,Or stay in my home,or stir up the water.At times I am liftedo’er the lodgings of menBy the aid of my trappingsand the air above.5The strength of the cloudsthen carries me far,Bears me on its bosom.My beautiful ornament,My raiment rustlesand raises a song,Sings without tiring.I touch not the earthBut wander a strangerover stream and wood.VIII. A NightingaleWith my mouth I am masterof many a language;Cunningly I carol;I discourse full oftIn melodious lays;loud do I call,Ever mindful of melody,undiminished in voice.5An old evening-scop,to earls I bringSolace in cities;when, skillful in music,My voice I raise,restful at homeThey sit in silence.Say what is my name,That call so clearlyand cleverly imitate10The song of the scop,and sing unto menWords full welcomewith my wonderful voice.XIV. A HornI was once an armed warrior.Now the worthy youthGorgeously gears mewith gold and silver,Curiously twisted.At times men kiss me.Sometimes I soundand summon to battle5The stalwart company.A steed now carries meAcross the border.The courser of the seaNow bears me o’er the billows,bright in my trappings.Now a comely maidencovered with jewelsFills my bosom with beer.On the board now I lie10Lidless and lonelyand lacking my trappings.Now fair in my fretworkat the feast I hangIn my place on the wallwhile warriors drink.Now brightened for battle,on the back of a steedA war-chief shall bear me.Then the wind I shall breathe,15Shall swell with soundfrom someone’s bosom.At times with my voiceI invite the heroes,The warriors to wine;or I watch for my master,And sound an alarmand 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 BadgerMy throat is like snow,and my sides and my headAre 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 high5Two ears tower;with my toes I stepOn the green grass.Grief comes upon meIf the slaughter-grim huntershall see me in hiding,Shall find me alonewhere I fashion my dwelling,Bold with my brood.I abide in this place10With my strong young childrentill a stranger shall comeAnd bring dread to my door.Death then is certain.Hence, trembling I carrymy terrified childrenFar from their homeand flee unto safety.If he crowds me closeas he comes behind,15I bare my breast.In my burrow I dare notMeet my furious foe(it were foolish to do so),But, wildly rushing,I work a roadThrough the high hillwith my hands and feet.I fail not in defendingmy family’s lives;20If I lead the little onesbelow to safety,Through a secret holeinside the hill,My beloved brood,no longer need IFear the offenseof the fierce-battling dogs.25Whenever the hostile onehunts 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 hillAnd deal my deadlydartsof battle30On the foe I have fearedand 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 BowMy name is spelledAGOBwith the order reversed.I am marvelously fashionedand made for fighting.When I am bentand my bosom sends forthIts poisoned stings,I straightway prepare5My deadly dartsto deal afar.As soon as my master,who made me for torment,Loosens my limbs,my length is increasedTill I vomit the venomwith violent motions,The swift-killing poisonI swallowed before.10Not any manshall make his escape,Not one that I spoke ofshall speed from the fight,If there falls on him firstwhat flies from my belly.He pays with his strengthfor the poisonous drink,For the fatal cupwhich forfeits his life.15Except when fetteredfast, I am useless.Unbound I shall fail.Now find out my name.XXVI. A BibleA stern destroyerstruck 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 lost5The hairs that I had.Then the hard edgeOf the keen knife cut meand cleansed me of soil;Then fingers folded me.The fleet quill of the birdWith speedy dropsspread tracks oftenOver the brown surface,swallowed the tree-dye,10A deal of the stream,stepped again on me,Traveled a black track.With protecting boardsThen a crafty one covered me,enclosed me with hide,Made me gorgeous with gold.Hence I am glad and rejoiceAt the smith’s fair workwith its wondrous adornments.15Now may these rich trappings,and the red dye’s tracings,And all works of wisdomspread wide the fameOf the Sovereign of nations!Read me not as a penance!If the children of menwill cherish and use me,They shall be safer and sounderand surer of victory,20More heroic of heartand 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 richesShall increase with their love,and who cover their friends25With kindness and favorsand clasp them fastWith loving arms.I ask how men call meWho 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. DoughIn a corner I hearda curious weak thingSwelling and soundingand stirring its cover.On that boneless bodya beautiful womanLaid hold with her hands;the high-swelled thingShe covered with a cloth,the clever lord’s daughter.XLVII. A BookwormA moth ate a word.To me that seemedA curious happeningwhen I heard of that wonder,That a worm should swallowthe word of a man,A thief in the darkeat a thoughtful discourse5And the strong base it stood on.He stole, but he was notA whit the wiserwhen the word had been swallowed.LX. A ReedI stood on the strandto the sea-cliffs near,Hard by the billows.To the home of my birthFast was I fixed.Few indeed are thereOf men who have everat any time5Beheld my homein the hard waste-land.In the brown embraceof the billows and wavesI was locked each dawn.Little I dreamedThat early or lateI ever shouldWith men at the mead-feastmouthless speak forth10Words of wisdom.It is a wondrous thing,And strange to the sightwhen one sees it firstThat the edge of a knifeand the active handAnd wit of the earlwho wields the bladeShould bring it aboutthat I bear unto thee15A secret message,meant for thee only,Boldly announce it,so that no other manMay speak our secretsor spread them abroad.1.This riddle occurs in the manuscript just beforeThe 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.

[Critical editions: Wyatt, Tupper, and Trautmann. Wyatt (Boston, 1912, Belles Lettres edition) used as a basis for these translations. His numbering is always one lower than the other editions, since he rejects one riddle.Date: Probably eighth century for most of them.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. TheCambridge History of English Literaturesums 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.”]

[Critical editions: Wyatt, Tupper, and Trautmann. Wyatt (Boston, 1912, Belles Lettres edition) used as a basis for these translations. His numbering is always one lower than the other editions, since he rejects one riddle.

Date: Probably eighth century for most of them.

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. TheCambridge History of English Literaturesums 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 StormWhat man is so clever,so crafty of mind,As to say for a truthwho sends me a-traveling?When I rise in my wrath,raging at times,Savage is my sound.Sometimes I travel,5Go forth among the folk,set fire to their homesAnd ravage and rob them;then rolls the smokeGray over the gables;great is the noise,The death-struggle of the stricken.Then I stir up the woodsAnd the fruitful forests;I fell the trees,10I, roofed over with rain,on my reckless journey,Wandering widelyat the will of heaven.I bear on my backthe bodily raiment,The fortunes of folk,their flesh and their spirits,Together to sea. Say who may cover me,15Or 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.

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

What man is so clever,so crafty of mind,

As to say for a truthwho sends me a-traveling?

When I rise in my wrath,raging at times,

Savage is my sound.Sometimes I travel,

5Go 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,

10I, roofed over with rain,on my reckless journey,

Wandering widelyat the will of heaven.

I bear on my backthe bodily raiment,

The fortunes of folk,their flesh and their spirits,

Together to sea. Say who may cover me,

15Or 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.

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 StormAt times I travelin tracks undreamed of,In vasty wave-depthsto visit the earth,The floor of the ocean.Fierce is the sea.   .   .   .   .   .   .the foam rolls high;5The whale-pool roarsand rages loudly;The streams beat the shores,and they sling at timesGreat stones and sandon the steep cliffs,With weeds and waves,while wildly strivingUnder the burden of billowson the bottom of ocean10The sea-ground I shake.My shield of watersI leave not ere he lets mewho leads me alwaysIn all my travels.Tell me, wise man,Who was it that drew mefrom the depth of the oceanWhen the streams againbecame still and quiet,15Who before had forced mein fury to rage?

At times I travelin tracks undreamed of,In vasty wave-depthsto visit the earth,The floor of the ocean.Fierce is the sea.   .   .   .   .   .   .the foam rolls high;5The whale-pool roarsand rages loudly;The streams beat the shores,and they sling at timesGreat stones and sandon the steep cliffs,With weeds and waves,while wildly strivingUnder the burden of billowson the bottom of ocean10The sea-ground I shake.My shield of watersI leave not ere he lets mewho leads me alwaysIn all my travels.Tell me, wise man,Who was it that drew mefrom the depth of the oceanWhen the streams againbecame still and quiet,15Who before had forced mein fury to rage?

At times I travelin tracks undreamed of,

In vasty wave-depthsto visit the earth,

The floor of the ocean.Fierce is the sea

.   .   .   .   .   .   .the foam rolls high;

5The whale-pool roarsand rages loudly;

The streams beat the shores,and they sling at times

Great stones and sandon the steep cliffs,

With weeds and waves,while wildly striving

Under the burden of billowson the bottom of ocean

10The sea-ground I shake.My shield of waters

I leave not ere he lets mewho leads me always

In all my travels.Tell me, wise man,

Who was it that drew mefrom the depth of the ocean

When the streams againbecame still and quiet,

15Who before had forced mein fury to rage?

III. A StormAt times I am fastconfined by my Master,Who sendeth forthunder the fertile plainMy broad bosom,but bridles me in.He drives in the darka dangerous power5To a narrow cave,where crushing my backSits the weight of the world.No way of escapeCan I find from the torment;so I tumble aboutThe homes of heroes.The halls with their gables,The tribe-dwellings tremble;the trusty walls shake,10Steep over the head.Still seems the airOver all the countryand calm the waters,Till I press in my furyfrom my prison below,Obeying His biddingwho bound me fastIn fetters at firstwhen he fashioned the world,15In bonds and in chains,with no chance of escapeFrom his power who points outthe paths I must follow.Downward at timesI drive the waves,Stir up the streams;to the strand I pressThe flint-gray flood:the foamy wave20Lashes the wall.A lurid mountainRises on the deep;dark in its trailStirred up with the seaa second one comes,And close to the coastit clashes and strikesOn the lofty hills.Loud soundeth the boat,25The shouting of shipmen.Unshaken abideThe stone cliffs steepthrough the strife of the waters,The dashing of waves,when the deadly tumultCrowds to the coast.Of cruel strifeThe sailors are certainif the sea drive their craft30With its terrified guestson the grim rolling tide;They are sure that the shipwill be shorn of its power,Be deprived of its rule,and will ride foam-coveredOn the ridge of the waves.Then ariseth a panic,Fear among folkof the force that commands me,35Strong on my storm-track.Who shall still that power?At times I drivethrough the dark wave-vesselsThat ride on my back,and wrench them asunderAnd lash them with sea-streams;or I let them againGlide back together.It is the greatest of noises,40Of clamoring crowds,of crashes the loudest,When clouds as they strivein their courses shall strikeEdge against edge;inky of hueIn flight o’er the folkbright fire they sweat,A stream of flame;destruction they carry45Dark over menwith a mighty din.Fighting they fare.They let fall from their bosomA deafening rainof rattling liquid,Of storm from their bellies.In battle they strive,The awful army;anguish arises,50Terror of mindto the tribes of men,Distress in the strongholds,when the stalking goblins,The pale ghosts shootwith their sharp weapons.The fool alone fears nottheir fatal spears;But he perishes tooif the true God send55Straight from abovein streams of rain,Whizzing and whistlingthe whirlwind’s arrows,The flying death.Few shall surviveWhom that violent guestin his grimness shall visit.I always stir upthat strife and commotion;60Then I bear my courseto the battle of clouds,Powerfully striveand press through the tumult,Over the bosom of the billows;bursteth loudlyThe gathering of elements.Then again I descendIn my helmet of airand hover near the land,65And lift on my backthe load I must bear,Minding the mandatesof the mighty Lord.So I, a tried servant,sometimes contend:Now under the earth;now from over the wavesI drive to the depths;now dropping from heaven,70I 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 upwhen rest is denied me,Or who stays my coursewhen stillness comes to me?

At times I am fastconfined by my Master,Who sendeth forthunder the fertile plainMy broad bosom,but bridles me in.He drives in the darka dangerous power5To a narrow cave,where crushing my backSits the weight of the world.No way of escapeCan I find from the torment;so I tumble aboutThe homes of heroes.The halls with their gables,The tribe-dwellings tremble;the trusty walls shake,10Steep over the head.Still seems the airOver all the countryand calm the waters,Till I press in my furyfrom my prison below,Obeying His biddingwho bound me fastIn fetters at firstwhen he fashioned the world,15In bonds and in chains,with no chance of escapeFrom his power who points outthe paths I must follow.Downward at timesI drive the waves,Stir up the streams;to the strand I pressThe flint-gray flood:the foamy wave20Lashes the wall.A lurid mountainRises on the deep;dark in its trailStirred up with the seaa second one comes,And close to the coastit clashes and strikesOn the lofty hills.Loud soundeth the boat,25The shouting of shipmen.Unshaken abideThe stone cliffs steepthrough the strife of the waters,The dashing of waves,when the deadly tumultCrowds to the coast.Of cruel strifeThe sailors are certainif the sea drive their craft30With its terrified guestson the grim rolling tide;They are sure that the shipwill be shorn of its power,Be deprived of its rule,and will ride foam-coveredOn the ridge of the waves.Then ariseth a panic,Fear among folkof the force that commands me,35Strong on my storm-track.Who shall still that power?At times I drivethrough the dark wave-vesselsThat ride on my back,and wrench them asunderAnd lash them with sea-streams;or I let them againGlide back together.It is the greatest of noises,40Of clamoring crowds,of crashes the loudest,When clouds as they strivein their courses shall strikeEdge against edge;inky of hueIn flight o’er the folkbright fire they sweat,A stream of flame;destruction they carry45Dark over menwith a mighty din.Fighting they fare.They let fall from their bosomA deafening rainof rattling liquid,Of storm from their bellies.In battle they strive,The awful army;anguish arises,50Terror of mindto the tribes of men,Distress in the strongholds,when the stalking goblins,The pale ghosts shootwith their sharp weapons.The fool alone fears nottheir fatal spears;But he perishes tooif the true God send55Straight from abovein streams of rain,Whizzing and whistlingthe whirlwind’s arrows,The flying death.Few shall surviveWhom that violent guestin his grimness shall visit.I always stir upthat strife and commotion;60Then I bear my courseto the battle of clouds,Powerfully striveand press through the tumult,Over the bosom of the billows;bursteth loudlyThe gathering of elements.Then again I descendIn my helmet of airand hover near the land,65And lift on my backthe load I must bear,Minding the mandatesof the mighty Lord.So I, a tried servant,sometimes contend:Now under the earth;now from over the wavesI drive to the depths;now dropping from heaven,70I 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 upwhen rest is denied me,Or who stays my coursewhen stillness comes to me?

At times I am fastconfined by my Master,

Who sendeth forthunder the fertile plain

My broad bosom,but bridles me in.

He drives in the darka dangerous power

5To 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,

10Steep over the head.Still seems the air

Over all the countryand calm the waters,

Till I press in my furyfrom my prison below,

Obeying His biddingwho bound me fast

In fetters at firstwhen he fashioned the world,

15In bonds and in chains,with no chance of escape

From his power who points outthe paths I must follow.

Downward at timesI drive the waves,

Stir up the streams;to the strand I press

The flint-gray flood:the foamy wave

20Lashes the wall.A lurid mountain

Rises on the deep;dark in its trail

Stirred up with the seaa second one comes,

And close to the coastit clashes and strikes

On the lofty hills.Loud soundeth the boat,

25The shouting of shipmen.Unshaken abide

The stone cliffs steepthrough the strife of the waters,

The dashing of waves,when the deadly tumult

Crowds to the coast.Of cruel strife

The sailors are certainif the sea drive their craft

30With its terrified guestson the grim rolling tide;

They are sure that the shipwill 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 folkof the force that commands me,

35Strong on my storm-track.Who shall still that power?

At times I drivethrough 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,

40Of clamoring crowds,of crashes the loudest,

When clouds as they strivein their courses shall strike

Edge against edge;inky of hue

In flight o’er the folkbright fire they sweat,

A stream of flame;destruction they carry

45Dark over menwith a mighty din.

Fighting they fare.They let fall from their bosom

A deafening rainof rattling liquid,

Of storm from their bellies.In battle they strive,

The awful army;anguish arises,

50Terror of mindto the tribes of men,

Distress in the strongholds,when the stalking goblins,

The pale ghosts shootwith their sharp weapons.

The fool alone fears nottheir fatal spears;

But he perishes tooif the true God send

55Straight from abovein streams of rain,

Whizzing and whistlingthe whirlwind’s arrows,

The flying death.Few shall survive

Whom that violent guestin his grimness shall visit.

I always stir upthat strife and commotion;

60Then I bear my courseto the battle of clouds,

Powerfully striveand press through the tumult,

Over the bosom of the billows;bursteth loudly

The gathering of elements.Then again I descend

In my helmet of airand hover near the land,

65And lift on my backthe load I must bear,

Minding the mandatesof 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,

70I 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 upwhen rest is denied me,

Or who stays my coursewhen stillness comes to me?

V. A ShieldA 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 war5I have no hopefor help or releaseEre I pass from the worldwith the proud warrior band.With brands and billiesthey beat upon me;The hard edges hack me;the handwork of smithsIn crowds I encounter;with courage I endure10Ever bitterer battles.No balm may I find,And no doctor to heal mein the whole field of battle,To bind me with ointmentsand bring me to health,But my grievous gashesgrow ever sorerThrough death-dealing strokesby day and night.

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 war5I have no hopefor help or releaseEre I pass from the worldwith the proud warrior band.With brands and billiesthey beat upon me;The hard edges hack me;the handwork of smithsIn crowds I encounter;with courage I endure10Ever bitterer battles.No balm may I find,And no doctor to heal mein the whole field of battle,To bind me with ointmentsand bring me to health,But my grievous gashesgrow ever sorerThrough death-dealing strokesby day and night.

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

5I have no hopefor help or release

Ere I pass from the worldwith the proud warrior band.

With brands and billiesthey beat upon me;

The hard edges hack me;the handwork of smiths

In crowds I encounter;with courage I endure

10Ever bitterer battles.No balm may I find,

And no doctor to heal mein the whole field of battle,

To bind me with ointmentsand bring me to health,

But my grievous gashesgrow ever sorer

Through death-dealing strokesby day and night.

VII. A SwanMy robe is noiselesswhen I roam the earth,Or stay in my home,or stir up the water.At times I am liftedo’er the lodgings of menBy the aid of my trappingsand the air above.5The strength of the cloudsthen carries me far,Bears me on its bosom.My beautiful ornament,My raiment rustlesand raises a song,Sings without tiring.I touch not the earthBut wander a strangerover stream and wood.

My robe is noiselesswhen I roam the earth,Or stay in my home,or stir up the water.At times I am liftedo’er the lodgings of menBy the aid of my trappingsand the air above.5The strength of the cloudsthen carries me far,Bears me on its bosom.My beautiful ornament,My raiment rustlesand raises a song,Sings without tiring.I touch not the earthBut wander a strangerover stream and wood.

My robe is noiselesswhen I roam the earth,

Or stay in my home,or stir up the water.

At times I am liftedo’er the lodgings of men

By the aid of my trappingsand the air above.

5The strength of the cloudsthen carries me far,

Bears me on its bosom.My beautiful ornament,

My raiment rustlesand raises a song,

Sings without tiring.I touch not the earth

But wander a strangerover stream and wood.

VIII. A NightingaleWith my mouth I am masterof many a language;Cunningly I carol;I discourse full oftIn melodious lays;loud do I call,Ever mindful of melody,undiminished in voice.5An old evening-scop,to earls I bringSolace in cities;when, skillful in music,My voice I raise,restful at homeThey sit in silence.Say what is my name,That call so clearlyand cleverly imitate10The song of the scop,and sing unto menWords full welcomewith my wonderful voice.

With my mouth I am masterof many a language;Cunningly I carol;I discourse full oftIn melodious lays;loud do I call,Ever mindful of melody,undiminished in voice.5An old evening-scop,to earls I bringSolace in cities;when, skillful in music,My voice I raise,restful at homeThey sit in silence.Say what is my name,That call so clearlyand cleverly imitate10The song of the scop,and sing unto menWords full welcomewith my wonderful voice.

With my mouth I am masterof many a language;

Cunningly I carol;I discourse full oft

In melodious lays;loud do I call,

Ever mindful of melody,undiminished in voice.

5An 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 clearlyand cleverly imitate

10The song of the scop,and sing unto men

Words full welcomewith my wonderful voice.

XIV. A HornI was once an armed warrior.Now the worthy youthGorgeously gears mewith gold and silver,Curiously twisted.At times men kiss me.Sometimes I soundand summon to battle5The stalwart company.A steed now carries meAcross the border.The courser of the seaNow bears me o’er the billows,bright in my trappings.Now a comely maidencovered with jewelsFills my bosom with beer.On the board now I lie10Lidless and lonelyand lacking my trappings.Now fair in my fretworkat the feast I hangIn my place on the wallwhile warriors drink.Now brightened for battle,on the back of a steedA war-chief shall bear me.Then the wind I shall breathe,15Shall swell with soundfrom someone’s bosom.At times with my voiceI invite the heroes,The warriors to wine;or I watch for my master,And sound an alarmand 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.

I was once an armed warrior.Now the worthy youthGorgeously gears mewith gold and silver,Curiously twisted.At times men kiss me.Sometimes I soundand summon to battle5The stalwart company.A steed now carries meAcross the border.The courser of the seaNow bears me o’er the billows,bright in my trappings.Now a comely maidencovered with jewelsFills my bosom with beer.On the board now I lie10Lidless and lonelyand lacking my trappings.Now fair in my fretworkat the feast I hangIn my place on the wallwhile warriors drink.Now brightened for battle,on the back of a steedA war-chief shall bear me.Then the wind I shall breathe,15Shall swell with soundfrom someone’s bosom.At times with my voiceI invite the heroes,The warriors to wine;or I watch for my master,And sound an alarmand save his goods,Put the robber to flight.Now find out my name.

I was once an armed warrior.Now the worthy youth

Gorgeously gears mewith gold and silver,

Curiously twisted.At times men kiss me.

Sometimes I soundand summon to battle

5The 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 maidencovered with jewels

Fills my bosom with beer.On the board now I lie

10Lidless and lonelyand lacking my trappings.

Now fair in my fretworkat the feast I hang

In my place on the wallwhile warriors drink.

Now brightened for battle,on the back of a steed

A war-chief shall bear me.Then the wind I shall breathe,

15Shall swell with soundfrom someone’s bosom.

At times with my voiceI invite the heroes,

The warriors to wine;or I watch for my master,

And sound an alarmand 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.

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

XV. A BadgerMy throat is like snow,and my sides and my headAre 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 high5Two ears tower;with my toes I stepOn the green grass.Grief comes upon meIf the slaughter-grim huntershall see me in hiding,Shall find me alonewhere I fashion my dwelling,Bold with my brood.I abide in this place10With my strong young childrentill a stranger shall comeAnd bring dread to my door.Death then is certain.Hence, trembling I carrymy terrified childrenFar from their homeand flee unto safety.If he crowds me closeas he comes behind,15I bare my breast.In my burrow I dare notMeet my furious foe(it were foolish to do so),But, wildly rushing,I work a roadThrough the high hillwith my hands and feet.I fail not in defendingmy family’s lives;20If I lead the little onesbelow to safety,Through a secret holeinside the hill,My beloved brood,no longer need IFear the offenseof the fierce-battling dogs.25Whenever the hostile onehunts 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 hillAnd deal my deadlydartsof battle30On the foe I have fearedand 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.

My throat is like snow,and my sides and my headAre 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 high5Two ears tower;with my toes I stepOn the green grass.Grief comes upon meIf the slaughter-grim huntershall see me in hiding,Shall find me alonewhere I fashion my dwelling,Bold with my brood.I abide in this place10With my strong young childrentill a stranger shall comeAnd bring dread to my door.Death then is certain.Hence, trembling I carrymy terrified childrenFar from their homeand flee unto safety.If he crowds me closeas he comes behind,15I bare my breast.In my burrow I dare notMeet my furious foe(it were foolish to do so),But, wildly rushing,I work a roadThrough the high hillwith my hands and feet.I fail not in defendingmy family’s lives;20If I lead the little onesbelow to safety,Through a secret holeinside the hill,My beloved brood,no longer need IFear the offenseof the fierce-battling dogs.25Whenever the hostile onehunts 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 hillAnd deal my deadlydartsof battle30On the foe I have fearedand fled from long.

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

5Two ears tower;with my toes I step

On the green grass.Grief comes upon me

If the slaughter-grim huntershall see me in hiding,

Shall find me alonewhere I fashion my dwelling,

Bold with my brood.I abide in this place

10With my strong young childrentill a stranger shall come

And bring dread to my door.Death then is certain.

Hence, trembling I carrymy terrified children

Far from their homeand flee unto safety.

If he crowds me closeas he comes behind,

15I 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 hillwith my hands and feet.

I fail not in defendingmy family’s lives;

20If I lead the little onesbelow to safety,

Through a secret holeinside the hill,

My beloved brood,no longer need I

Fear the offenseof the fierce-battling dogs.

25Whenever the hostile onehunts 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 deadlydartsof battle

30On the foe I have fearedand 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.

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 BowMy name is spelledAGOBwith the order reversed.I am marvelously fashionedand made for fighting.When I am bentand my bosom sends forthIts poisoned stings,I straightway prepare5My deadly dartsto deal afar.As soon as my master,who made me for torment,Loosens my limbs,my length is increasedTill I vomit the venomwith violent motions,The swift-killing poisonI swallowed before.10Not any manshall make his escape,Not one that I spoke ofshall speed from the fight,If there falls on him firstwhat flies from my belly.He pays with his strengthfor the poisonous drink,For the fatal cupwhich forfeits his life.15Except when fetteredfast, I am useless.Unbound I shall fail.Now find out my name.

My name is spelledAGOBwith the order reversed.I am marvelously fashionedand made for fighting.When I am bentand my bosom sends forthIts poisoned stings,I straightway prepare5My deadly dartsto deal afar.As soon as my master,who made me for torment,Loosens my limbs,my length is increasedTill I vomit the venomwith violent motions,The swift-killing poisonI swallowed before.10Not any manshall make his escape,Not one that I spoke ofshall speed from the fight,If there falls on him firstwhat flies from my belly.He pays with his strengthfor the poisonous drink,For the fatal cupwhich forfeits his life.15Except when fetteredfast, I am useless.Unbound I shall fail.Now find out my name.

My name is spelledAGOBwith the order reversed.

I am marvelously fashionedand made for fighting.

When I am bentand my bosom sends forth

Its poisoned stings,I straightway prepare

5My deadly dartsto deal afar.

As soon as my master,who made me for torment,

Loosens my limbs,my length is increased

Till I vomit the venomwith violent motions,

The swift-killing poisonI swallowed before.

10Not any manshall make his escape,

Not one that I spoke ofshall speed from the fight,

If there falls on him firstwhat flies from my belly.

He pays with his strengthfor the poisonous drink,

For the fatal cupwhich forfeits his life.

15Except when fetteredfast, I am useless.

Unbound I shall fail.Now find out my name.

XXVI. A BibleA stern destroyerstruck 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 lost5The hairs that I had.Then the hard edgeOf the keen knife cut meand cleansed me of soil;Then fingers folded me.The fleet quill of the birdWith speedy dropsspread tracks oftenOver the brown surface,swallowed the tree-dye,10A deal of the stream,stepped again on me,Traveled a black track.With protecting boardsThen a crafty one covered me,enclosed me with hide,Made me gorgeous with gold.Hence I am glad and rejoiceAt the smith’s fair workwith its wondrous adornments.15Now may these rich trappings,and the red dye’s tracings,And all works of wisdomspread wide the fameOf the Sovereign of nations!Read me not as a penance!If the children of menwill cherish and use me,They shall be safer and sounderand surer of victory,20More heroic of heartand 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 richesShall increase with their love,and who cover their friends25With kindness and favorsand clasp them fastWith loving arms.I ask how men call meWho 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.

A stern destroyerstruck 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 lost5The hairs that I had.Then the hard edgeOf the keen knife cut meand cleansed me of soil;Then fingers folded me.The fleet quill of the birdWith speedy dropsspread tracks oftenOver the brown surface,swallowed the tree-dye,10A deal of the stream,stepped again on me,Traveled a black track.With protecting boardsThen a crafty one covered me,enclosed me with hide,Made me gorgeous with gold.Hence I am glad and rejoiceAt the smith’s fair workwith its wondrous adornments.15Now may these rich trappings,and the red dye’s tracings,And all works of wisdomspread wide the fameOf the Sovereign of nations!Read me not as a penance!If the children of menwill cherish and use me,They shall be safer and sounderand surer of victory,20More heroic of heartand 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 richesShall increase with their love,and who cover their friends25With kindness and favorsand clasp them fastWith loving arms.I ask how men call meWho aid them in need.My name is far famed.I am helpful to men,and am holy myself.

A stern destroyerstruck 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

5The hairs that I had.Then the hard edge

Of the keen knife cut meand cleansed me of soil;

Then fingers folded me.The fleet quill of the bird

With speedy dropsspread tracks often

Over the brown surface,swallowed the tree-dye,

10A 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 workwith its wondrous adornments.

15Now may these rich trappings,and the red dye’s tracings,

And all works of wisdomspread wide the fame

Of the Sovereign of nations!Read me not as a penance!

If the children of menwill cherish and use me,

They shall be safer and sounderand surer of victory,

20More heroic of heartand 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

25With kindness and favorsand 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.

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. DoughIn a corner I hearda curious weak thingSwelling and soundingand stirring its cover.On that boneless bodya beautiful womanLaid hold with her hands;the high-swelled thingShe covered with a cloth,the clever lord’s daughter.

In a corner I hearda curious weak thingSwelling and soundingand stirring its cover.On that boneless bodya beautiful womanLaid hold with her hands;the high-swelled thingShe covered with a cloth,the clever lord’s daughter.

In a corner I hearda curious weak thing

Swelling and soundingand stirring its cover.

On that boneless bodya beautiful woman

Laid hold with her hands;the high-swelled thing

She covered with a cloth,the clever lord’s daughter.

XLVII. A BookwormA moth ate a word.To me that seemedA curious happeningwhen I heard of that wonder,That a worm should swallowthe word of a man,A thief in the darkeat a thoughtful discourse5And the strong base it stood on.He stole, but he was notA whit the wiserwhen the word had been swallowed.

A moth ate a word.To me that seemedA curious happeningwhen I heard of that wonder,That a worm should swallowthe word of a man,A thief in the darkeat a thoughtful discourse5And the strong base it stood on.He stole, but he was notA whit the wiserwhen the word had been swallowed.

A moth ate a word.To me that seemed

A curious happeningwhen I heard of that wonder,

That a worm should swallowthe word of a man,

A thief in the darkeat a thoughtful discourse

5And the strong base it stood on.He stole, but he was not

A whit the wiserwhen the word had been swallowed.

LX. A ReedI stood on the strandto the sea-cliffs near,Hard by the billows.To the home of my birthFast was I fixed.Few indeed are thereOf men who have everat any time5Beheld my homein the hard waste-land.In the brown embraceof the billows and wavesI was locked each dawn.Little I dreamedThat early or lateI ever shouldWith men at the mead-feastmouthless speak forth10Words of wisdom.It is a wondrous thing,And strange to the sightwhen one sees it firstThat the edge of a knifeand the active handAnd wit of the earlwho wields the bladeShould bring it aboutthat I bear unto thee15A secret message,meant for thee only,Boldly announce it,so that no other manMay speak our secretsor spread them abroad.1.This riddle occurs in the manuscript just beforeThe 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.

I stood on the strandto the sea-cliffs near,Hard by the billows.To the home of my birthFast was I fixed.Few indeed are thereOf men who have everat any time5Beheld my homein the hard waste-land.In the brown embraceof the billows and wavesI was locked each dawn.Little I dreamedThat early or lateI ever shouldWith men at the mead-feastmouthless speak forth10Words of wisdom.It is a wondrous thing,And strange to the sightwhen one sees it firstThat the edge of a knifeand the active handAnd wit of the earlwho wields the bladeShould bring it aboutthat I bear unto thee15A secret message,meant for thee only,Boldly announce it,so that no other manMay speak our secretsor spread them abroad.

I stood on the strandto 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 everat any time

5Beheld my homein the hard waste-land.

In the brown embraceof the billows and waves

I was locked each dawn.Little I dreamed

That early or lateI ever should

With men at the mead-feastmouthless speak forth

10Words of wisdom.It is a wondrous thing,

And strange to the sightwhen one sees it first

That the edge of a knifeand the active hand

And wit of the earlwho wields the blade

Should bring it aboutthat I bear unto thee

15A secret message,meant for thee only,

Boldly announce it,so that no other man

May speak our secretsor spread them abroad.

1.This riddle occurs in the manuscript just beforeThe 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.

1.This riddle occurs in the manuscript just beforeThe 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.

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