Anglo-Saxon Riddles (Exeter Book)

   
Wiga is on eorþan wundrum acenned On earth this warrior is strangely born
   
dryhtum to nytte,     of dumbum twam Of two dumb creatures, drawn gleaming
   
torht atyhted,     þone on teon wigeð Into the world, bright and useful to men.
   
feond his feonde.     Forstrangne oft It is tended, kept, covered by women--
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wif hine wrið.     He him wel hereð, Strong and savage, it serves well,
   
þeowaþ him geþwære,      gif him þegniað A gentle slave to firm masters
   
mægeð ond mæcgas      mid gemete ryhte, Who mind its measure and feed it fairly
   
fedað hine fægre;     he him fremum stepeð With a careful hand. To these it brings
   
life on lissum.     Leanað grimme Warm blessings; to those who let it run
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þam þe hine wloncne     weorþan læteð. Wild it brings a grim reward.

   
Frod wæs min fromcynn     [ . . . . . . . ] My race is old, my seasons many,
   
biden in burgum,    siþþan bæles weard My sorrows deep. I have dwelt in cities
   
[ . . . . . . ] wera     life bewunden, Since the fire-guardian wrought with flame
   
fyre gefælsad.    Nu me fah warað My clean beginning in the world of men,
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eorþan broþor,    se me ærest wearð Purged my body with a circling fire.
   
gumena to gyrne.     Ic ful gearwe gemon Now a fierce earth-brother stands guard,
   
hwa min fromcynn     fruman agette The first to shape my sorrow--I remember
   
eall of earde;    ic him yfle ne mot, Who ripped our race, hard from its homeland,
   
ac ic hæftnyd    hwilum arære Stripped us from the ground. I cannot bind
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wide geond wongas.     Hæbbe ic wundra fela, Or blast him, yet I cause the clench of slavery
   
middangeardes    mægen unlytel, Round the world. Though my wounds are many
    
ac ic miþan sceal     monna gehwylcum On middle-earth, my strength is great.
   
degolfulne dom     dyran cræftes, My craft and course, power and rich passage,
   
siðfæt minne.     Saga hwæt ic hatte. I must hide from men. Say who I am.