Mec gesette soð sigora waldend The culminant lord of victories, Christ, Crist to compe. Oft ic cwice bærne, Created me for battle. Often I burn unrimu cyn eorþan getenge, Countless living creatures on middle-earth, næte mid niþe, swa ic him no hrine, Treat them to terror though I touch them not, þonne mec min frea feohtan hateþ. 5When my lord rouses me to wage war. 5 Hwilum ic monigra mod arete, Sometimes I lighten the minds of many, hwilum ic frefre þa ic ær winne on Sometimes I comfort those I fought fiercely feorran swiþe-- hi þæs felað þeah, Before. They feel this high blessing swylce þæs oþres, þonne ic eft hyra As they felt that burning, when over the surge ofer deop gedreag drohtað bete. 10And sorrow, I again grace their going. 10
Ic þurh muþ sprece mongum reordum, I am a mimic with many tongues, wrencum singe, wrixle geneahhe Warbling tunes, shifting tones, heafodwoþe, hlude cirme, jugging the city with head-song. healde mine wisan, hleoþre ne miþe. Old night-singer, song-shaper, Eald æfensceop, eorlum bringe 5Pleasure-poet -- I keep a clear calling, 5 blisse in burgum, þonne ic bugendre Wind melody for men. These sit stefne styrme; stille on wicum Bowed in quiet in the curve of song. sittað nigende. Saga hwæt ic hatte, Say who I am who sing like a minstrel þe swa scirenige sceawendwisa 10Soft clamor of court and mime the world wilcumena fela woþe minre. In harlequin play, boding bright welcome
Hrægl is min hasofag, hyrste beorhte, My dress is silver, shimmering gray, reade ond scire on reafe hafu. Spun with a blaze of garnets. I craze Ic dysge dwelle ond dole hwette Most men: rash fools I run on a road unrædsiþas, oþrum styre Of rage, and cage quiet determined men. nyttre fore. Ic þæs nowiht wat 5Why they love me-lured from mind, 5 þæt heo swa gemædde, mode bestolene, Stripped of strength -- remains a riddle. dæde gedwolene, deoraþ mine If they still praise my sinuous power won wisan gehwam. Wa him þæs þeawes, When they raise high the dearest treasure, siþþan heah bringað horda deorast, They will find through reckless habit gif hi unrædes ær ne geswicaþ. 10Dark woe in the dregs of pleasure. Riddle 11
Ic seah turf tredan-- ten wæron ealra, I saw six creatures scratch the ground, six gebroþor ond hyra sweostor mid; Their four lively sisters strutting round; hæfdon feorg cwico. Fell hongedon The house of each, pale skin on shell, sweotol ond gesyne on seles wæge A fine, filament robe hung on a wall, Anra gehwylces. Ne wæs hyra ængum þy wyrs, 5Well-seen. Though each had been stripped 5 ne siðe þy sarre, þeah hy swa sceoldon Of a gossamer skin, none was nude reafe birofene, rodra weardes Or raw with pain; but quickened, covered, meahtum aweahte, muþum slitan And brought to grass and grain by God haswe blede. Hrægl bið geniwad They pecked, strutted, and stripped sod. þam þe ær forðcymene frætwe leton 10
licgan on laste, gewitan lond tredan.
Oft ic sceal wiþ wæge winnan ond wiþ winde feohtan, In battle I rage against wave and wind, somod wið þam sæcce, þonne ic secan gewite Strive against storm, dive down seeking eorþan yþum þeaht; me biþ se eþel fremde. A strange homeland, shrouded by the sea. Ic beom strong þæs gewinnes, gif ic stille weorþe; In the grip of war, I am strong when still; gif me þæs tosæleð, hi beoð swiþran þonne ic, 5In battle-rush, rolled and ripped 5 ond mec slitende sona flymað, In flight. Conspiring wind and wave Willað oþfergan þæt ic friþian sceal. Would steal my treasure, strip my hold, Ic him þæt forstonde,...