Old English Riddle no. 26 (trans. by Roy Liuzza)

By Unknown

Translated By Roy M. Liuzza

Some strong enemy snatched my life,

deprived me of strength and soaked me,

drenched me in water, dragged me away,

set me in the sun, where I soon lost

all the hair I had. The hard edge,

clean-ground blade of a knife cut me,

then fingers folded, then the bird’s delight

with swift drops darting again and again

over the dark brim swallowed wood-dye,

streamed across me and stopped again,

left a dark path. Protecting boards

were wrapped around me, stretched with skin,

gleaming gold; there glittered upon me’

the splendid work of smiths, fine-woven wire.

Now the adornments and the red dye

and the precious settings widely proclaim

the Protector of men––the fool cannot fault it.

If the sons of men will make use of me

they will be safer and more certain of victory,

bolder in heart, happier in mind,

wiser in spirit; they will find more friends,

nearer and dearer, truer, more devoted,

kinder and more loyal, who will increase

honor and wealth, give them generously

all benefits, and in a loving embrace

clasp them close. Say what I am called,

needful to men; my name is glorious,

a help to heroes, and holy in myself.

Copyright Credit: Roy Liuzza, "Old English Riddles no. 26" from Old English Poetry: An Anthology. Copyright © 2014 by Roy Liuzza. Reprinted by permission of Broadview Press.

Source: 2014