Exeter Riddle 5: Difference between revisions
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==Original== |
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<pre> |
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Ic eom anhaga iserne wund, |
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bille gebennad, beadoweorca sæd, |
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ecgum werig. Oft ic wig seo, |
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frecne feohtan. Frofre ne wene, |
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þæt me geoc cyme guðgewinnes, |
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ær ic mid ældum eal forwurðe, |
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ac mec hnossiað homera lafe, |
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heardecg heoroscearp, hondweorc smiþa, |
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bitað in burgum; ic abidan sceal |
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laþran gemotes. Næfre læcecynn |
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on folcstede findan meahte, |
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þara þe mid wyrtum wunde gehælde, |
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ac me ecga dolg eacen weorðað |
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þurh deaðslege dagum ond nihtum. |
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</pre> |
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==Answer== |
==Answer== |
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Revision as of 23:01, 12 September 2007
This is riddle number 5 from The Exeter Book.
Translation
I am solitary, scored by knives Bitten by swords, sated of battle Weary of blades. War I see often Terrible conflict. No comfort I seek With thoughts of safety in the thick of war Before I die amidst daring men But I am hurt by hammer-leavings The bitter and hardy handiwork of smiths Nip me in castles; I need yet await Grimmer ordeals. I could never In any dwelling discover a healer Whose art in herbs could heal my wounds But my blade-gashes grow yet bigger By deadly blows by day and night.
poop
Answer
A shield
