Exeter Riddle 5: Difference between revisions

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poop
==Original==
<pre>
Ic eom anhaga iserne wund,
bille gebennad, beadoweorca sæd,
ecgum werig. Oft ic wig seo,
frecne feohtan. Frofre ne wene,
þæt me geoc cyme guðgewinnes,
ær ic mid ældum eal forwurðe,
ac mec hnossiað homera lafe,
heardecg heoroscearp, hondweorc smiþa,
bitað in burgum; ic abidan sceal
laþran gemotes. Næfre læcecynn
on folcstede findan meahte,
þara þe mid wyrtum wunde gehælde,
ac me ecga dolg eacen weorðað
þurh deaðslege dagum ond nihtum.
</pre>


==Answer==
==Answer==

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