Anglo-Saxon Riddles of the Exeter Book/33
|My head is forged with the hammer,
hurt with sharp tools, smoothed by files.
I take in my mouth what is set before me
when girded with rings I am forced to strike,
hard against hard, pierced from behind,
must draw forth what protects at midnight
the heart’s delight of my own lord.
Sometimes I turn backwards my beak,
when, protector of treasure, my lord wishes
to hold the leavings of those he had driven
from life by battle-craft for his own desire.
|Min heafod is homere geþuren|
searopila wund sworfen feole
oft ic begine þæt me ongean sticað
þōn ic hnitan sceal hringum gyrded
hearde wið heardū hindan þyrel
forð ascufan þæt
mod · · freoþað ·
hwilum ic under bæc bregde · nebbe ·
hyrde þæs hordes þōn min hlaford wile
lafe þicgan þara þe he of life het
awrecan willū sinū