Worms do not weave me with fatal wiles
which fairly adorn the fine yellow web.
Yet nevertheless the wide world over
one will call me a joyful garment for heroes.
Say now truly, you cunning sage,
learned in language, what this garment may be.
In short, a Coat of Mail—woven, but not of wool or of silk. Weaving is suggested, yet with a series of exclusions to show that the thing is not what you would at first suppose.
- s51 ##
51 (K-D 20)
I‘m a wonderful thing shaped for fighting,
beautifully dressed, dear to my master.
Gay colored is my byrnie; bright wire that my wielder
who guides me gave me, embraces the death-gem,
who sometimes to strife directs my wanderings.
Then I bring home treasure through the shining day,
handiwork of smiths, gold to the dwellings.
Often I slay living warriors
with weapons of war. A king adorns me
with jewels and silver and honors me in the hall,
nor withholds my praise, publicly proclaims
my merits before men, when they drink their mead;
sometimes holds me back or frees me when weary
with going into battle. I have often hurt another
at the hands of his friend. I am far and wide hated,
accursed among weapons. I must never hope
that a son will avenge me on the life of my slayer
if ever an enemy assails me in battle;
nor will my kin be increased, the breed whence I sprang—
unless bereft of my lord I might change to a new,
turn from the owner who first rewarded me.
Henceforth I am fated if I follow a (new) lord
to do battle for him as I did for the other,
for my prince’s pleasure, that I must forego
