I am treasure lofted from the forest,
cliff-rims, rolling hills, town slopes.
All day wings lift me in the shaking wind,
slip me through the edge of a land-ship,
sweet sanctuary. Then a man abducts me,
carries me to the cauldron. Bathed,
I bind and beat men, draw down
both young and old, rip and ravage,
steal strength. Soon he finds
he’s taken me on my wild and mighty work.
I twirl those fools right down to earth.
Strength gone, speech foolish, a man
has no influence over hands, feet, brain.
Say what I am who hold men
to Middle Earth, blind them with bluster
and such barbaric blows the befuddled fools
know my dark bent only by the light of day.
Links:
[1] https://www.ablemuse.com/v9/poetry-translation/bertha-rogers/anglo-saxon-riddle-15?s=32efa96427378668890c448d6aa90a0e
[2] https://www.ablemuse.com/v9/poetry-translation/bertha-rogers/anglo-saxon-riddle-37?s=32efa96427378668890c448d6aa90a0e