Exeter Book of Riddles - One

EXETER BOOK - RIDDLE 1

What man is so mind-strong and spirit shrewd
He can say who drives me in my fierce strength
On fate's road when I rise with vengeance,
Ravage the land, with a thundering voice
Rip folk-homes, plunder the hall-wood:
Gray smoke rises over rooftops--on earth
The rattle and death-shriek of men.I shake
The forest, blooms and boles, rip trees,
Wander, roofed with water, a wide road,
Pressed by might. On my back I bear
The water that once wrapped earth-dwellers,
Flesh and spirit.

Say who shrouds me

And what I am called who carry these burdens.
Sometimes I plunge through the press of waves
To men's surprise, stalking the sea-warrior's
Fathomed floor. The white waves whip,
Foam-flanks flaring, the ocean rips,
The whale's lake roars, rages--
Savage waves beat on the shore, cast rock,
Sand, seaweed, water on the high cliffs
As I thrash with the wave-power on my back
And shake under blue, broad plains below.
I cannot flee from the helm of water
Till my lord lifts me to a higher road.
Say, wise man, who it is who draws me
From sea-clutch and cover as the deep
Sometimes my lord seizes and shoves me,
Muscles me under the broad breast of ground,
Packs my power in a dark, narrow prison,
Where the hard earth rides my back.
I cannot flee from the weight of torture,
Yet I shake the home-stones of men:
Horn-gabled mead-halls tremble,
Walls quake, perch over hall-thanes,
Ceilings, cities shake.
The air is quiet
Above the land, the sea broods, silent
Till I break out, ride at my ruler's call--
My lord who laid bonds on me in the beginning,
Creation's chains, so I might not escape
His power unbowed-my guardian, my guide.
Sometimes I swoop down, whipping up waves,
Rousing white water, driving to shore
The flint-gray flood, its foam-flanks flaring
Against the cliff wall. Dark swells loom
In the deep-hills on hills of dark water,
Driven by the sea, surge to a meeting of cliffs
On the coast road.
There is the keel's cry,
The sea-guests' moan. Sheer cliffs wait
Sea-charge, wave-clash, war of water,
As the high troop crowds the headland.
There the ship finds a fierce struggle
As the sea steals its craft and strength,
The souls of men, while white terror
Rides the waves' back. Cruel and killing
On the savage road--who stills us?
Sometimes I rush through the clouds riding
My back, spill the black rain-jugs,
Rippling streams, crack clouds together
With a sharp shriek, scattering light-shards.
Sky-breakers surge over shattered men,
Dark thunder rolls with a battle-din,
And the black rain hums from a wet
Waves from the war-cloud's womb. breast,
The dark horsemen storm. There is fear
In the cities in the souls of men when dark
Gliding spectres raise light-sharp swords.
Only a dull fool fears no death-stroke;
He dies nonetheless if the true lord
Whistles an arrow from the whirlwind
Streaking rain through his heart. Few
Find life in the rain-shriek's dart.
I urge that battle, incite the clash
Of clouds as I rage through riders' tumult
Over sky-streams. Then I bow down
At my lord's command, bear my burden
Close to the land, a mighty slave.
Sometimes I storm beneath the land,
Sometimes rage in the cavern of waves,
Sometimes whip the waters from above,
Or climb quickening the clash of clouds.
Mighty and swift-say what I'm called
And who rouses and calms my fierce power