51. I watched four curious creatures
traveling together; their tracks were swart,
each imprint very black. The birds' support
moved swiftly; it flew in the air,
dived under the wave. The toiling warrior
worked without pause, pointing the paths
to all four over the beaten gold.
52. I saw a couple of violent captives
carried in under the roof of the hall;
they were companions, tightly bound,
fettered together. Close to one
stood a dark-haired Welshwoman,
a slave to oversee the prisoners' movements.
53. I saw a tree with splendid branches,
towering in the wood; the timber grew,
a joyous growth. Both water and earth
fed him well, but when he grew old
his whole life became a misery;
sorely wounded, and silent in his chains,
his front was fettered with somber trappings.
Now with brute force his bu*ting-head
opens up the way for his owner,
a vile enemy. Often in the storm
have they plundered the treasure hoard together.
The man was swift and tireless if the first,
his comrade, was cornered and in danger.
54. A young man made for the corner where he knew
she was standing; this stripping youth
had whipped up her dress, and under her girdle
(as she stood there) thrust something stiff,
worked his will; they both shook.
This fellow quickened: one moment he was
forceful, a first-rate servant, so strenuous
that the next he was knocked up, quite
blown by his exertion. Beneath the girdle
a thing began to grow that upstanding men
often think of, tenderly, and acquire.
55. I saw in the hall (where visitors were drinking)
a wondrous tree, of four timbers, brought
on to the floor; it was adorned with twisted gold,
plated with silver, inlaid with j**els
most sk**fully, a symbol of His cross who for us
established a ladder between Heaven and Earth
before He harrowed Hell. I can easily
tell you of this tree's origin:
the hard yew and shining holly,
the maple and the oak serve their Lord
together and together share one name -
an outlaw's tree it was that frequently offered
a weapons to its lord, a treasure in the hall,
the gold=hilted sword. Now tell me the answer
to this riddle, whoever will hazard
a guess as to what this tree is called.
56. I was in a room where I watched a piece
of wood, a shuttling beam, scathe
a struggling creature; It sustained battle-wounds,
savage gashes. Spears were the bane
of this creature, and with sk** the beam
had been fixed securely. One of its feet
stood firm, and the other strived busily,
pumped up and down, scraped the ground.
A tree stood nearby hung their work,
I saw the leavings brought before my lord,
carried across the floor where warriors caroused.
57. This air bears little creatures
high over the hill-slopes. Black! they are black,
dressed in dark clothing. They travel in flocks,
singing loudly, liberal with their songs.
Their haunts are wooded cliffs, yet they sometimes
come to the houses of men. They name themselves.
58. I know a creature in the field with one foot
and derring-do, It does not range widely
or ride very far, nor can it fly
through the bright air, or embark on some ship
with nailed sides; nonetheless
it obliges its master on many occasions.
It has a heavy tail and a little head,
a long tongue but not one tooth;
part of it is iron; it pa**es through a hole
in the earth. It eats nothing, drinks no water,
frets for no fodder, and yet often carries
liquid aloft. It boasts neither life
nor gifts from a lord, but still obeys
its owner. Three fitting runes
from its name: Rad is the first.
59. I watched men, wise in their minds,
and in their hearts serene, gaze at a golden
ring in the hall. God the savior
has prayed for peace abounding for each guest
who turns the ring; then that ring spoke
a word to the family, it named the guardian
of men who do good. Dumb as it was,
it clearly raised the image of the Maker
before the minds and eyes of anyone able
to understand the meaning of the gold
and the wounds of the Lord, and do as the wounds
of the ring ordained. If a man is unbaptised,
neither his prayer nor his spirit
can enter the kingdom of God,
the castle of heaven. Let him who will
explain how the wounds of the wonderous ring
spoke to men when it was turned in the hall
and pa**ed through proud retainers' hands.
60. I sank roots first of all, stood
near the shore, close by the dyke
and dash of waves; few men
saw my home in the wilderness,
but each dawn, each dusk,
the tawny waves surged and swirled
around me. Little did I think
that I, mouth less, should ever sing
to men sitting at the mead-bench,
varying my pitch. It is rather puzzling,
a miracle to men ignorant of such arts,
how a knife's point and a right hand
(mind and implement moving as one)
could cut and carve me - so that I can send you a message without fear,
and no one else can overhear
or noise abroad the words we share.