A RIDDLE OF CYNEWULF (BORN BETWEEN 720 AND 730).
Source.—Ten Brink’s English Literature, vol. i., p. 52. Bohn’s Library.
I was an armed warrior; now a proud one,
A young hero, decks me with gold and silver,
And with crooked wire-bows. Men sometimes kiss me;
Sometimes I call to battle the willing comrades;
Now a steed doth bear me over the boundaries.
Now a sea-courser carries me, bright with jewels,
Over the floods. And now there fills my bosom
A maiden adorned with rings; or I may be robbed
Of my gems, and hard and headless lie; or hang
Prettily on the wall where warriors drink,
Trimmed with trappings. Sometimes as an ornament brave
Folk-warriors wear me on horseback; wind
From the bosom of a man must I, in gold-hues bright,
Swallow then. Sometimes to the wine
I invite with my voice the valiant men;
Or it rescues the stolen from the robbers’ grasp,
Drives away enemies. Ask what my name is.
Answer: The horn of a bull.