Riddle 31

Such an exotic example

comes knorring softly

in the waves’ way,

keenly by keel, 

calling to shore, 

thundering, gnashing, 

with gruesome gusto —

terrifying to terra firma,

so many edges everyplace

and all of them leave scars.

Was she ever ferociously

fierce, yet slow to throw

down, bitter of battlement,

carving shield-sides,

remorseless to plunder.

Nursing hidden grudges,

frozen, locked, she spoke

spite, cunningly crafty

upon her own purpose:

“Let there be no doubt:

my ma’s the most feral

of all women —

she’s my daughter,

grown up sailing,

everybody knows this,

you humans in your tribes,

that when she stands

upon the land, every one,

she’s a joy to all & sundry.”

Riddle 31

Wiht cwom æfter wēge  wrǣtlīcu līþan,

cymlīc from cēole  cleopode tō londe,

hlinsade hlūde;  hleahtor wæs gryrelīc,

egesful on earde,  ecge wǣron scearpe.

Wæs hīo hēte-grim,  hilde tō sǣne,

biter beado-weorca;  bord-weallas grōf,

heard-hīþende.  Hēte-rūne bond,

sægde searo-cræftig  ymb hyre sylfre gesceaft:

“Is mīn mōdor  mǣgða cynnes

þæs dēorestan,  þæt is dohtor mīn

ēacen up liden,  swā þæt is ældum cūþ,

firum on folce,  þæt sēo on foldan sceal

on ealra londa  gehwām lissum stondan.”