1

Who is so clever and
quick-witted
as to guess who goads me on my journey
when I get up,
angry, at times awesome;
when I roar loudly and rampage over the
land,
sometimes causing havoc; when I burn houses
and ransack
palaces? Smoke rises,
ashen over roofs.  There is a din on
earth,
me die sudden deaths when I shake the forest,
the flourishing
trees, and fell timber -
I with my roof of water, an avenger
driven
far and wide by the powers above;
I carry on my back what once
covered
every man, body and soul submerged
together in the
water.  Say what conceals me
or what I, who bear this burden, am
called.

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2

Sometimes I plunge
through the press of waves,
surprising men, delving to the
earth,
the ocean bed.  The waters ferment,
sea-horses foaming .
. .
The whale-mere roars, fiercely rages,
waves beat upon the shore;
stones
and sand, seaweed and salt spray, are flung
against the dunes
when, wrestling
far beneath the waves, I disturb the earth,
the vast
depths of the sea.  Nor can I escape
my ocean bed before he
permits me who is my pilot
on every journey.  Tell me, wise
man:
who separates me from the sea's embrace,
when the waters become
quiet once more,
the waves calm which before had covered me?

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3

Sometimes my Lord
corners me;
the He imprisons all that I am
under fertile fields - He
frustrates me,
condemns me in my might to darkness,
casts me into a
cave where my warden, earth,
sits on my back. I cannot break out
of
that dungeon, but I shake halls
and houses; the gabled homes of
men
tremble and totter; walls quake,
then overhang.  Air floats
above earth,
and the face of the ocean seems still
until I burst out
from my cramped cell
at my Lord's bidding, He who in anger
buried me
before, so shackled me that I
could not escape my Guardian, my
Guide.

Sometimes I swoop to
whip up waves, rouse
the water, drive the flint-grey rollers
to the
shore. Spumming crests crash
against the cliff, dark precipice
looming
over deep water; a second tide,
a sombre flood, follows the
first;
together they fret against the sheer face,
the rocky
coast.  Then the ship is filled
with the yells of sailors; the
cliffs quietly
abide the ocean's froth and fury,
lashing waves,
racing rollers
that smash against stone.  The ship must face
a
savage battle, a bitter struggle,
if the sea so buffets it and its
cargo
if souls that it is no longer under control
but, fighting for
life, rides foaming
on the spines of breakers.  There men
see
the terror I must obey when I bluster
on my way.  Who shall
restrain it?

At times I rush through
the dark clouds
that ride me, churn the sea into a frenzy,
then
afterwards let the waters subside.
When one cloud collides with
another,
edge against sharp edge, the din
of destruction, a mighty
noise, echoes
above the dwellings of men; dark bodies,
hastening,
breathe fire overhead,
flashing lightning; thunderous crashes
shake
the sky, then growl darkly.
The clouds do combat, dark drops
fall,
rustling rain from their wombs.
A fear-tide flows in the hearts of
men,
a growing terror -  strongholds succumb
to dread - when
that ghastly troop goes
on the rampage, and shrithing evil
spirits,
spurting flames, shoot sharp weapons.
A fool is unafraid of
the death-spears,
but for all that he will die
if the true Lord lets
fly the arrow,
a whistling weapon, straight through rain
from the
whirlwind above.  Few men
survive if they are struck by
lightning.
I am the origin of all that strife,
when I rush through
the concourse of clouds,
surge forward with great strength, and
fly
over the face of the water. Troops on high
clash noisily; then
afterwards,
under cover of night, I sink to earth,
and carry off
some burden on my back,
renewed once more by my Lord's power.
I am a
mighty servant: sometimes
I fight, sometimes wait under the
earth;
at times I swoop and sink under water,
at times whip up waves
from above;
sometimes I stir up trouble
amongst scudding clouds;
swift and savage,
I travel widely. Tell me my name,
and Who it is
rouses me from my rest,
or Who restrains me when I remain
silent.

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4

Ring me, they ring
me.  I work long hours
and must readily obey my master,
break
my rest, and loudly proclaim
that my guardian gave me a halter.
A
man or a woman, weary and bleary,
has often called on me;
winter-cold
I answer them, surely as they are. Sometimes
a warm limb
looses the bound ring.
But it delights my master, a dull sort
of
man, and satisfies me into the bargain,
if anyone can fathom and solve
my riddle.

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5

I'm by nature solitary,
scarred by iron
and wounded by sword, weary of battle.
I often see
the face of war, and fight
hateful enemies; yet I hold no hope
of
help being brought to me in battle
before I'm cut to pieces and
perish.
At the city wall sharp-edged sword,
skillfully forged in the
flames by smiths,
bite deeply into me. I must await
a more fearsome
encounter; it is not for me
to find a physician on the
battlefield,
one of those men who heals wounds with herbs.
My sword
wounds gape wide and wider;
death blows are dealt me by day and by
night.

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6

Christ, the true giver
of victories,
created me for combat. When my lord
urges me to fight,
I often scorch mortals;
I approach the earth and, without a
touch,
afflict a huge host of people.
At times I gladden the minds
of men,
keeping my distance I console those
whom I fought before;
they feel my kindness
as they once felt my fire when,
after such
suffering, I soothe their lives.

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7

Silent is my dress when
I step across the earth,
reside in my house, or ruffle the
waters.
Sometimes my adornments and this high windy air
left me over
the living of men,
the power of the clouds carries me far
over all
people.  My white pinions
resound very loudly, ring with a
melody,
sing out clearly, when I sleep not on
the soil or settle on
grey waters - a travelling spirit.

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8

I've one mouth but many
voices;
I dissemble and often change my tune;
I declaim my deathless
melodies
and don't refrain from my refrain.
Aged evening-songster, I
entertain
men in their homes by rehearsing
my whole repertoire; they
sit, bowed down,
quiet in their houses. Guess my name,
I who mimic
the jester's japes
as loudly as I can, and rejoice men
with choicest
songs in various voices.

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Answer

9

In former days my mother
and father
forsook me for dead, for the fullness of life
was not yet
within me.  But a kinswomen
graciously fitted me out in soft
garments,
as kind to me as to her own children,
tended and took me
under her wing;
until under shelter, unlike her kin,
I matured as a
mighty bird (as was my fate).
My guardian then fed me until I could
fly
and wander more widely on my
excursions; she had the less of her
own
sons and daughters by what she did thus.

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10

My beak was bound and I
was immersed,
the current swept round me as I lay covered
by
mountains streams; I matured in the sea,
above the milling waves, my
body
locked to a stray, floating spar.
When, in black garments, I
left wave
and wood, I was full of life;
some of my clothing was
white
when the tides of the air lifted me,
the wind from the wave,
then carried me far
over the seal's bath. Say what I am
called.

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