iddle 69

Ic eom rices æht,     reade bewæfed,

 

Power and treasure for a prince to hold,

 

stið ond steapwong,      staþol wæs iu þa

 

Hard and steep-cheeked, wrapped in red

 

wyrta wlitetorhtra;     nu eom wraþra laf,

 

Gold and garnet, ripped from a plain

 

fyres ond feole,     fæste genearwad,

 

Of bright flowers, wrought--a remnant

 

wire geweorþad.      Wepeð hwilum

5

Of fire and file, bound in stark beauty

5

for minum gripe      se þe gold wigeð,

 

With delicate wire, my grip makes

 

þonne ic yþan sceal     [. . . . .]fe,

 

Warriors weep, my sting threatens

 

hringum gehyrsted.     Me bi [. . . . .]

 

The hand that grasps gold. Studded

 

[ . . . . ]go[ . . ]dryhtne      min[ . . . .]

 

With a ring, I ravage heir and heirloom

 

[ . . . . . . . . ]     wlite bete.

10

*        *    *

 
   

To my lord and foes always lovely

10
   

And deadly, altering face and form.

 

solution