Unknown (Riddle Genius) - Riddles From The Book Of Exeter "1-10" lyrics

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 d**hs 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. 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? 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 d**h-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. 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. 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, sk**fully 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; d**h blows are dealt me by day and by night. 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. 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. 8. I've one mouth but many voices; I dissemble and often change my tune; I declaim my d**hless 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. 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. 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.