In the riddles we find particulars of Anglo-Saxon life that we cannot find elsewhere. The _Cambridge History of English Literature_ sums their effect up in the following sentence: "Furthermore, the author or authors of the Old English riddles borrow themes from native folk-songs and saga; in their hands inanimate objects become endowed with life and personality; the powers of nature become objects of worship such as they were in olden times; they describe the scenery of their own country, the fen, the river, and the sea, the horror of the untrodden forest, sun and moon engaged in perpetual pursuit of each other, the nightingale and the swan, the plow guided by the 'gray-haired enemy of the wood,' the bull breaking up clods left unturned by the plow, the falcon, the arm-companion of aethelings--scenes, events, characters familiar in the England of that day."] I. A Storm What man is so clever, so crafty of mind, As to say for a truth who sends me a-traveling? When I rise in my wrath, raging at times, Savage is my sound. Sometimes I travel, 5 Go forth among the folk, set fire to their homes And ravage and rob them; then rolls the smoke Gray over the gables; great is the noise, The death-struggle of the stricken. Then I stir up the woods And the fruitful forests; I fell the trees, 10 I, roofed over with rain, on my reckless journey, Wandering widely at the will of heaven. I bear on my back the bodily raiment, The fortunes of folk, their flesh and their spirits, Together to sea. Say who may cover me, 15 Or what I am called, who carry this burden? 1. Some scholars feel that the first three riddles, all of which describe storms, are in reality one, with three divisions. There is little to indicate whether the scribe thought of them as separate or not. II. A Storm At times I travel in tracks undreamed of, In vasty wave-depths to visit the earth, The floor of the ocean. Fierce is the sea . . . . . . . the foam rolls high; 5 The whale-pool roars and rages loudly; The streams beat the shores, and they sling at times Great stones and sand on the steep cliffs, With weeds and waves, while wildly striving Under the burden of billows on the bottom of ocean 10 The sea-ground I shake. My shield of waters I leave not ere he lets me who leads me always In all my travels. Tell me, wise man, Who was it that drew me from the depth of the ocean When the streams again became still and quiet, 15 Who before had forced me in fury to rage? III. A Storm