14 Anglo-Saxon Riddles

In his famous novel, The Hobbit, J. R. R. Tolkien has his hero, Bilbo Baggins, enter into a riddle telling competition with a creature called Gollum. Tolkien, an Oxford professor of Old English, was undoubtedly inspired by the riddles that the Anglo-Saxons told. Topics for riddles included household objects, things in nature, spiritual ideas, and, to put it mildly, double entendres. These riddles challenge the impression created by most Old English literature of a society devoid of humor. Read the following riddles to see if you can guess the answers. (Hint: Some of the riddles have more than one answer, and, yes, some of the answers may be a bit… crude).

Riddle 1
Often a noble maiden, a lady,
locked me firmly in a chest.
Other times she drew me out with her own hands
and gave me to her lord, her loyal prince,
as she was commanded.

Then he stuck his head inside me,
upwards from below,
and confined it in my narrowness.

If the courage of the one receiving me was strong,
something rough –
I don’t know what –
filled me, adorned.
Explain what I mean.

Riddle 2
I heard of something rising in a corner,
Swelling and standing up, lifting its cover.
The proud-hearted bride grabbed at that boneless
Wonder with her hands; the prince’s daughter
Covered that swelling thing with a swirl of cloth.

Riddle 3
Wob is my name twisted about–
I’m a strange creature shaped for battle.
When I bend and the battle-sting snakes
Through my belly, I am primed to drive off
The death-stroke. When my lord and tormentor
Releases my limbs, I am long again,
As laced with slaughter, I spit out
The death-blend I swallowed before.
What whistles from my belly does not easily pass,
And the man who seizes this sudden cup
Pays with his life for the long, last drink.
Unwound I will not obey any man;
Bound tight, I serve. Say what I am.

Riddle 4
The young man came over to the corner
Where he knew she stood. He stepped up,
Eager and agile, lifted his tunic
With hard hands, thrust through her girdle
Something stiff, worked on the standing
One his will. Both swayed and shook.
The young man hurried, was sometimes useful,
Served well, but always tired
Sooner than she, weary of the work.
Under her girdle began to grow
A hero’s reward for laying on dough.

Riddle 5
On earth this warrior is strangely born
Of two dumb creatures, drawn gleaming
Into the world, bright and useful to men.
It is tended, kept, covered by women–
Strong and savage, it serves well,
A gentle slave to firm masters
Who mind its measure and feed it fairly
With a careful hand. To these it brings
Warm blessings; to those who let it run
Wild it brings a grim reward.

Riddle 6
I am a wonderful creature;
I am the desire of women
and useful to the neighbors.
I don’t harm anyone in town,
except my slayer alone.
I’m steep and high by nature,
I stand in a bed, shaggy below –
I won’t say where!
Sometimes a very beautiful farmer’s daughter,
A proud-minded maiden,
dares to grip me,
rush upon me in my redness,
plunder my head,
fix me in a tight spot.
The one who afflicts me,
this woman with braided locks,
will immediately feel
the effect of our meeting:
an eye will be wet.

Riddle 7
A lonely warrior, I am wounded with iron,
Scarred with sword-points, sated with battle-play,
Weary of weapons. I have witnessed much fighting,
Much stubborn strife. From the strokes of war
I have no hope for help or release
Ere I pass from the world with the proud warrior band.
With brands and billies they beat upon me;
The hard edges hack me; the handwork of smiths
In crowds I encounter; with courage I endure
Ever bitterer battles. No balm may I find,
And no doctor to heal me in the whole field of battle,
To bind me with ointments and bring me to health,
But my grievous gashes grow ever sorer
Through death-dealing strokes by day and night.

Riddle 8
A stern destroyer struck out my life,
Deprived me of power; he put me to soak,
Dipped me in water, dried me again,
And set me in the sun, where I straightway lost
The hairs that I had. Then the hard edge
Of the keen knife cut me and cleansed me of soil;
Then fingers folded me. The fleet quill of the bird
With speedy drops spread tracks often
Over the brown surface, swallowed the tree-dye,
A deal of the stream, stepped again on me,
Traveled a black track. With protecting boards
Then a crafty one covered me, enclosed me with hide,
Made me gorgeous with gold. Hence I am glad and rejoice
At the smith’s fair work with its wondrous adornments.
Now may these rich trappings, and the red dye’s tracings,
And all works of wisdom spread wide the fame
Of the Sovereign of nations! Read me not as a penance!
If the children of men will cherish and use me,
They shall be safer and sounder and surer of victory,
More heroic of heart and happier in spirit,
More unfailing in wisdom. More friends shall they have,
Dear and trusty, and true and good,
And faithful always, whose honors and riches
Shall increase with their love, and who cover their friends
With kindness and favors and clasp them fast
With loving arms. I ask how men call me
Who aid them in need. My name is far famed.
I am helpful to men, and am holy myself.

This material is adapted from British Literature: Middle Ages to the Eighteenth Century and Neoclassicism by Bonnie J. Robinson from the University System of Georgia, which is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

This license allows you to remix, tweak, and build upon this work, even commercially, as long as you credit this original source for the creation and license the new creation under identical terms