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Riddle 47

Moððe word fræt. Me þæt þuhte
wrætlicu wyrd, þa ic þæt wundor gefrægn,
þæt se wyrm forswealg wera gied sumes,
þeof in þystro, þrymfæstne cwide
ond þæs strangan staþol. Stælgiest ne wæs
wihte þy gleawra, þe he þam wordum swealg.

what am I? (translation beneath cut)

A moth ate words. That seemed to me
a strange event, when I heard of that wonder,
that the worm devoured the song of a man,
the thief in darkness, the famous song
and the strong foundation. The thievish stranger was
at all the wiser as he had swallowed the words.*

*Translation: Williamson, Craig. A Feast of Creatures: Anglo-Saxon Riddle-songs, translated with introduction, notes and commentary. Philadelphia 1982.
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