Riddle 93

My master * *
* *

wise in number of days
* * *

sometimes the steep heights
should mount,
up in the country ;
sometimes again retir'd
into the deep dells,
seeking benefit,
strong in step,
the stony plains cut up,
hard frozen ;
sometimes I shook the hoar
frost from my hair.
I from the ready rode,
till that the *
my younger
brother possess'd,
and me from home drove ;
when me iron
inward,
brown, wounded,
blood came not out,
gore from my breast,
though me hard bit
the stiff-edge steel.
I bemourn'd not the time,
nor for the wound wept,
nor might avenge
on the warrior's life,
my misfortune ;
but I miserable
all suffer

Now pale I swallow
wood and water,
* * embrace,
what falls on me,
from above where I stand,
* I know not what.
I have one foot,
now my treasure guards
a destroying foe,
who ere bore afar
the wolf's companion,

* * *