| |
| ’TWAS now, men say, in his sovran’s need | |
| that the earl made known his noble strain, | |
| craft and keenness and courage enduring. | |
| Heedless of harm, though his hand was burned, | |
| hardy-hearted, he helped his kinsman. | 5 |
| A little lower the loathsome beast | |
| he smote with sword; his steel drove in | |
| bright and burnished; that blaze began | |
| to lose and lessen. At last the king | |
| wielded his wits again, war-knife drew, | 10 |
| a biting blade by his breastplate hanging, | |
| and the Weders’-helm smote that worm asunder, | |
| felled the foe, flung forth its life. | |
| So had they killed it, kinsmen both, | |
| athelings twain: thus an earl should be | 15 |
| in danger’s day!—Of deeds of valor | |
| this conqueror’-hour of the king was last, | |
| of his work in the world. The wound began, | |
| which that dragon-of-earth had erst inflicted, | |
| to swell and smart; and soon he found | 20 |
| in his breast was boiling, baleful and deep, | |
| pain of poison. The prince walked on, | |
| wise in his thought, to the wall of rock; | |
| then sat, and stared at the structure of giants, | |
| where arch of stone and steadfast column | 25 |
| upheld forever that hall in earth. | |
| Yet here must the hand of the henchman peerless | |
| lave with water his winsome lord, | |
| the king and conqueror covered with blood, | |
| with struggle spent, and unspan his helmet. | 30 |
| Beowulf spake in spite of his hurt, | |
| his mortal wound; full well he knew | |
| his portion now was past and gone | |
| of earthly bliss, and all had fled | |
| of his file of days, and death was near: | 35 |
| “I would fain bestow on son of mine | |
| this gear of war, were given me now | |
| that any heir should after me come | |
| of my proper blood. This people I ruled | |
| fifty winters. No folk-king was there, | 40 |
| none at all, of the neighboring clans | |
| who war would wage me with ’warriors’-friends’ 1 | |
| and threat me with horrors. At home I bided | |
| what fate might come, and I cared for mine own; | |
| feuds I sought not, nor falsely swore | 45 |
| ever on oath. For all these things, | |
| though fatally wounded, fain am I! | |
| From the Ruler-of-Man no wrath shall seize me, | |
| when life from my frame must flee away, | |
| for killing of kinsmen! Now quickly go | 50 |
| and gaze on that hoard ’neath the hoary rock, | |
| Wiglaf loved, now the worm lies low, | |
| sleeps, heart-sore, of his spoil bereaved. | |
| And fare in haste. I would fain behold | |
| the gorgeous heirlooms, golden store, | 55 |
| have joy in the jewels and gems, lay down | |
| softlier for sight of this splendid hoard | |
| my life and the lordship I long have held.” | |
