| |
| I HAVE heard that swiftly the son of Weohstan | |
| at wish and word of his wounded king,— | |
| war-sick warrior,—woven mail-coat, | |
| battle-sark, bore ’neath the barrow’s roof. | |
| Then the clansman keen, of conquest proud, | 5 |
| passing the seat, 1 saw store of jewels | |
| and glistening gold the ground along; | |
| by the wall were marvels, and many a vessel | |
| in the den of the dragon, the dawn-flier old: | |
| unburnished bowls of bygone men | 10 |
| reft of richness; rusty helms | |
| of the olden age; and arm-rings many | |
| wondrously woven.—Such wealth of gold, | |
| booty from barrow, can burden with pride | |
| each human wight: let him hide it who will!— | 15 |
| His glance too fell on a gold-wove banner | |
| high o’er the hoard, of handiwork noblest, | |
| brilliantly broidered; so bright its gleam, | |
| all the earth-floor he easily saw | |
| and viewed all these vessels. No vestige now | 20 |
| was seen of the serpent: the sword had ta’en him. | |
| Then, I heard, the hill of its hoard was reft, | |
| old work of giants, by one alone; | |
| he burdened his bosom with beakers and plate | |
| at his own good will, and the ensign took, | 25 |
| brightest of beacons.—The blade of his lord | |
| —its edge was iron—had injured deep | |
| one that guarded the golden hoard | |
| many a year and its murder-fire | |
| spread hot round the barrow in horror-billows | 30 |
| at midnight hour, till it met its doom. | |
| Hasted the herald, the hoard so spurred him | |
| his track to retrace; he was troubled by doubt, | |
| high-souled hero, if haply he’d find | |
| alive, where he left him, the lord of Weders, | 35 |
| weakening fast by the wall of the cave. | |
| So he carried the load. His lord and king | |
| he found all bleeding, famous chief, | |
| at the lapse of life. The liegeman again | |
| plashed him with water, till point of word | 40 |
| broke through the breast-hoard. Beowulf spake, | |
| sage and sad, as he stared at the gold:— | |
| “For the gold and treasure, to God my thanks, | |
| to the Wielder-of-Wonders, with words I say, | |
| for what I behold, to Heaven’s Lord, | 45 |
| for the grace that I give such gifts to my folk | |
| or ever the day of my death be run! | |
| Now I’ve bartered here for booty of treasure | |
| the last of my life, so look ye well | |
| to the needs of my land! No longer I tarry. | 50 |
| A barrow bid ye the battle-famed raise | |
| for my ashes. ’Twill shine by the shore of the flood, | |
| to folk of mine memorial fair | |
| on Hronës Headland high uplifted, | |
| that ocean-wanderers oft may hail | 55 |
| Beowulf’s Barrow, as back from far | |
| they drive their keels o’er the darkling wave.” | |
| From his neck he unclasped the collar of gold, | |
| valorous king, to his vassal gave it | |
| with bright-gold helmet, breastplate, and ring, | 60 |
| to the youthful thane: bade him use them in joy. | |
| “Thou art end and remnant of all our race, | |
| the Wægmunding name. For Wyrd hath swept them, | |
| all my line, to the land of doom, | |
| earls in their glory: I after them go.” | 65 |
| This word was the last which the wise old man | |
| harbored in heart ere hot death-waves | |
| of balefire he chose. From his bosom fled | |
| his soul to seek the saints’ reward. | |
