| |
| “THE BLOODY swath of Swedes and Geats | |
| and the storm of their strife, were seen afar, | |
| how folk against folk the fight had wakened. | |
| The ancient king with his atheling band | |
| sought his citadel, sorrowing much: | 5 |
| Ongentheow earl went up to his burg. | |
| He had tested Hygelac’s hardihood, | |
| the proud one’s prowess, would prove it no longer, | |
| defied no more those fighting-wanderers | |
| nor hoped from the seamen to save his hoard, | 10 |
| his bairn and his bride: so he bent him again, | |
| old, to his earth-walls. Yet after him came | |
| with slaughter for Swedes the standards of Hygelac | |
| o’er peaceful plains in pride advancing, | |
| till Hrethelings fought in the fencéd town. 1 | 15 |
| Then Ongentheow with edge of sword, | |
| the hoary-bearded, was held at bay, | |
| and the folk-king there was forced to suffer | |
| Eofor’s anger. In ire, at the king | |
| Wulf Wonreding with weapon struck; | 20 |
| and the chieftain’s blood, for that blow, in streams | |
| flowed ’neath his hair. No fear felt he, | |
| stout old Scylfing, but straightway repaid | |
| in better bargain that bitter stroke | |
| and faced his foe with fell intent. | 25 |
| Nor swift enough was the son of Wonred | |
| answer to render the agéd chief; | |
| too soon on his head the helm was cloven; | |
| blood-bedecked he bowed to earth, | |
| and fell adown; not doomed was he yet, | 30 |
| and well he waxed, though the wound was sore. | |
| Then the hardy Hygelac-thane, 2 | |
| when his brother fell, with broad brand smote, | |
| giants’ sword crashing through giants’-helm | |
| across the shield-wall: sank the king, | 35 |
| his folk’s old herdsman, fatally hurt. | |
| There were many to bind the brother’s wounds | |
| and lift him, fast as fate allowed | |
| his people to wield the place-of-war. | |
| But Eofor took from Ongentheow, | 40 |
| earl from other, the iron-breastplate, | |
| hard sword hilted, and helmet too, | |
| and the hoar-chief’s harness to Hygelac carried, | |
| who took the trappings, and truly promised | |
| rich fee ’mid folk,—and fulfilled it so. | 45 |
| For that grim strife gave the Geatish lord, | |
| Hrethel’s offspring, when home he came, | |
| to Eofor and Wulf a wealth of treasure, | |
| Each of them had a hundred thousand 3 | |
| in land and linked rings; nor at less price reckoned | 50 |
| mid-earth men such mighty deeds! | |
| And to Eofor he gave his only daughter | |
| in pledge of grace, the pride of his home. | |
| |
| “Such is the feud, the foeman’s rage, | |
| death-hate of men: so I deem it sure | 55 |
| that the Swedish folk will seek us home | |
| for this fall of their friends, the fighting-Scylfings, | |
| when once they learn that our warrior leader | |
| lifeless lies, who land and hoard | |
| ever defended from all his foes, | 60 |
| furthered his folk’s weal, finished his course | |
| a hardy hero.—Now haste is best, | |
| that we go to gaze on our Geatish lord, | |
| and bear the bountiful breaker-of-rings | |
| to the funeral pyre. No fragments merely | 65 |
| shall burn with the warrior. Wealth of jewels, | |
| gold untold and gained in terror, | |
| treasure at last with his life obtained, | |
| all of that booty the brands shall take, | |
| fire shall eat it. No earl must carry | 70 |
| memorial jewel. No maiden fair | |
| shall wreathe her neck with noble ring: | |
| nay, sad in spirit and shorn of her gold, | |
| oft shall she pass o’er paths of exile | |
| now our lord all laughter has laid aside, | 75 |
| all mirth and revel. Many a spear | |
| morning-cold shall be clasped amain, | |
| lifted aloft; nor shall lilt of harp | |
| those warriors wake; but the wan-hued raven, | |
| fain o’er the fallen, his feast shall praise | 80 |
| and boast to the eagle how bravely he ate | |
| when he and the wolf were wasting the slain.” | |
| |
| So he told his sorrowful tidings, | |
| and little 4 he lied, the loyal man | |
| of word or of work. The warriors rose; | 85 |
| sad, they climbed to the Cliff-of-Eagles, | |
| went, welling with tears, the wonder to view. | |
| Found on the sand there, stretched at rest, | |
| their lifeless lord, who had lavished rings | |
| of old upon them. Ending-day | 90 |
| had dawned on the doughty-one; death had seized | |
| in woful slaughter the Weders’ king. | |
| There saw they, besides, the strangest being, | |
| loathsome, lying their leader near, | |
| prone on the field. The fiery dragon, | 95 |
| fearful fiend, with flame was scorched. | |
| Reckoned by feet, it was fifty measures | |
| in length as it lay. Aloft erewhile | |
| it had revelled by night, and anon come back, | |
| seeking its den; now in death’s sure clutch | 100 |
| it had come to the end of its earth-hall joys. | |
| By it there stood the stoups and jars; | |
| dishes lay there, and dear-decked swords | |
| eaten with rust, as, on earth’s lap resting, | |
| a thousand winters they waited there. | 105 |
| For all that heritage huge, that gold | |
| of bygone men, was bound by a spell, 5 | |
| so the treasure-hall could be touched by none | |
| of human kind,—save that Heaven’s King, | |
| God himself, might give whom he would, | 110 |
| Helper of Heroes, the hoard to open,— | |
| even such a man as seemed to him meet. | |
