"Grief-saddened, he sees in his son's dwelling the wine-hall deserted, his resting-place wind-swept, bereft of joy. The hanged man sleeps, the warrior in his grave. There is no sound of harp, no joy in dwelling, as there was of old.

XXXV

BEOWULF FINISHES SPEAKING. THE FIGHT

BEGINS.

"He goes then to his chamber, sings a sorrowful song, one after another; all has seemed too vast, his lands and home. So the Shield of the Weders had sorrow surging in his heart for Herebeald. In no way could he punish the murderer for the feud. None the sooner might he wreck his hate upon the warrior by hostile acts, though he was not dear to him. Then for the sorrow that too sorely befell him, he gave up the joy of men and chose God's light. To his offspring he left, as a prosperous man does, his land and cities when he went from life.

"Then was wrong-doing and strife between Swedes and Geats over the wide water, mutual quarrel, cruel enmity, after Hrethel died and Ongentheow's sons were bold and eager for war; they would not keep peace over the sea, but often did dire slaughter around Hreosnabeorh. That my kinsman avenged, the feuds and crimes, as it was well known, though one paid with his life, a hard bargain. For Hæthcyn, Lord of the Geats, the war proved fatal. Then in the morning, as I heard tell, one kinsman avenged the other with the sword's edge upon the slayer, when Ongentheow sought out Eofor. His war-helmet split asunder; the aged Scylfing fell, deadly pale. His hand remem

"With the bright sword I repaid him in battle for the treasures he gave me, as it was granted to me to do. He gave me land, a home and its enjoyment. There was no need for him to seek among Gifthas or Spear-Danes for an inferior 1 warrior, to buy him with treasure. Always I would be to the fore in the troop, alone in front, and so forever I shall do battle while this sword endures that has often served me, early and late, since I slew Dæghrefn before the hosts, the Hugas' champion. He might not then bring trappings, the breast ornament, to the Frisian king, but fell in the fight, the guardian of the standard, an atheling valiantly. Nor was the sword his slayer; but a hostile grasp crushed his body and the surgings of his heart. Now shall the blade's edge, hand and the hard sword, do battle for the hoard."

2

Beowulf spoke, uttered his war-boast for the last time: "I have ventured many battles in youth; yet, as wise guardian of the people, will I seek fight, do work of valor, if the fell spoiler will come out from his cavern to meet me." Then he greeted each of his men, valiant warriors, his own dear companions, for the last time: "I would not bear sword or weapon against the dragon if I knew how else I might clutch at the fiend with hand-grip, as I did against Grendel; but here I expect hot battle-fire, his breath and venom. Therefore I have on shield and byrnie. I will not flee from the mound's keeper a foot's length, but it shall be to us at the wall as Fate decrees, the lord of every man. I am fearless of mood and shall refrain from boasting against the monster. Abide ye at the mound, protected by byrnies, warriors in arms, which of us two may the better endure his wound

1 Inferior, because foreign. 2 Franks

after the deadly fight. It is no venture of yours, nor any man's power save mine alone, that he may fight with the demon, may do earlship. I shall valiantly win the gold, or war, the terrible lifebale, shall take your lord!"

Then the renowned warrior arose beside his shield, brave under helmet, bore his coat of mail under the stone cliff, trusted to the strength of one man. Such is not a coward's enterprise! Then he who, good in the virtues of men, had endured many battles, the crashes of war, when troops met in onrush, saw by the wall a stone arch standing and a stream bursting out of the mound. The water of the stream was hot from the deadly fire. Nor might one without burning go near the treasure at any time, nor pass through the passageway on account of the dragon's fire.

From his breast, the Lord of the Weder-Geats let words fare forth, for he was angry; the stout-hearted one shouted. His voice, clear in battle, entered resounding under the hoary stone. Hate was stirred up; the guardian of the hoard recognized the voice of man. There was no longer time to sue for peace. First from out of the stone came the breath of the monster, the hot battle-fume. The earth resounded. The warrior under the mound, the Lord of the Geats, turned his shield against the grim stranger. Then was the heart of the dragon urged to seek battle. The good war-king had drawn his sword, the old heirloom, sharp of edge. In each of the foes there was horror of the other. Stout-hearted, the lord of princes stood against his tall shield when the serpent quickly coiled together. In his armor he waited. Then burning, the coiled monster went gliding, hastening to his fate. The shield indeed protected the glorious prince in life and body a shorter time than his mind desired. There for the first time in his life he

might not prevail, since Fate did not decree victory for him in the battle. The Lord of the Geats lifted up his hand, smote the creature of hideous hue with his sword so that its edge gave way, brown blade against bone; it bit less strongly than the folk's king had need for, hard pressed with cares. Then after the battle-stroke the barrow's guard was in a savage mood, and threw out his murderous fire. The flames leapt far. The friend of the Geats did not boast of glorious victories. His battle brand failed, naked in the fight, as it should not, a blade good from old times. That was no pleasant journey when the famous son of Ecgtheow would leave the earth. Against his will he must inhabit a dwelling elsewhere. So must every man give up the days that are lent him.

It was not long before the raging foes again met each other. The guardian of the treasure took heart anew; his breast heaved with his breathing. Enveloped in flame, he suffered distress who formerly had ruled a nation. His comrades, athelings' sons, did not stand around him. in a band valiantly; rather they fled to the wood to save their lives. Only in one of them did his heart surge with sorrow. Nothing ever can loose the bonds of friendship for him who thinks aright.

XXXVI

WIGLAF GOES TO BEOWULF'S AID. BEOWULF IS WOUNDED

Wiglaf was his name, Wihstan's son, a fine warrior, prince of the Scylfings and Elfhere's kinsman. He saw his lord under his war-helmet suffering the heat. He had in mind then the possessions which in the past he had granted him, the rich

1

and all the folk-rights which his father had. Nor could he then hold back. His hand gripped his shield, the yellow linden, and drew his time-tried sword. That was among men the legacy of Eanmund, the son of Ohthere, whom as a friendless exile Wihstan slew with the sword's edge, and carried off to his kinsman his brownstained helmet, his ringed byrnie, and the ancient sword of giants. These Onela gave him, his kinsman's war-weeds, ready armor, without speaking of the feud, though he had killed his brother's son. He kept the trappings many half-years, sword and byrnie, until his son 2 could do works of valor like his father before him. He gave him, among the Geats, war-gear, a countless store of every kind, when he departed from life, went on his way an old man.

That was the first time for the youth that he should stand the shock of battle with his lord. Nor did his spirit melt, nor his kinsman's legacy fail him in the fight: this the serpent learned when they had come together.

Wiglaf spoke, his heart was heavy: "I remember the time, as we were drinking mead, that we swore to our lord who gave us rings in the beer-hall that we would repay him for the war-gear, the helmets and hard swords, if need such as this ever befell him. That is why he chose us from the company, of his own will, for this adventure, considered us worthy of glorious deeds, and gave us the gifts, because he counted us good spearmen, bold helmet-bearers, though our king thought to do this brave work alone, the nation's protector, since he most of any man had done high deeds, daring works. Now the day has come that our liege lord has need of strength, of good warriors. Let us go to him, help

1 The family to which Wiglaf, Wihstan, and Beowulf belonged. * Wiglaf

It

grim fire-terror. As for me, God knows I had much rather that the fire should clasp my body with my gold-giver. does not seem to me fitting that we should bear our shields back home unless we first may kill the foe, protect the life of the Weders' prince. I well know that his former deeds do not merit that he alone of the host of the Geats should suffer affliction, should fall in battle. Sword and helmet, byrnie and battlecorselet shall be for a common purpose to both of us."

He strode then through the deadly flames, bore his helmet to the support of his lord, and few words spoke: "Beloved Beowulf, do all fittingly as thou in early life long since didst vow, that thou wouldst not let thy glory decline while living. Now must thou, a warrior of spirit, famed for deeds, defend thy life with all thy might. I will help thee."

After these words the angry dragon, the terrible foe, came a second time to attack his enemies, the hateful men. The buckler was burnt to the boss by the flames; his byrnie could not help the youthful warrior. But the young man quickly leapt under his kinsman's shield, for his own was consumed by the fire. Then again the warrior king was mindful of glory, smote mightily with his battle-sword, that it stuck in the serpent's head, driven by wrath. Nægling 3 burst asunder; Beowulf's sword, old and gray of hue, failed in the fight. It was not granted to him that blades of iron should help him in the battle. The hand was too strong and, I have heard, overtaxed every sword with its stroke when he bore to the fight the wondrously hard weapon. It was not at all the better for him.

Then for the third time the folk-ravisher, the fell fire-dragon, was mindful of the feud, and rushed upon the man of

The name of Beowulf's sword.

renown when chance offered, hot and battle-grim, clasped him all about the neck with his sharp tusks. He was bloodied with his life-blood. The blood surged forth in waves.

XXXVII

THEY KILL THE DRAGON, BUT BEOWULF'S

WOUND BECOMES SERIOUS

Then at the king's need, as I heard tell, the earl, upstanding, showed valor, strength and courage, as was his nature. He did not attack the head; nevertheless the bold warrior's hand was burnt when he helped his kinsman by striking the fell stranger somewhat lower. Thus did the warrior in arms, so that the sword plunged in, shining and gold-adorned; wherefore the fire afterwards began to grow less. Then the king himself still had control of his senses, drew the warknife, keen and battle-sharp, that he wore on his byrnie. The protector of the Weders slashed the serpent in the middle. They cut down the fiend-strength drove out life; together the warrior kinsmen had destroyed him. Such should a warrior. be, a thane in need! That was the last hour of victory for the king in his deeds, his last work in this world.

Then the wound which the earthdragon had given him began to swell and burn. He was soon aware that the venom within him was boiling fiercely in his breast. The warrior wise in thought went then and sat on a seat by the wall. He looked upon the work of giants, saw how the eternal earth-hall held within it stone vaults supported by pillars. With his hand the noble thane bathed his bloodstained lord with water, the far-famed king, spent with battle, and unfastened his helmet.

a mortal hurt. He well knew that he had lived his time, had enjoyed his share of earth's pleasure. All his number of days had passed; death was very near: "Now I should have liked to give these battleweeds to my son, if any heir belonging to my body had thus been granted me. I have ruled this people fifty winters. There was no folk-king, not any of the neighboring tribes, that durst harm with swords or oppress me with terror. I awaited my time on earth, held my own well, nor sought treacherous strife or swore many oaths wrongfully. For all this, now sick from death-wounds, I may rejoice; for the Ruler of Men shall have no need to call me to account for the murder of kinsmen when my life passes from its body. Quickly go thou, dear Wiglaf, to examine the hoard under the gray rock, now that the dragon lies. dead, sleeps sorely wounded, bereft of the treasure. Be now swift, that I may well see the ancient wealth, may look upon the store of gold, the precious jewels, that I may the more softly for the wealth of treasure leave my life and the realm that I have long held."

XXXVIII

BEOWULF IS SHOWN THE TREASURE. HIS DYING SPEECH

of bracelets cunningly twisted. (Easily may wealth, gold on earth, become master of every man, hide it who will!) Likewise he saw hanging high above the hoard a banner all golden, the greatest of handwonders, woven by fingers' skill. From it a gleam of light shone, so that he could see the floor and perceive the jewels. No sight of the dragon was there, for the sword had carried him off. Then, as I heard, a man plundered the hoard in the mound, the old work of giants, loaded in his arms cups and dishes at his own choice. He took a banner, too, brightest of beacons. The sword of his dear lord 1-the edge was iron—had wounded him who for a long time was guardian of the treasure, bore a fire terror, hot before the hoard, fiercely seething at midnight until he died murderously. The messenger was in haste, eager to return, urged on by the precious. things. Anxiety weighed upon him, and he was troubled in mind, whether he should find still alive the King of the Weders, passing sick, where he had left him. Then with the treasures he found his lord bathed in blood, the far-famed king at life's end. Again he began to sprinkle him with water until a word's point broke through his breast-hoard.

The king spoke, the old man, sadlyhe saw the gold: "I say thanks with words to the Lord, to the King of Glory, the eternal God, for all the treasures which I here look upon, for that I have been able ere my death-day to win such for my people. Now I have bartered my old life for the treasure-hoard; attend ye further to the needs of my people. I may not remain here longer. Bid the battle-brave build a mound, splendid after the funeral pyre, on a bluff of the sea. So shall it tower high on Hronesness, a remembrance to my people, that seafarers who drive their ships far over the darkness of the flood shall in 1i.e., Beowulf

after days call it Beowulf's mound." He took from his neck a golden ring, the brave king, and gave it to his thane, to the youthful warrior, gave him his goldbound helmet, ring, and byrnie, bade him use them well: "Thou art the last of our kin, the Waegmundings. Fate has swept off all my kinsmen to their death, earls in their might. I must follow them." That was the last word of the aged man, of his heart's thought, ere he tasted the funeral pyre, hot ravaging flames. The soul went from his breast to seek the reward of men steadfast in right.

XXXIX

WIGLAF REPROACHES HIS COMPANIONS

It was a sorrowful thing for the young man that on earth he should see his dear lord fare pitiably at life's end. The slayer likewise lay bereft of life, the terrible earth-dragon, pressed down with sore affliction. No longer might the coiled serpent rule the ring-board, for the blade's edges, hard battle-nicked product of hammers, had carried him off, so that the far-flier fell to the ground, motionless from his wounds, near his treasure house. No more did he soar flying through the air at midnight, and show his form in the pride of his possessions, but he fell to the ground through the work of the warrior's hands. Indeed it has profited few men on earth, though mighty, and though they were bold in every deed, as I have heard, that they should make onslaught against the breath of a venomous foe or disturb with their hands a ring-hall if they find the guard awake, dwelling in the mound. By his death a store of noble treasures was paid for by Beowulf. Each had brought about the end of the life that was lent him.

It was not long then before the cowards