In honour ever 'mong the folk he nobly Hardred kept,

Till older grown he ruled the Goths.

O'er seas in exile swept
Rebellion they had

To him the sons of Ohthere fled.*

made

'Gainst the great lord, the best sea-king of all who treasure swayed

In Swedish realms, the Scylfings' chief. But thence came Hardred's woe;

For there the son of Higelac was struck a deadly blow At banquet by the swing of sword; and then, when he lay cold,

The son of Ongentheow went home, and let Beowulf

hold

The kingly throne and rule the Goths. Good king in truth was he!

In later days for this defeat he sought revenged to

be,

To hapless Eadgils proved a friend, and sailing with

his folk,

O'er wide seas Ohthere's son upheld with war and weapon stroke,

Revenged his woful fortunes cold and reft the king of

life.†

Thus mighty deeds had Ecgtheow's son outlived, and every strife,

And venture perilous, till come was that one fatal day When with the dragon he must fight.

Then did he take his way,

* See Note Q.

+ 'The King'-Onela.

The lord of Goths, to seek the drake—he and eleven

more

With wrathful hearts. He learned the place whence sprang the trouble sore

And warriors' woe, for in his lap the goodly cup was

laid

By him who knew, and who the band thirteen in number made.

Beginner of the strife was he, but poor he was of soul, And humbly did he show the way, unwilling, to the

hole

He only knew-beneath the earth, hard by the billowy

sea

And troubled waves-a cavern full of wires* and

jewelry.

The monster guard, the fighter fierce, of old below the

ground

His gold-hoard kept-not easily by man could it be

found.

* 'Wires' for twisting into brooches, bracelets, and the like.

I

II.

BEOWULF'S SPEECH.

The Goths' gold-friend, the warrior-king, sat down

And to his hearth-mates bade farewell. His heart was

in distress,

Death-bound and wavering; Weird was come immeasurably near

To seek the treasure of his soul, meet the old man, and shear

Asunder life and body; flesh should not for long array The prince's soul.* And thus Beowulf, Ecgtheow's son, did say :

Many the times of strife I've seen in youth, and battle dire.

I mind it all! Seven winters old was I when from my sire

The lord of wealth, the peoples chief, took me and

brought me up;

Mindful of kin king Hrethel gave me fee and food

and cup;

A knight in burg, as dear to him as his own children

were,

*Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,

Fool'd by these rebel powers that thee array.

Shakespear. Sonnet cxlvi.

Her'bald or Hæthcyn or my Higelac.

By chance unfair

A brother's deed the bed of death did for the firstborn

strew,

When Hæthcyn's bolt from bended bow his dear loved kinsman slew;

He missed the mark and shot his friend; and with a bloody dart

Brother did brother slay ;-foul sin; a lasting grief of

heart ;

A death unpriced ;*—and unavenged the prince's life must be.

Then sadly as an old carle bides while on the gallows

tree

His young son rides; and maketh wail, and song with sorrow fraught,

When, joy of ravens, hangs his son, and he himself can

nought,

Sore stricken now in years, to help. For ever comes to mind

Each morning that his heir is dead; he careth not to find Another in the burg to keep the heritage when one Fate-driven has met his death. Then on the dwelling of his son

He gazes sorrowful of heart, the guest-hall lying waste, The wind-swept ruins silent now; in grave are sleeping

fast

Warrior and knight; the melody of harp is heard no

more ;

* See Note R.

No merriment is in the courts as once in days of yore! Then to his bed he turneth him, and chaunteth lay on lay

Of sorrow; all too wide to him seem grange and meadow-way.

Ev'n so for Herebald heart-grief the Weder's shelter

dreed;

Upon his slayer not a whit could he make good the

deed,

Nor hate him for the hateful deed although he could

not love.

Thus gave he o'er the joy of men, so sore did grief him move;

God's light he chose,* and left his heirs, as wealthy men must do,

The land and city of the folk when life no more he knew.

Then between Swedes and Goths was guilt and

strife o'er waters wide,

And fighting fierce and mutual hate as soon as Hrethel

died;

And while the sons of Ongentheow were bold in war

and strong

Peace would they none beyond the seas, but slaughter grim, and wrong

They ofttimes wrought round Hrosnaburg. Revenge for crime and strife,

Well known it is—my kinsman took-bought dear with Hethcyn's life,

*See Note S.