For slaughtered lay the lord of Goths. But when the morrow broke

His brother's fall a brother's hand avenged with

weapon stroke.

Then Ongentheow met Eofor-there his war-helm

cloven fell,

And death-pale lay the Scylfing old; the hand remem

bered well

The feud, and shrank not from the blow.

Then for the gifts he gave Right well I paid my Higelac in war with flashing

glaive;

He gave me land and pleasant home. For him there was no need

To seek 'mong Gifthas,* or Gar-Danes, or in the realm of Swede,

To buy with bounties meaner knights! Ever alone in

front

So would I go before his host, and so would bear the

brunt

Through all my life, while lasts this sword that aye has served me well

Since erst Dæghrefen by my hand-the Hugas' † champion-fell

* 'Gifthas' have been identified with the Gepidæ.

Hugas' identified with the Chauci of Tacitus. This Huga champion was probably the slayer of Higelac, and would, according to custom, have despoiled him of his ornaments. See p. 55, where the necklace is mentioned. Frisians and Chauci, according to Grimm (Deutsche Sprache, 677 n.), are different names for the same people.

In sight of men; and never might he bring the bosom's pride

The necklace-to the Frisian king; the standardbearer died,

In valour noble, on the field—but not with swordstroke killed,

Only in deadly wrestle grasped his beating heart I

stilled,

And crushed the body lay! But now must hand and edge of sword—

And now must keenly tempered blade do battle for

the hoard!"

III.

THE FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON.

Beowulf spoke his last proud words: "In youth I much have warred,

And still for battle will I seek,—my people's faithful guard,

And work great deeds if on me comes the monster from his den. '

Then took the helmet-bearer bold farewell of all his

men,

His comrades dear, and said: "No sword or weapon

would I bear

Against the worm, if else I wist how I might grasp

him fair,

As Grendel long ago I did. But now I ween will

break

Hot flame and poisonous breath on me, and therefore do I take

My shield and arms; the mountain's guard one inch I would not flee.

Between us at the cliff as Weird shall mete so let

it be!

My heart is fixed; no other boast I'll make o'er that winged foe.

Bide ye upon the hillside here, my mail-clad men, to

know,

In corselet safe, which of us two shall, after battle hot, Have hap to overlive his wounds. For you this task

is not;

'Tis all unmeet for any man, save me alone, to try My strength 'gainst fiends and challenge sway. By force of arms will I

The treasure win, or else in fight let swift death take your lord!"

Beside his shield, 'neath helmet stern, he rose and

took his sword

The warrior proud-below the cliff, trusting his single

might.

No coward's feat was that! Then he, who many a

clash of fight,

And battle fierce when armies meet-the bravest of

the brave

Had overlived, saw by the rock where from an arch

ing cave

A stream gushed from the mountain side, with hot flames all aglow,

So that unhurt by dragon's fire no man might pass

below

Down to the hoard.

Forth from his breast, in wrath,

he sent a shout;

The strong heart stormed; that battle-cry resounded round about;

Beneath the hoar-grey stone it went, and stirred up deadly hate;

The hoard-ward knew the voice of man; for peace 'twas now too late.

Then from the rock the monster's breath like burn

ing reek did blow;

Earth bellowed; and the lord of Goths to meet the grisly foe

His shield edge thrust. The coiled worm's heart was stirred for strife to crave.

Already had the warrior-king unsheathed his keen old

glaive,

(Dreadful to each his deadly foe !) and mail-clad, firm

of mood,

While swift the dragon coiled himself, behind his high shield stood.

And from his coils the fiery drake to doom wildrushing came!

Less while the shield his life and body sheltered

from the flame

Than he had hoped-the mighty lord—in that first time and tide

When he could wield it. Not for him did Weird the battle guide."

He raised his hand with his good sword he smote the dread of hue

So that on bone the edge gave way-the brown blade bit less true

Than sore beset its lord had need. Yet at the awful

stroke

Wroth grew the mountain's guard; death-fire he cast, and wide outbroke

The scathing flames. No victory the friend of Goths

had won;

The naked war-bill failed at need-so should it ne'er

have done,

That best of steel! For Ecgtheow's son no easy lot was there

To leave the earth and find a home at dragon's will

elsewhere.

Thus men must leave this fleeting life!

But soon together pressed These foes again. The treasure's guard, emboldened, swelled his breast

Anew with poisonous breath; and he who long had

ruled the land

Tholed grievous straits, girt round with flame; beside him stood no band

Of comrades true, the ætheling's sons, of valour proved in strife