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 |