Fell on the Goths; and Ohthere's sire, wise, terrible,

and old,

Struck down and slew the great sea-chief; and, though bereft of gold,

Set free again his wedded wife, his bride (the mother she Of Ohthere and of Onela); and then the enemy

He followed till they hardly reached, lordless, the Raven's wood.

With mighty host he then beset the weary few who stood,

A wounded remnant of the sword; and often through

the night

He threatened woe on that poor band, and said ere morning light

Sword-edge should greet them, and that some on gallows-tree should ride

For sport to ravens; but good cheer came with the

morning tide

To mournful men, when loud they heard the horn of Higelac

The trumpet blast—and to his folk the warrior-prince came back!

Then wide were seen the bloody tracks and strife of

Swede and Goth,

And how the peoples-each with each-awakened deadly wrath.

To seek his fastness grieving much, then went with

all his men

The prudent chief: earl Ongentheow drew back to home again.

Of Higelac the proud he heard his war and battle

might

And weened not to withstand him there, or with the Goths to fight,

Or from the bold sea-rovers save his treasure, sons,

and bride;

And thence the old man turned away the earthen wall beside.

Then was pursuit of Swedes decreed-banner and

victory

To Higelac! Forth went the Hrethlings* o'er the peaceful lea

Till round the stronghold fierce they thronged, and with the edge of sword

The grey-haired Ongentheow was slain; for there the people's lord

Must yield himself to Eofor's doom! At him so smote amain

Wulf, Wonred's son, that at the blow blood burst from every vein

Beneath his hair; but not the less the old king un

affrayed

Turned on him and for that fell stroke a worse exchange repaid;

For before Wonred's nimble son could deal another

blow

Atwain the helmet on his head the old man cleft, and low

*

Hrethlings,' i.e. Goths, the people of Hrethel, the father of Higelac.

On earth fell Wulf all stained with blood; but not yet

doomed to die,

With grievous wound he 'scaped.

When there he saw his brother lie

Eofor-brave thane of Higelac-broke down with his broad blade

O'er buckler wall the eoten-helm, and old sword eoten

made;

Down fell the king, the people's guard-his life was

shorn away.

Many they were who bound the wounds of kinsmen

on that day,

Quick raising them when room was made, and they the battle-field

Could hold while warrior warrior spoiled. The hilted falchion steeled,

The iron corselet, and the helm, from Ongentheow they tore,

And all the hoary leader's arms to Higelac they bore; Who took the spoil, and promised fair rewards to all

his men ;

And kept his word; the lord of Goths, when home he came again,

On Eofor and on Wulf bestowed rich treasures for the

fight

A hundred thousand's worth in land and twisted arm

lets bright;

(Since they such mighty deeds had done no man on middle-earth

For such rewards could scoff at them); and to adorn the hearth

His only daughter Higelac to Eofor gave to wife.

Lo! there the cruel hate of men, the enmity and

strife!

Therefore I ween that us with war the Swedes will

overwhelm,

Whene'er they hear our lord is dead, who kept the hoard and realm

Erewhile 'gainst every foe, when bravely Scylfing heroes fell

Fulfilled the counsel of the folk, and every way did

well.

Now haste is best that we may look upon the people's king,

And carry to the bale-fire him who gave us many a

ring!

Nor shall the goods of any man be with the warrior

burned,

For treasure yonder lies untold, and wealth too dearly

earned!

Now at the last with his own life he bought these armlets fair

Which fire shall eat and flame o'erlap. No earl shall treasure bear

For mem'ry's sake; nor maiden bright her neck with rings adorn,

But oftentimes, of gold bereft, strange lands shall tread forlorn,

Now that the leader of the host has ceased from joy

Cold at morn shall many a spear ere long With hands be grasped and brandished high! No more the harper's strain

Shall warrior wake; but swarthy ravens, busy o'er the

slain,

With clamour manifold shall tell the eagles how they

sped

At their repast, when with the wolves they battened on the dead!"

VII.

THE BURNING OF BEOWULF'S BODY.

Thus spoke the warrior bold his hateful news; nor

greatly lied

In word or weird forecast.

Uprose the band, and sadly hied With streaming tears 'neath Eagle's Ness the wonder

to behold.

There found they him who gave them rings oft in the times of old

Dead on his bier upon the sand; passed was the latest breath

Of their good lord; the warrior-king had died a wondrous death.

But first they saw a stranger thing-the loathly worm

lay low