Of Sigmund and his glorious deeds, 'the Walsings fighting bold

Far travels-wonders many-feuds and crimes—that no man knew

Save Fitela, his sister's son, in war his comrade true. Full many of the Eoten race their swords had beaten down ;

And Sigmund's name, his death-day o'er, was mighty of renown,

For he had slain-the brave in war!-the worm that kept the hoard.

'Neath the grey rock that daring deed alone the highborn lord

Had wrought; no Fitela was there; yet so did it

befall

His sword went through the wondrous worm, and struck against the wall,

And dead the dragon lay! The glorious chief had done the feat

That he the ring-hoard might enjoy as to himself seemed meet.

A ship he loaded-to her lap he bore the shining

freight;

And fire consumed the worm. In glorious deeds

was none so great

'Mong wanderers all the nations through as he, the warrior's shield.

Thus long ago he throve.*

Thereafter Heremod did yield

*See Note H.

The warfare and the power and might, and 'mong

the Jutes betrayed

Was quickly given to foeman's hands; on him long woes were laid;

To all his nobles and his folk a life-long care was he; And oft wise churls in earlier times bewailed the

venture free

Of that stout-hearted one to whom they looked for help at need ;

Hoping the son of kings should thrive, to father's rights succeed,

And keep the folk the hoard and burg, the Scyldings' native land,

And heroes' realm.

Beowulf's hand

The guilt was his! Whereas

Was trustier far to all mankind and friends!'

And thus the while

Racing upon their steeds did they the yellow path

beguile.

VII.

THE REJOICINGS AT HEOROT.

Now worn away was morning light while flocked stout-hearted men

There in the lofty house that they the wondrous thing might ken.

From bride-bower* forth the King himself, for virtues high renowned,

Came glorious, lord of hoarded rings, with all his nobles round;

And with him o'er the mead-path trod, among her maids, the Queen.

Into the hall he went and stood the pillars high

between ;

On Grendel's arm he looked, and on the steep roof gilded bright,

And said: "Let thanks be given to God forthwith for this blest sight!!

Much trouble have I undergone and grief at Grendel's

hand;

But wonders upon wonders aye are wrought at God's command.

Not long ago no hope had I of comfort in my woe

* 'Brýd-búr,' the dwelling-house of the king and probably of his personal attendants.

Through life's long days, when this fair hall with gore and blood did flow;

And sorrows wrung my Witan all; from devil, foe, and sprite

This stronghold of the folk they wist not how to guard aright.

Now in the strength of God a man the mighty deed has wrought

Which hitherto we could not do with all our wisest

thought.

Lo! she may say-if yet she lives, the maid who bore such son

Among mankind—that in her travail God has kindly

done!

And now Beowulf, best of men! I'll love thee while

I live

Ev'n as a son. Our new-made bond hold fast! All I can give

Of worldly joys thou shalt not lack. Full oft have I for less

Reward and hoarded treasure dealt to warriors worse

in stress;

Thy glory by the deeds thou'st done shall live for

evermore,

And may th' Almighty do thee good as He has done before!"

Then spake Beowulf, Ecgtheow's son: "Right willingly this feat

Did we perform, and stout of heart the monster's power did meet.

Yet would I rather thou thyself hadst seen in all his

pride

The fallen foe. I thought to have him fast in fetters

tied,

On death-bed struggling for his life, within my handgrip laid,

And not that he should 'scape! But hinder him, since God forbade,

I could not; all too weak my grasp to hold the deadly foe!

Too strong was he upon his feet. Yet here did he

forego

His life's defence, and left his shoulder, hand, and arm behind;

Small comfort has he bought withal-most wretched of mankind!

Not longer shall he live for that-sin-laden, working

ill

Pangs hold him fast in deadly grasp, bale's fetters he

doth fill,

And there all stained with guilt must he the awful doom abide

As the Creator glorious shall unto him decide."

More silent then was Ecglaf's son,* no vaunting words spake he

Of warlike deeds, when pressing forward nobles all

could see

On the high roof the fingers dread won by Beowulf's

might.

* Hunferd.