Part XIII

MANY at morning, as men have told me,warriors gathered the gift-hall round,folk-leaders faring from far and near,o'er wide-stretched ways, the wonder to view,trace of the traitor. Not troublous seemedthe enemy's end to any manwho saw by the gait of the graceless foehow the weary-hearted, away from thence,baffled in battle and banned, his stepsdeath-marked dragged to the devils' mere.Bloody the billows were boiling there,turbid the tide of tumbling waveshorribly seething, with sword-blood hot,by that doomed one dyed, who in den of the moorlaid forlorn his life adown,his heathen soul, and hell received it.Home then rode the hoary clansmenfrom that merry journey, and many a youth,on horses white, the hardy warriors,back from the mere. Then Beowulf's gloryeager they echoed, and all averredthat from sea to sea, or south or north,there was no other in earth's domain,under vault of heaven, more valiant found,of warriors none more worthy to rule!(On their lord beloved they laid no slight,gracious Hrothgar: a good king he!)From time to time, the tried-in-battletheir gray steeds set to gallop amain,and ran a race when the road seemed fair.From time to time, a thane of the king,who had made many vaunts, and was mindful of verses,stored with sagas and songs of old,bound word to word in well-knit rime,welded his lay; this warrior soonof Beowulf's quest right cleverly sang,and artfully added an excellent tale,in well-ranged words, of the warlike deedshe had heard in saga of Sigemund.Strange the story: he said it all, --the Waelsing's wanderings wide, his struggles,which never were told to tribes of men,the feuds and the frauds, save to Fitela only,when of these doings he deigned to speak,uncle to nephew; as ever the twainstood side by side in stress of war,and multitude of the monster kindthey had felled with their swords. Of Sigemund grew,when he passed from life, no little praise;for the doughty-in-combat a dragon killedthat herded the hoard: under hoary rockthe atheling dared the deed alonefearful quest, nor was Fitela there.Yet so it befell, his falchion piercedthat wondrous worm, -- on the wall it struck,best blade; the dragon died in its blood.Thus had the dread-one by daring achievedover the ring-hoard to rule at will,himself to pleasure; a sea-boat he loaded,and bore on its bosom the beaming gold,son of Waels; the worm was consumed.He had of all heroes the highest renownamong races of men, this refuge-of-warriors,for deeds of daring that decked his namesince the hand and heart of Heremodgrew slack in battle. He, swiftly banishedto mingle with monsters at mercy of foes,to death was betrayed; for torrents of sorrowhad lamed him too long; a load of careto earls and athelings all he proved.Oft indeed, in earlier days,for the warrior's wayfaring wise men mourned,who had hoped of him help from harm and bale,and had thought their sovran's son would thrive,follow his father, his folk protect,the hoard and the stronghold, heroes' land,home of Scyldings. -- But here, thanes said,the kinsman of Hygelac kinder seemedto all: the other was urged to crime!And afresh to the race, the fallow roadsby swift steeds measured! The morning sunwas climbing higher. Clansmen hastenedto the high-built hall, those hardy-minded,the wonder to witness. Warden of treasure,crowned with glory, the king himself,with stately band from the bride-bower strode;and with him the queen and her crowd of maidensmeasured the path to the mead-house fair.