Part XXXIII

"THEN he goes to his chamber, a grief-song chantsalone for his lost. Too large all seems,homestead and house. So the helmet-of-Wedershid in his heart for Herebealdwaves of woe. No way could he taketo avenge on the slayer slaughter so foul;nor e'en could he harass that hero at allwith loathing deed, though he loved him not.And so for the sorrow his soul endured,men's gladness he gave up and God's light chose.Lands and cities he left his sons(as the wealthy do) when he went from earth.There was strife and struggle 'twixt Swede and Geato'er the width of waters; war arose,hard battle-horror, when Hrethel died,and Ongentheow's offspring grewstrife-keen, bold, nor brooked o'er the seaspact of peace, but pushed their hoststo harass in hatred by Hreosnabeorh.Men of my folk for that feud had vengeance,for woful war ('tis widely known),though one of them bought it with blood of his heart,a bargain hard: for Haethcyn provedfatal that fray, for the first-of-Geats.At morn, I heard, was the murderer killedby kinsman for kinsman, with clash of sword,when Ongentheow met Eofor there.Wide split the war-helm: wan he fell,hoary Scylfing; the hand that smote himof feud was mindful, nor flinched from the death-blow.-- "For all that he gave me, my gleaming swordrepaid him at war, -- such power I wielded, --for lordly treasure: with land he entrusted me,homestead and house. He had no needfrom Swedish realm, or from Spear-Dane folk,or from men of the Gifths, to get him help, --some warrior worse for wage to buy!Ever I fought in the front of all,sole to the fore; and so shall I fightwhile I bide in life and this blade shall lastthat early and late hath loyal provedsince for my doughtiness Daeghrefn fell,slain by my hand, the Hugas' champion.Nor fared he thence to the Frisian kingwith the booty back, and breast-adornments;but, slain in struggle, that standard-bearerfell, atheling brave. Not with blade was he slain,but his bones were broken by brawny gripe,his heart-waves stilled. -- The sword-edge now,hard blade and my hand, for the hoard shall strive."Beowulf spake, and a battle-vow madehis last of all: "I have lived through manywars in my youth; now once again,old folk-defender, feud will I seek,do doughty deeds, if the dark destroyerforth from his cavern come to fight me!"Then hailed he the helmeted heroes all,for the last time greeting his liegemen dear,comrades of war: "I should carry no weapon,no sword to the serpent, if sure I knewhow, with such enemy, else my vowsI could gain as I did in Grendel's day.But fire in this fight I must fear me now,and poisonous breath; so I bring with mebreastplate and board. From the barrow's keeperno footbreadth flee I. One fight shall endour war by the wall, as Wyrd allots,all mankind's master. My mood is boldbut forbears to boast o'er this battling-flyer.-- Now abide by the barrow, ye breastplate-mailed,ye heroes in harness, which of us twainbetter from battle-rush bear his wounds.Wait ye the finish. The fight is not yours,nor meet for any but me aloneto measure might with this monster hereand play the hero. Hardily Ishall win that wealth, or war shall seize,cruel killing, your king and lord!"Up stood then with shield the sturdy champion,stayed by the strength of his single manhood,and hardy 'neath helmet his harness boreunder cleft of the cliffs: no coward's path!Soon spied by the wall that warrior chief,survivor of many a victory-fieldwhere foemen fought with furious clashings,an arch of stone; and within, a streamthat broke from the barrow. The brooklet's wavewas hot with fire. The hoard that wayhe never could hope unharmed to near,or endure those deeps, for the dragon's flame.Then let from his breast, for he burst with rage,the Weder-Geat prince a word outgo;stormed the stark-heart; stern went ringingand clear his cry 'neath the cliff-rocks gray.The hoard-guard heard a human voice;his rage was enkindled. No respite nowfor pact of peace! The poison-breathof that foul worm first came forth from the cave,hot reek-of-fight: the rocks resounded.Stout by the stone-way his shield he raised,lord of the Geats, against the loathed-one;while with courage keen that coiled foecame seeking strife. The sturdy kinghad drawn his sword, not dull of edge,heirloom old; and each of the twofelt fear of his foe, though fierce their mood.Stoutly stood with his shield high-raisedthe warrior king, as the worm now coiledtogether amain: the mailed-one waited.Now, spire by spire, fast sped and glidedthat blazing serpent. The shield protected,soul and body a shorter whilefor the hero-king than his heart desired,could his will have wielded the welcome respitebut once in his life! But Wyrd denied it,and victory's honors. -- His arm he liftedlord of the Geats, the grim foe smotewith atheling's heirloom. Its edge was turnedbrown blade, on the bone, and bit more feeblythan its noble master had need of thenin his baleful stress. -- Then the barrow's keeperwaxed full wild for that weighty blow,cast deadly flames; wide drove and farthose vicious fires. No victor's glorythe Geats' lord boasted; his brand had failed,naked in battle, as never it should,excellent iron! -- 'Twas no easy paththat Ecgtheow's honored heir must treadover the plain to the place of the foe;for against his will he must win a homeelsewhere far, as must all men, leavingthis lapsing life! -- Not long it wasere those champions grimly closed again.The hoard-guard was heartened; high heaved his breastonce more; and by peril was pressed again,enfolded in flames, the folk-commander!Nor yet about him his band of comrades,sons of athelings, armed stoodwith warlike front: to the woods they bent them,their lives to save. But the soul of onewith care was cumbered. Kinship truecan never be marred in a noble mind!