Part XXXIX

"THE bloody swath of Swedes and Geatsand the storm of their strife, were seen afar,how folk against folk the fight had wakened.The ancient king with his atheling bandsought his citadel, sorrowing much:Ongentheow earl went up to his burg.He had tested Hygelac's hardihood,the proud one's prowess, would prove it no longer,defied no more those fighting-wanderersnor hoped from the seamen to save his hoard,his bairn and his bride: so he bent him again,old, to his earth-walls. Yet after him camewith slaughter for Swedes the standards of Hygelaco'er peaceful plains in pride advancing,till Hrethelings fought in the fenced town.Then Ongentheow with edge of sword,the hoary-bearded, was held at bay,and the folk-king there was forced to sufferEofor's anger. In ire, at the kingWulf Wonreding with weapon struck;and the chieftain's blood, for that blow, in streamsflowed 'neath his hair. No fear felt he,stout old Scylfing, but straightway repaidin better bargain that bitter strokeand faced his foe with fell intent.Nor swift enough was the son of Wonredanswer to render the aged chief;too soon on his head the helm was cloven;blood-bedecked he bowed to earth,and fell adown; not doomed was he yet,and well he waxed, though the wound was sore.Then the hardy Hygelac-thane,when his brother fell, with broad brand smote,giants' sword crashing through giants'-helmacross the shield-wall: sank the king,his folk's old herdsman, fatally hurt.There were many to bind the brother's woundsand lift him, fast as fate allowedhis people to wield the place-of-war.But Eofor took from Ongentheow,earl from other, the iron-breastplate,hard sword hilted, and helmet too,and the hoar-chief's harness to Hygelac carried,who took the trappings, and truly promisedrich fee 'mid folk, -- and fulfilled it so.For that grim strife gave the Geatish lord,Hrethel's offspring, when home he came,to Eofor and Wulf a wealth of treasure,Each of them had a hundred thousandin land and linked rings; nor at less price reckonedmid-earth men such mighty deeds!And to Eofor he gave his only daughterin pledge of grace, the pride of his home.

"Such is the feud, the foeman's rage,death-hate of men: so I deem it surethat the Swedish folk will seek us homefor this fall of their friends, the fighting-Scylfings,when once they learn that our warrior leaderlifeless lies, who land and hoardever defended from all his foes,furthered his folk's weal, finished his coursea hardy hero. -- Now haste is best,that we go to gaze on our Geatish lord,and bear the bountiful breaker-of-ringsto the funeral pyre. No fragments merelyshall burn with the warrior. Wealth of jewels,gold untold and gained in terror,treasure at last with his life obtained,all of that booty the brands shall take,fire shall eat it. No earl must carrymemorial jewel. No maiden fairshall wreathe her neck with noble ring:nay, sad in spirit and shorn of her gold,oft shall she pass o'er paths of exilenow our lord all laughter has laid aside,all mirth and revel. Many a spearmorning-cold shall be clasped amain,lifted aloft; nor shall lilt of harpthose warriors wake; but the wan-hued raven,fain o'er the fallen, his feast shall praiseand boast to the eagle how bravely he atewhen he and the wolf were wasting the slain."

So he told his sorrowful tidings,and little he lied, the loyal manof word or of work. The warriors rose;sad, they climbed to the Cliff-of-Eagles,went, welling with tears, the wonder to view.Found on the sand there, stretched at rest,their lifeless lord, who had lavished ringsof old upon them. Ending-dayhad dawned on the doughty-one; death had seizedin woful slaughter the Weders' king.There saw they, besides, the strangest being,loathsome, lying their leader near,prone on the field. The fiery dragon,fearful fiend, with flame was scorched.Reckoned by feet, it was fifty measuresin length as it lay. Aloft erewhileit had revelled by night, and anon come back,seeking its den; now in death's sure clutchit had come to the end of its earth-hall joys.By it there stood the stoups and jars;dishes lay there, and dear-decked swordseaten with rust, as, on earth's lap resting,a thousand winters they waited there.For all that heritage huge, that goldof bygone men, was bound by a spell,so the treasure-hall could be touched by noneof human kind, -- save that Heaven's King,God himself, might give whom he would,Helper of Heroes, the hoard to open, --even such a man as seemed to him meet.