Beowulf

XXX

THAT way he went with no will of his own,

in danger of life, to the dragon’s hoard,

but for pressure of peril, some prince’s thane.

He fled in fear the fatal scourge,

seeking shelter, a sinful man,

and entered in. At the awful sight

tottered that guest, and terror seized him;

yet the wretched fugitive rallied anon

from fright and fear ere he fled away,

and took the cup from that treasure-hoard.

Of such besides there was store enough,

heirlooms old, the earth below,

which some earl forgotten, in ancient years,

left the last of his lofty race,

heedfully there had hidden away,

dearest treasure. For death of yore

had hurried all hence; and he alone

left to live, the last of the clan,

weeping his friends, yet wished to bide

warding the treasure, his one delight,

though brief his respite. The barrow, new-ready,

to strand and sea-waves stood anear,

hard by the headland, hidden and closed;

there laid within it his lordly heirlooms

and heaped hoard of heavy gold

that warden of rings. Few words he spake:

“Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not,

what earls have owned! Lo, erst from thee

brave men brought it! But battle-death seized

and cruel killing my clansmen all,

robbed them of life and a liegeman’s joys.

None have I left to lift the sword,

or to cleanse the carven cup of price,

beaker bright. My brave are gone.

And the helmet hard, all haughty with gold,

shall part from its plating. Polishers sleep

who could brighten and burnish the battle-mask;

and those weeds of war that were wont to brave

over bicker of shields the bite of steel

rust with their bearer. The ringed mail

fares not far with famous chieftain,

at side of hero! No harp’s delight,

no glee-wood’s gladness! No good hawk now

flies through the hall! Nor horses fleet

stamp in the burgstead! Battle and death

the flower of my race have reft away.”

Mournful of mood, thus he moaned his woe,

alone, for them all, and unblithe wept

by day and by night, till death’s fell wave

o’erwhelmed his heart. His hoard-of-bliss

that old ill-doer open found,

who, blazing at twilight the barrows haunteth,

naked foe-dragon flying by night

folded in fire: the folk of earth

dread him sore. ’Tis his doom to seek

hoard in the graves, and heathen gold

to watch, many-wintered: nor wins he thereby!

Powerful this plague-of-the-people thus

held the house of the hoard in earth

three hundred winters; till One aroused

wrath in his breast, to the ruler bearing

that costly cup, and the king implored

for bond of peace. So the barrow was plundered,

borne off was booty. His boon was granted

that wretched man; and his ruler saw

first time what was fashioned in far-off days.

When the dragon awoke, new woe was kindled.

O’er the stone he snuffed. The stark-heart found

footprint of foe who so far had gone

in his hidden craft by the creature’s head. —

So may the undoomed easily flee

evils and exile, if only he gain

the grace of The Wielder! — That warden of gold

o’er the ground went seeking, greedy to find

the man who wrought him such wrong in sleep.

Savage and burning, the barrow he circled

all without; nor was any there,

none in the waste.... Yet war he desired,

was eager for battle. The barrow he entered,

sought the cup, and discovered soon

that some one of mortals had searched his treasure,

his lordly gold. The guardian waited

ill-enduring till evening came;

boiling with wrath was the barrow’s keeper,

and fain with flame the foe to pay

for the dear cup’s loss. — Now day was fled

as the worm had wished. By its wall no more

was it glad to bide, but burning flew

folded in flame: a fearful beginning

for sons of the soil; and soon it came,

in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end.