Beowulf

XXXV

’TWAS now, men say, in his sovran’s need

that the earl made known his noble strain,

craft and keenness and courage enduring.

Heedless of harm, though his hand was burned,

hardy-hearted, he helped his kinsman.

A little lower the loathsome beast

he smote with sword; his steel drove in

bright and burnished; that blaze began

to lose and lessen. At last the king

wielded his wits again, war-knife drew,

a biting blade by his breastplate hanging,

and the Weders’-helm smote that worm asunder,

felled the foe, flung forth its life.

So had they killed it, kinsmen both,

athelings twain: thus an earl should be

in danger’s day! — Of deeds of valor

this conqueror’s-hour of the king was last,

of his work in the world. The wound began,

which that dragon-of-earth had erst inflicted,

to swell and smart; and soon he found

in his breast was boiling, baleful and deep,

pain of poison. The prince walked on,

wise in his thought, to the wall of rock;

then sat, and stared at the structure of giants,

where arch of stone and steadfast column

upheld forever that hall in earth.

Yet here must the hand of the henchman peerless

lave with water his winsome lord,

the king and conqueror covered with blood,

with struggle spent, and unspan his helmet.

Beowulf spake in spite of his hurt,

his mortal wound; full well he knew

his portion now was past and gone

of earthly bliss, and all had fled

of his file of days, and death was near:

“I would fain bestow on son of mine

this gear of war, were given me now

that any heir should after me come

of my proper blood. This people I ruled

fifty winters. No folk-king was there,

none at all, of the neighboring clans

who war would wage me with ’warriors’-friends’ [35a]

and threat me with horrors. At home I bided

what fate might come, and I cared for mine own;

feuds I sought not, nor falsely swore

ever on oath. For all these things,

though fatally wounded, fain am I!

From the Ruler-of-Man no wrath shall seize me,

when life from my frame must flee away,

for killing of kinsmen! Now quickly go

and gaze on that hoard ’neath the hoary rock,

Wiglaf loved, now the worm lies low,

sleeps, heart-sore, of his spoil bereaved.

And fare in haste. I would fain behold

the gorgeous heirlooms, golden store,

have joy in the jewels and gems, lay down

softlier for sight of this splendid hoard

my life and the lordship I long have held.”