his battle-bill, so that it stood in the [dragon's] head, driven by hate. Nægling broke: Beowulf's sword failed in the fight, ancient and gray-marked. It was not given him that edges of irons might help him in battle; that hand was too strong, which in its swing overtaxed every sword, as I have heard, when he bore to the fight a weapon wondrously hard: no whit was it the better for him. Then was the people-scather, the fierce fire-dragon, for a third time mindful of the feud-rushed upon the brave one where room offered him, hot and battle-grim, and encircled all his neck with biting bones. He was made bloody with life-blood; the blood welled in waves.

Then I heard that at the folk-king's need the earl showed endless courage, craft and keenness, as was natural to him. He heeded not the [dragon's] head (but the brave man's hand was burned where he helped his kinsman), so that he smote the spiteguest a little downwards, the man in armor, in such wise that the sword dived in, bright and plated, and the fire began to wane afterwards. Then the king himself again had use of his wits, drew his slaughter-knife, biting and battle-sharp, that he wore on his burny: the helm of the Weders cut the worm in two in the middle. They felled the foe, strength drove out life, and they had both killed him, the kinsman-athelings; such a man should a warrior be, a thane at need.

For the prince that was the last victory-while, through his own deeds, of his work in the world. The wound which the earthdragon had given him erewhile began to burn and swell; he soon found that baleful venom was welling in his breast, poison within him. Then the atheling went to sit on a seat by the wall, wisethinking, and looked upon the work of giants, how the stonearches, firm on their columns, hold up the everlasting earth-house within. With his hand the thane boundlessly good laved him with water, sword-gory as he was, the famous prince, his friend-lord, battle-sated; and he loosened his helmet. Beowulf made speechhe spoke in spite of his hurt, the wound deathly pitiful; he knew well that he had spent his days' while of earth's joy; then was all the number of his days departed, death nearer than could be told: "Now I would give my war-weeds to my son, if it were so given me that any heir belonging to my body came after me. Fifty winters have I held this people; there was not one folk-king of the neighbors who durst greet me with swords, beset me with dread. I bided in my home for the times that were set, held well

what was mine; neither sought wily spites nor swore me many oaths in unrighteousness. Sick with life-wounds I may have joy of all that: therefore the Ruler of men need not blame me for murder of kinsmen when my life goes from my body. Now do thou go quickly and see the hoard under the hoary stone, dear Wiglaf, now that the worm lies still, sleeps sorely wounded, bereft of its riches. Be now in haste, that I may get sight of the ancient wealth, the gold-treasure, may see well the bright cunning gems, so that I may the softer, after the wealth of treasures, let go my life and my people, that I have long held."

Then I heard that the son of Weohstan after these word-sayings quickly obeyed his wounded lord, battle-sick: bore his ring-mail, his braided battle-sark, under the barrow's roof. He that exulted in victory, the brave kinsman-thane, saw when he went by the seat many treasure-jewels, gold glittering as it lay on the ground, a wonder on the wall, and the den of the worm, the old twilightflyer. Flagons stood there, vessels of former men, wanting the burnisher, bereft of adornments. There was many a helmet, old and rusty, many an arm-ring cunningly twisted. A treasure, gold on the ground, may easily befool any one of mankind, hide it he who will. Likewise he saw resting there a banner all golden, high over the hoard, greatest wonder of handiwork, woven by handcraft; from it came a gleam, so that he could see the ground-plain, look over the jewels. There was not a sign of the worm, but the sword's edge had taken him. Then I heard that a single man plundered the hoard in the mound, the old work of giants—at his own will loaded into his lap cups and dishes; he also took the banner, brightest of beacons. The old lord's bill-its edge was iron-had erewhile scathed him who was a long while care-taker of these treasures, and waged the flame-terror hot before the hoard, fierce-welling at midnight, till he died the bloody death. The messenger was in haste, yearning to go back, the jewels with him; a longing fretted him to know whether, in his high spirits, he should find the prince of the Weders, sick and strengthless, alive in the meadow-place where he had left him before.

With the treasures he found the great prince, his lord, all bloody, at the end of life; he began again to sprinkle him with water, till a word's point broke through his breast-hoard. Beowulf spoke-the old man in his sorrow looked upon the gold: "For these jewels which I here gaze upon I utter thanks, in words, to the Lord of all, the King of Glory, everlasting Lord, that I might get such

things for my people ere my death-day. Now that I have sold for the hoard of treasures the laying-down of my old life, do still the people's need; I may not be here longer. Bid the great in battle make a mound, bright after the funeral fire, at the sea-cape; it shall be lifted high on Whale's Ness as a reminder to my people, so that seafarers who drive high ships from afar over the mists of the floods shall call it henceforth Beowulf's Barrow." The boldminded prince took from his neck the golden ring-mail: he gave to the thane, the young spear-warrior, his gold-hued helmet, his ring and his buray, and bade him use them well. "Thou art the last left of our kin, the Wægmundings; fate has swept off all my kinsmen to the fixed doom, the earls in their strength; I must after them." That was the last word from the old man's breastthoughts ere he met the fire, the hot flame-wellings: his soul went from his breast to seek the reward of the steadfast in truth.

Now the wise son of Weohstan called from the crowd seven of the king's thanes together, the best, and went, one of eight, under the foe's roof; one warrior bore in his hand a fire-gleam, and went in front. Then was no taking of lots who should plunder that hoard, when the men saw any part staying in the hall without a warden, lying likely to be lost; little did any mourn that they bore out the dear treasures hastily. They shoved the dragon also, the worm, over the cliff-wall-let the wave take, the flood enfold, the keeper of the jewels. There was twisted gold loaded on a wain, altogether uncounted. The atheling, the hoary warrior, was borne to Whale's Ness.

Then the Geat people made ready for him a funeral pile firm on the earth, hung with helmets, battle-boards, and bright burnies as he had begged; there in the midst the heroes lamenting laid the great prince, their dear lord. Then the warriors began to kindle on the barrow the greatest of funeral fires; the wood-smoke arose swart above the glow, the flame roared, mingled with weeping (the tumult of winds was laid), till it had broken the bone-house, hot on the breast. Sad in their souls and with heart-care they bemoaned their lord's death; likewise his wife, in care and sorrow, with hair bound up, [sang for Beowulf] a sad lay, said over and over that she [dreaded] for herself hard [harm-days], many slaughter-falls, [a warrior's] terror, shame and [a slave's need]. Heaven swallowed the smoke. Then the Weder-people made a mound on the cliff, that was high and broad, widely seen by wave

farers, and built in ten days the beacon of him that was strong in battle; what was left of the brands they enclosed with a wall, as very wise men might most worthily devise it. They put in the barrow rings and jewels, all such adornments as men of warlike mind had taken erewhile from the hoard; they let the earth hold the treasure of earls, gold in the grit, where it now lives still, as useless to men as it was before. Then about the mound rode battle-bold children of athelings, twelve in all: they would bemoan their cares, lament for the king, utter the word-lay and speak about the man; they praised his earlship and doughtily judged of his strength-work, as it is meet that a man honor his friend-lord in words and love him in heart when he must go forth from the fleeting body. So the Geat people, his hearth-sharers, bemoaned the fall of their lord. They said that he was a world-king, of men the mildest and kindest to men, gentlest to the people and most eager for praise.

CHARMS

I

Against a swarm of bees. Take earth, throw it over with thy right hand under thy right foot, and say: "I take under foot; I have found it. Lo, earth avails against every creature, and against mischief and against forgetfulness, and against the great tongue of man." Throw gravel over when they swarm, and say: "Sit ye, victory-women, sink to earth! never shall ye fly wild to wood! be ye as mindful of my good as is every man of food and land!"

Against a sudden stitch.

II

Feverfew, and the red nettle that grows in through the house, and dock; boil in butter.

Loud were they, lo, loud, when over the hill they rode, were of one mind when over the land they rode! Do thou shield thee now, that thou mayest escape this spite. Out, little spear, if herein it be! I stood under linden, under a light shield, where the mighty women made ready their might, and they sent yelling spears; I will send them another again, a flying arrow against them in front: out, little spear, if herein it be! There sat a smith and forged a little knife, wounded with iron strongly: out, little spear, if herein it be! Six smiths sat, slaughter-spears wrought: out, spear-not in, spear! if herein be a piece of iron, witches' work, it shall melt! If thou wert shot in skin, or wert shot in flesh, or

wert shot in blood, or wert shot in limb, never be thy life worn out! If it were shot of gods, or were shot of elves, or were shot of witches, now I will help thee: this to thee for cure of gods' shot, this to thee for cure of elves' shot, this to thee for cure of witches' shot: I will help thee. Flee to the mountain-head! Be thou whole! Lord help thee!

Take then the knife, put it in the liquid.

THE FRISIAN WIFE

Dear to the Frisian wife is the welcome one, when the ship stands still his keel is come, and her man is come home, her own provider; and she calls him in, washes his clothing stained with sea-weed, and gives him new garments. Sweet is it on land for

him whom his love constrains.

RIDDLE

THE MOON AND THE SUN

I saw a wight wondrously bearing booty between horns, a bright air-vessel cunningly geared bearing booty home from the warjourney he would build him a bower in the burg, fashion it skilfully if so he might. Then came over the wall's roof a wondrous wight who is known to all earth-dwellers: he took away then the booty, and drove the wretch home against his will; went himself thence to go west with his wars, sped him forth. Dust rose to heaven, dew fell on earth, night came forth: no man knew after of that wight's journey.

THE WANDERER

Oft a lonely man looks for favor, for the Maker's mercy, though with heart of care over the water-ways he must long stir with his hands the rime-cold sea, follow the paths of the banished: fate is full relentless!

So quoth a wanderer, mindful of his hardships, of cruel slaughters and the fall of friendly kinsmen : "Often alone at each dawn must I talk of my care: there is now none living to whom I dare speak my heart clearly. In sooth I know that for an earl it is a noble custom that he bind fast his heart-locker, hold his hoardchamber, think as he will. The weary mind may not withstand fate, nor the sad heart frame help: wherefore yearners for glory oft bind the dreary heart fast in their breast-chambers. So must