'Then he goeth to the sleeping-place and chanteth a sorrow-song,
the one for the other. And all too spacious seemed to him the fields
and the dwelling-house. So the Prince of the Geats bore welling
heart-sorrow after Herebald's death, nor a whit could he requite the
feud on the murderer, nor visit his hate on that warrior with loathly
deeds, though by no means was he dear to him. He then forsook the joys
of life because of that sorrow-wound which befell him, and chose the
light of God, and left to his sons land and towns when he departed
this life as a rich man doth. Then was there strife and struggle
between the Swedes and the Geats, and over the wide seas there was
warfare between them, a hardy battle-striving when Hrethel met with his
death. And the children of Ongentheow were brave and battle-fierce,
and would not keep the peace on the high seas, but round about
Hreosnaborg they often worked terrible and dire distress. And my
kinsmen wrought vengeance for that feud and crime as all men know,
though the other bought his life with a hard bargain. And war was
threatening Hæthcyn the lord of the Geats. Then I heard tell that
on the morrow one brother the other avenged on the slayer with the
edge of the sword, whereas Ongentheow [72] seeketh out Eofor. The
war-helmet was shattered, and the Ancient of the Swedes fell prone,
all sword-pale. And well enough the hand kept in mind the feud and
withheld not the deadly blow. And I yielded him back in the warfare
the treasures he gave me with the flashing sword, as was granted to
me. And he gave me land and a dwelling and a pleasant country. And
he had no need to seek among the Gifthas or the Spear-Danes or in
Sweden a worse war-wolf, or to buy one that was worthy.
'And I would always be before him in the troop, alone in the front
of the battle, and so for ever will I be striving, whilst this sword
endureth, that earlier and later has often stood me in good stead,
since the days when for doughtiness I was a hand-slayer to Day
Raven the champion of the Hugs. Nor was he fated to bring ornaments
or breast-trappings to the Frisian King, but he the guardian of
the standard, he the Atheling, fell on the battle-field, all too
quickly. Nor was the sword-edge his bane, but the battle-grip broke
the whelmings of his heart and the bones of his body. Now shall my
sword-edge, my hand and hard weapon, be fighting for the hoard.'
Beowulf moreover now for the last time spake these boastful words: 'In
many a war I risked my life in the days of my youth, yet still will I
seek a feud, I the old guardian of the people will work a glorious deed
if the wicked scather cometh out from his earth-palace to seek me.'
Then he saluted for the last time each of the warriors, the brave
wearers of helmets, the dear companions. 'I would not carry a sword
or weapon against the dragon if I knew how else I might maintain my
boast against the monster, as I formerly did against Grendel. But
in this conflict I expect the hot battle-fire, both breath and
poison. Therefore I have both shield and byrny. I will not flee from
the warder of the barrow a foot's-space, but it shall be with me at
the wall of the barrow as Weird shall direct, who created all men. I
am strong in soul so that I will refrain from boasting against the
war-flier. Await ye on the barrow guarded by byrnies, O ye warriors in
armour, and see which of us two will better survive his wounds after
the battle-rush. This is no journey for you nor fitting for any man
save only for me, that he should share a conflict with the monster
and do deeds worthy of an earl. I will gain possession of the gold
by my courage, or battle and deadly evil shall take away your lord.'
Then the strong warrior, hard under helm, arose beside his shield and
carried his shirt of mail under the rocky cliffs and trusted in the
strength of himself alone. Nor was that a coward's journey. Then
Beowulf, possessed of manly virtues, who had escaped in many a
conflict and crashing of battle when men encountered on foot, saw
standing by the wall of the barrow an arch of rock, and a stream
broke out thence from the barrow, and the whelming of that river
was hot with battle-fires. Nor could he survive any while near to
the hoard unburnt because of the flame of the dragon. Then in a fury
the Prince of the Weder-Geats let a torrent of words escape from his
breast and the stout-hearted one stormed. And his war-clear voice
resounded under the hoar cliffs. And hatred was stirred, for the
guardian of the hoard recognized well the voice of Beowulf. And that
was no time to be seeking friendship. And the breath of the monster,
the hot battle-sweat, came forth from the rock at the first and
the earth resounded. The warrior, the Lord of the Geats, raised his
shield under the barrow against the terrible sprite. Now the heart of
the dragon was stirred up to seek the conflict. The good war-king had
formerly drawn his sword, the ancient heirloom, not slow of edge. And
each of them who intended evil was a terror the one to the other. And
the stern-minded one, he the Prince of friendly rulers, stood by his
steep shield, and he and the dragon fell quickly together. Beowulf
waited warily all in his war-gear. Then the flaming monster bent as
he charged, hastening to his doom. The shield well protected life and
body of the famous warrior for a lesser while than he had willed it
if he was to be wielding victory in that contest on the first day;
but Weird had not so fated it. And the Lord of the Geats uplifted his
hand, and struck at the horribly bright one heavy with heirlooms,
so that the edge stained with blood gave way on the bone and bit
in less strongly than its master had need of when pressed by the
business. Then after the battle-swing the guardian of the barrow was
rough-minded and cast forth slaughter-fire. Battle-flames flashed
far and wide. And the son of the Geats could not boast of victory
in the conflict. The sword had failed him, naked in the battle,
as was unfitting for so well tempered a steel. And it was not easy
for the famous son of Ecgtheow to give up possession of the bottom
of the sea, and that he should against his will dwell in some place
far otherwhere, as must each man let go these fleeting days sooner or
later. And not long after this Beowulf and the monster met together
again. The guardian of the hoard took good heart, and smoke was fuming
in his breast. And fierce were his sufferings as the flames embraced
him, he who before had ruled over the folk. Nor at all in a troop
did his hand-comrades stand round him, that warrior of Athelings,
showing courage in the battle, but they fled into a wood their lives
to be saving. And the mind of one of them was surging with sorrows,
for to him whose thoughts are pure, friendship cannot ever change.