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.
XXXI
Then the baleful fiend its fire belched out,
and bright homes burned. The blaze stood high
all landsfolk frighting. No living thing would
that loathly one leave as aloft it flew. Wide
was the dragon’s warring seen, its fiendish
fury far and near, as the grim destroyer those Geatish
people hated and hounded. To hidden lair, to
its hoard it hastened at hint of dawn. Folk of
the land it had lapped in flame, with bale and brand.
In its barrow it trusted, its battling and bulwarks:
that boast was vain!
