his balefire a barrow high, memorial mighty.
Of men was he worthiest warrior wide earth o’er
the while he had joy of his jewels and burg.
Let us set out in haste now, the second time to see
and search this store of treasure, these wall-hid
wonders, — the way I show you, —
where, gathered near, ye may gaze your fill at broad-gold
and rings. Let the bier, soon made, be all in
order when out we come, our king and captain to carry
thither — man beloved — where
long he shall bide safe in the shelter of sovran God.”
Then the bairn of Weohstan bade command, hardy chief,
to heroes many that owned their homesteads, hither
to bring firewood from far — o’er
the folk they ruled — for the famed-one’s
funeral.
" Fire shall devour and wan flames feed on
the fearless warrior who oft stood stout in the iron-shower,
when, sped from the string, a storm of arrows shot
o’er the shield-wall: the shaft held firm,
featly feathered, followed the barb.” And
now the sage young son of Weohstan seven chose of
the chieftain’s thanes, the best he found that
band within, and went with these warriors, one of
eight, under hostile roof. In hand one bore
a lighted torch and led the way. No lots they
cast for keeping the hoard when once the warriors
saw it in hall, altogether without a guardian, lying
there lost. And little they mourned when they
had hastily haled it out, dear-bought treasure!
The dragon they cast, the worm, o’er the wall
for the wave to take, and surges swallowed that shepherd
of gems. Then the woven gold on a wain was laden
— countless quite! — and the
king was borne, hoary hero, to Hrones-Ness.
XLI
Then fashioned for him the folk of Geats firm
on the earth a funeral-pile, and hung it with helmets
and harness of war and breastplates bright, as the
boon he asked; and they laid amid it the mighty chieftain,
heroes mourning their master dear. Then on the
hill that hugest of balefires the warriors wakened.
Wood-smoke rose black over blaze, and blent was the
roar of flame with weeping (the wind was still),
till the fire had broken the frame of bones, hot at
the heart. In heavy mood their misery moaned
they, their master’s death. Wailing her
woe, the widow {41a} old, her hair upbound, for Beowulf’s
death sung in her sorrow, and said full oft she dreaded
the doleful days to come, deaths enow, and doom of
battle, and shame. — The smoke by the sky
was devoured. The folk of the Weders fashioned
there on the headland a barrow broad and high, by
ocean-farers far descried: in ten days’
time their toil had raised it, the battle-brave’s
beacon. Round brands of the pyre a wall they
built, the worthiest ever that wit could prompt in
their wisest men. They placed in the barrow that
precious booty, the rounds and the rings they had
reft erewhile, hardy heroes, from hoard in cave, —
trusting the ground with treasure of earls, gold in
the earth, where ever it lies useless to men as of
yore it was. Then about that barrow the battle-keen
rode, atheling-born, a band of twelve, lament to
make, to mourn their king, chant their dirge, and
their chieftain honor. They praised his earlship,
his acts of prowess worthily witnessed: and
well it is that men their master-friend mightily laud,
heartily love, when hence he goes from life in the
body forlorn away.
