{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/beo/beo38.htm","path":"neu/beo/beo38.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/beo/beo38.htm","text":"IT was heavy hap for that hero young\non his lord beloved to look and find him\nlying on earth with life at end,\nsorrowful sight. But the slayer too,\nawful earth-dragon, empty of breath,\nlay felled in fight, nor, fain of its treasure,\ncould the writhing monster rule it more.\nFor edges of iron had ended its days,\nhard and battle-sharp, hammers' leaving;[1]\nand that flier-afar had fallen to ground\nhushed by its hurt, its hoard all near,\nno longer lusty aloft to whirl\nat midnight, making its merriment seen,\nproud of its prizes: prone it sank\nby the handiwork of the hero-king.\nForsooth among folk but few achieve,\n-- though sturdy and strong, as stories tell me,\nand never so daring in deed of valor, --\nthe perilous breath of a poison-foe\nto brave, and to rush on the ring-board hall,\nwhenever his watch the warden keeps\nbold in the barrow. Beowulf paid\nthe price of death for that precious hoard;\nand each of the foes had found the end\nof this fleeting life.\nBefell erelong\nthat the laggards in war the wood had left,\ntrothbreakers, cowards, ten together,\nfearing before to flourish a spear\nin the sore distress of their sovran lord.\nNow in their shame their shields they carried,\narmor of fight, where the old man lay;\nand they gazed on Wiglaf. Wearied he sat\nat his sovran's shoulder, shieldsman good,\nto wake him with water.[2] Nowise it availed.\nThough well he wished it, in world no more\ncould he barrier life for that leader-of-battles\nnor baffle the will of all-wielding God.\nDoom of the Lord was law o'er the deeds\nof every man, as it is to-day.\nGrim was the answer, easy to get,\nfrom the youth for those that had yielded to fear!\nWiglaf spake, the son of Weohstan, --\nmournful he looked on those men unloved:--\n\"Who sooth will speak, can say indeed\nthat the ruler who gave you golden rings\nand the harness of war in which ye stand\n-- for he at ale-bench often-times\nbestowed on hall-folk helm and breastplate,\nlord to liegemen, the likeliest gear\nwhich near of far he could find to give, --\nthrew away and wasted these weeds of battle,\non men who failed when the foemen came!\nNot at all could the king of his comrades-in-arms\nventure to vaunt, though the Victory-Wielder,\nGod, gave him grace that he got revenge\nsole with his sword in stress and need.\nTo rescue his life, 'twas little that I\ncould serve him in struggle; yet shift I made\n(hopeless it seemed) to help my kinsman.\nIts strength ever waned, when with weapon I struck\nthat fatal foe, and the fire less strongly\nflowed from its head. -- Too few the heroes\nin throe of contest that thronged to our king!\nNow gift of treasure and girding of sword,\njoy of the house and home-delight\nshall fail your folk; his freehold-land\nevery clansman within your kin\nshall lose and leave, when lords highborn\nhear afar of that flight of yours,\na fameless deed. Yea, death is better\nfor liegemen all than a life of shame!\"\n[1] What had been left or made by the hammer; well-forged.\n[2] Trying to revive him.","title":"Beowulf: Part XXXIX","type":"page"}