Chapter 37: XXXVI

I HAVE heard that swiftly the son of Weohstanat wish and word of his wounded king, --war-sick warrior, -- woven mail-coat,battle-sark, bore 'neath the barrow's roof.Then the clansman keen, of conquest proud,passing the seat, {36a} saw store of jewelsand glistening gold the ground along;by the wall were marvels, and many a vesselin the den of the dragon, the dawn-flier old:unburnished bowls of bygone menreft of richness; rusty helmsof the olden age; and arm-rings manywondrously woven. -- Such wealth of gold,booty from barrow, can burden with prideeach human wight: let him hide it who will! --His glance too fell on a gold-wove bannerhigh o'er the hoard, of handiwork noblest,brilliantly broidered; so bright its gleam,all the earth-floor he easily sawand viewed all these vessels. No vestige nowwas seen of the serpent: the sword had ta'en him.Then, I heard, the hill of its hoard was reft,old work of giants, by one alone;he burdened his bosom with beakers and plateat his own good will, and the ensign took,brightest of beacons. -- The blade of his lord-- its edge was iron -- had injured deepone that guarded the golden hoardmany a year and its murder-firespread hot round the barrow in horror-billowsat midnight hour, till it met its doom.Hasted the herald, the hoard so spurred himhis track to retrace; he was troubled by doubt,high-souled hero, if haply he'd findalive, where he left him, the lord of Weders,weakening fast by the wall of the cave.So he carried the load. His lord and kinghe found all bleeding, famous chiefat the lapse of life. The liegeman againplashed him with water, till point of wordbroke through the breast-hoard. Beowulf spake,sage and sad, as he stared at the gold. --"For the gold and treasure, to God my thanks,to the Wielder-of-Wonders, with words I say,for what I behold, to Heaven's Lord,for the grace that I give such gifts to my folkor ever the day of my death be run!Now I've bartered here for booty of treasurethe last of my life, so look ye wellto the needs of my land! No longer I tarry.A barrow bid ye the battle-famed raisefor my ashes. 'Twill shine by the shore of the flood,to folk of mine memorial fairon Hrones Headland high uplifted,that ocean-wanderers oft may hailBeowulf's Barrow, as back from farthey drive their keels o'er the darkling wave."From his neck he unclasped the collar of gold,valorous king, to his vassal gave itwith bright-gold helmet, breastplate, and ring,to the youthful thane: bade him use them in joy."Thou art end and remnant of all our racethe Waegmunding name. For Wyrd hath swept them,all my line, to the land of doom,earls in their glory: I after them go."This word was the last which the wise old manharbored in heart ere hot death-wavesof balefire he chose. From his bosom fledhis soul to seek the saints' reward.