|
|
| THAT way he went with no will of his own, |
|
|
| in danger of life, to the dragon's hoard, |
|
|
| but for pressure of peril, some prince's thane. |
|
|
| He fled in fear the fatal scourge, |
|
|
| seeking shelter, a sinful man, |
|
|
| and entered in. At the awful sight |
|
|
| tottered that guest, and terror seized him; |
|
|
| yet the wretched fugitive rallied anon |
|
|
| from fright and fear ere he fled away, |
|
|
| and took the cup from that treasure-hoard. |
|
|
| Of such besides there was store enough, |
|
|
| heirlooms old, the earth below, |
|
|
| which some earl forgotten, in ancient years, |
|
|
| left the last of his lofty race, |
|
|
| heedfully there had hidden away, |
|
|
| dearest treasure. For death of yore |
|
|
| had hurried all hence; and he alone |
|
|
| left to live, the last of the clan, |
|
|
| weeping his friends, yet wished to bide |
|
|
| warding the treasure, his one delight, |
|
|
| though brief his respite. The barrow, new-ready, |
|
|
| to strand and sea-waves stood anear, |
|
|
| hard by the headland, hidden and closed; |
|
|
| there laid within it his lordly heirlooms |
|
|
| and heaped hoard of heavy gold |
|
|
| that warden of rings. Few words he spake: |
|
|
| "Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not, |
|
|
| what earls 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. |
|
|
