Beowulf - Chapter 38: Wiglaf Plunders the Dragon's Den - Beowulf's d**h lyrics

Then heard I that Wihstan's son very quickly, These words being uttered, heeded his liegelord Wounded and war-sick, went in his armor, His well-woven ring-mail, 'neath the roof of the barrow. Then the trusty retainer treasure-gems many Victorious saw, when the seat he came near to, Gold-treasure sparkling spread on the bottom, Wonder on the wall, and the worm-creature's cavern, The ancient dawn-flier's, vessels a-standing, Cups of the ancients of cleansers bereavèd, Robbed of their ornaments: there were helmets in numbers, Old and rust-eaten, arm-bracelets many, Artfully woven. Wealth can easily, Gold on the sea-bottom, turn into vanity Each one of earthmen, arm him who pleaseth! And he saw there lying an all-golden banner High o'er the hoard, of hand-wonders greatest, Linkèd with lacets: a light from it sparkled, That the floor of the cavern he was able to look on, To examine the j**els. Sight of the dragon Not any was offered, but edge offcarried him. Then I heard that the hero the hoard-treasure plundered, The giant-work ancient reaved in the cavern, Bare on his bosom the beakers and platters, As himself would fain have it, and took off the standard, The brightest of beacons; the bill had erst injured (Its edge was of iron), the old-ruler's weapon, Him who long had watched as ward of the j**els, Who fire-terror carried hot for the treasure, Rolling in battle, in middlemost darkness, Till murdered he perished. The messenger hastened, Not loth to return, hurried by j**els: Curiosity urged him if, excellent-mooded, Alive he should find the lord of the Weders Mortally wounded, at the place where he left him. 'Mid the j**els he found then the famous old chieftain, His liegelord belovèd, at his life's-end gory: He thereupon 'gan to lave him with water, Till the point of his word piercèd his breast-hoard. Beowulf spake (the gold-gems he noticed), The old one in sorrow: “For the j**els I look on Thanks do I utter for all to the Ruler, Wielder of Worship, with words of devotion, The Lord everlasting, that He let me such treasures Gain for my people ere d**h overtook me. Since I've bartered the agèd life to me granted For treasure of j**els, attend ye henceforward The wants of the war-thanes; I can wait here no longer. The battle-famed bid ye to build them a grave-hill, Bright when I'm burned, at the brim-current's limit; As a memory-mark to the men I have governed, Aloft it shall tower on Whale's-Ness uprising, That earls of the ocean hereafter may call it Beowulf's barrow, those who barks ever-dashing From a distance shall drive o'er the darkness of waters.” The bold-mooded troop-lord took from his neck then The ring that was golden, gave to his liegeman, The youthful war-hero, his gold-flashing helmet, His collar and war-mail, bade him well to enjoy them: “Thou art latest left of the line of our kindred, Of Wægmunding people: Weird hath offcarried All of my kinsmen to the Creator's glory, Earls in their vigor: I shall after them fare.” 'Twas the aged liegelord's last-spoken word in His musings of spirit, ere he mounted the fire, The battle-waves burning: from his bosom departed His soul to seek the sainted ones' glory.