| |
| 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, | 5 |
| 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. | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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 heapéd hoard of heavy gold | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| 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 ringéd mail | 40 |
| 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 | 45 |
| 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 | 50 |
| 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 | 55 |
| 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 | 60 |
| 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 | 65 |
| 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.— | 70 |
| 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. | 75 |
| 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 | 80 |
| 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 | 85 |
| 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, | 90 |
| in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end. | |
| |
