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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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78 Fare afar no longer on the hero’s frame. Never joy of harp now, the glee-wood’s game; Never now the good hawk swingeth through the hall; Never now the swift horse beateth court or stall; Of my kith hath battle-death sent... forth... all.” Thus, with soul of sorrow, alone he mourned the rest; By day and night he wandered, blitheless of breast, Till waves of death o’erwhelmed him. His Hoard of dead delight That old Dusk- Scather, who flieth in the night, Enfolded in fire, found all open there That naked Poison-Dragon, who, burning through the air, Seeketh out the barrows. Him the folk on fold Dreadeth very sorely. He needs must seek, I’m told, For hoards within the earth and guard the heathen gold, Worm of many winters-no good thereby gets he! So this Plague-of-people for winters hundreds three, This Drake so huge and mighty, held within the ground His own hoard-cavern, until the man who found Roused his wrath in bosom. The golden tankard then He bare unto his Master; and begged for peace again Of him, his angry Owner. Thus plundered was the den, The hoard of booty lessened. The wretch received his boon. His lord now first did look upon the olden work of men; And when the Worm awoke, there was a new woe soon. Along the stone he snuffed there, this Stark-Heart dread, And found the foeman’s footprints, who with secret tread Had stepped there too forward near his Dragon-head. (Thus may a man not fey yet survive, where’er he trod, Woe and ways of exile who owns the grace of God.) Greedily the Hoard- Ward sought along the ground To find the man who gave his heart asleep so sore a wound; Hot and fierce, he circled the barrow all around; But in that barren moorland not any man he found. Yet war was in his marrow, on battle-work his thought,Whiles darted into barrow, the precious flagon sought. Soon he found that some man had searched out his gold, His treasure-trove so lordly. Though restive he and bold, The Hoard- Ward bided until the evening came; Awrath the barrow’s Keeper would requite with flame The dear drink-flagon.... Now the day was fled, To the joy of Dragon. Blazing now he sped, Folded in fire, forth from the wall. That was a beginning horrible for all; And folk within that Kingdom soon thereafter kenned In fate of their Ring-Giver thereof the awful end. |
