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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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85 The death-bale take the fighting man, your dear Prince.” Upstood beside his buckler this Man-at-arms so stark, Hardy under helmet. He bore his battle-sark Down beneath the stone-cliff. He trusted at the test The strength of one man only-not that a craven’s quest! Then he who’d passed in hardihood unscathed so many blows, So many battle-rushes where clashed afoot the foes, Espied by the wall there a stone-arch stout, Whence a stream was breaking from the barrow out. The billows of that burn there were hot with fierce fire; Nor that under-passage, to the Hoard nigher, Might he any while endure, for the Dragon’s flare. From his breast he let then a word forth fare, He, the Prince of Weder-Geats, swelling in his ire. The Stark-Heart stormed. His battle-clear tone Went aringing inward under the hoar stone. Dragon-hate was roused; the Hoard-Ward knew ‘T was indeed the voice of man. Now between the two Was no time for peace-pact! First from out the gloom Burst the breath of Monster, hot battle- fume. The hollow earth resounded. Against the grisly Guest Beowulf in barrow swung his shield to chest; Then Ring-Bow in heart was ready for the test. But the goodly War-King had drawn his sword for blow, An old- time heirloom, with edge not slow. Each with thoughts of murder felt terror of his foe. Stern of mood, the Chieftain stood against his buckler high. The Worm now arched its back amain. The Mailed One waited nigh. With body bowed it burned and glode, hastening to its fate; But shield did fend in life and limb the King so good and great A briefer while than wish of him did thereby await: For there ‘t was his to struggle the first time and day In such a wise as Wyrd denies victory in the fray. He had his hand uplifted, he, the Geatish Lord; Hard smote the grisly Foeman with the ancient sword; But, lo, its edge did crumble, brown upon the bone, And bit there too slackly for need of Hero lone, In the press of sore distress. The barrow’s Keeper then After that battle-swingeing was mad of mood again; He scattered fires of slaughter; and wide sprang the flame. The Gold-Friend of Geatmen bragged no victory-fame. His war-bill weakened, naked in the feud, As it ever ought not, an iron passing good. That was no easy faring back o’er cavern’s ground For the Kin of Ecgtheow, the far-renowned. |
