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89 fierce and dire, To seek his Foes, the loathed men. Was burnt in waves of fire His buckler to the very boss. Nor yet his byrnie might Serve to shelter Wiglaf, the young Spear-Wight. So dodged the Youth right speedily his Kinsman’s shield behind, Now his own was all consumed by the fury-wind. Then again the War-King his glory called to mind, And smote he then by main-strength with his battle-glaive, That, under impulse of his hate, to the head it drave. But Naegling was shivered: failed him in the fray, This the sword of Beowulf, etched and old and gray. To him it was not given that any edge of brand Him could help at battle; so strong his arm and hand, As I have heard the story, that every blade so’er He overtaxed in swinging it, when he to battle bare A weapon wondrous hardy. ‘T would stead him not a whit. Then was the People-Scather, a third time too, This bold Fire- Dragon, mindful to do; He rushed upon the Hero, where his chance was fit, Hot and battle-ugly. All the neck he bit With his bitter fang-teeth. To death the Geat was hurt, Bloodied o’er with his own gore, in welling wave and spurt. |