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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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90 CHAPTER XXXVII The Scop chants how Wiglaf succeeded in piercing the Dragon in the belly (where the hide was softer and where probably there were no protecting scales); and how the dying Beowulf then cut him down the middle with his war-knife. And so an end to the Dragon. But Beowulf sat down a little before the cavern’s entrance, while Wiglaf ministered to him. Then he spoke, reconciled to death, because he felt he had lived the good life, as defender of his homeland, as a man of his word, and as one who had not murdered his kinsmen (as so many chiefs and kings used to do). And he bade Wiglaf go and fetch forth, some of the treasure. Then at the need of Beowulf, as I heard tell, The Jarlman upstanding proved his prowess well, His craft and his keenness, as his indeed by birth. He made not for the Monster’s head; but in his will and His hand was all but burnt away, the while he helped his Kin, As pierce he did the flamy Drake from under, up and in, This Hero in his harness. Deep the sword it ran, Gleaming and gold-dight. And the fire began To slacken thereafter. The King himself once more Girt his wits together. His war-knife he drew, Biting and battle-sharp, which on his sark he wore. The Weder down the middle then slit the Worm in two. So they felled the Dragon, the fiery head and wings. The dauntless twain the Pest had slain, Kinsman-Aethelings. Each warrior it behooveth like Wiglaf to be, Each thane at need of liege-lord. But for the King was this The last of victor-hours by any deed of his, The last of work in world here. The wound he had to dree From the Snake of under-earth began to burn and swell; And soon he found a poison balefully did well Deep in breast within him. Walked the King along, Till by the wall he sate him, thinking, on the mould; He looked upon the giants’ works,- the earth-house old With arches there-under on posts stone-strong Then with hands his Wiglaf, retainer without peer, Laved him with water, his Overlord dear, Laved the bleeding Hero, battle-worn and drear, And loosened him his helmet. Beowulf replied, Spake, in spite of deadly wound pitifully wide; Well he weened his time was come, his earth-joys passed, His tale of days all taken, and death anearing fast: “Now would I give over, now unto my son, To offspring, my war-weeds, if me were granted one An heir from my body, to wear them when I died. |
