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    XXXIX - Page 2

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    breaker-of-rings
    to the funeral pyre. No fragments merely
    shall burn with the warrior. Wealth of jewels,
    gold untold and gained in terror,
    treasure at last with his life obtained,
    all of that booty the brands shall take,
    fire shall eat it. No earl must carry
    memorial jewel. No maiden fair
    shall wreathe her neck with noble ring:
    nay, sad in spirit and shorn of her gold,
    oft shall she pass o'er paths of exile
    now our lord all laughter has laid aside,
    all mirth and revel. Many a spear
    morning-cold shall be clasped amain,
    lifted aloft; nor shall lilt of harp
    those warriors wake; but the wan-hued raven,
    fain o'er the fallen, his feast shall praise
    and boast to the eagle how bravely he ate
    when he and the wolf were wasting the slain."

    So he told his sorrowful tidings,
    and little[4] he lied, the loyal man
    of word or of work. The warriors rose;
    sad, they climbed to the Cliff-of-Eagles,
    went, welling with tears, the wonder to view.
    Found on the sand there, stretched at rest,
    their lifeless lord, who had lavished rings
    of old upon them. Ending-day
    had dawned on the doughty-one; death had seized
    in woful slaughter the Weders' king.
    There saw they, besides, the strangest being,
    loathsome, lying their leader near,
    prone on the field. The fiery dragon,
    fearful fiend, with flame was scorched.
    Reckoned by feet, it was fifty measures
    in length as it lay. Aloft erewhile
    it had revelled by night, and anon come back,
    seeking its den; now in death's sure clutch
    it had come to the end of its earth-hall joys.
    By it there stood the stoups and jars;
    dishes lay there, and dear-decked swords
    eaten with rust, as, on earth's lap resting,
    a thousand winters they waited there.
    For all that heritage huge, that gold
    of bygone men, was bound by a spell,[5]
    so the treasure-hall could be touched by none
    of human kind, -- save that Heaven's King,
    God himself, might give whom he would,
    Helper of Heroes, the hoard to open, --
    even such a man as seemed to him meet.

    [1] The line may mean: till Hrethelings stormed on the hedged
    shields, -- i.e. the shield-wall or hedge of defensive war --
    Hrethelings, of course, are Geats. [2] Eofor, brother to Wulf
    Wonreding. [3] Sc. "value in" hides and the weight of the gold.
    [4] Not at all. [5] Laid on it when it was put in the barrow.
    This spell, or in our days the "curse," either prevented
    discovery or brought dire ills on the finder and taker.
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