THAT way he went with no will of his own
in danger of life, to the dragon’s hoard
but for pressure of peril, some prince’s thane.
He fled in fear the fatal scourge
seeking shelter, a sinful man
and entered in. At the awful sight
tottered that guest, and terror seized him
yet the wretched fugitive rallied anon
from fright and fear ere he fled away
and took the cup from that treasure-hoard.
Of such besides there was store enough
heirlooms old, the earth below
which some earl forgotten, in ancient years
left the last of his lofty race
heedfully there had hidden away
dearest treasure. For death of yore
had hurried all hence; and he alone
left to live, the last of the clan
weeping his friends, yet wished to bide
warding the treasure, his one delight
though brief his respite. The barrow, new-ready
to strand and sea-waves stood anear
hard by the headland, hidden and closed
there laid within it his lordly heirlooms
and heaped hoard of heavy gold
that warden of rings. Few words he spake
Now hold thou, earth, since heroes may not
what earls have owned! Lo, erst from thee
brave men brought it! But battle-death seized
and cruel killing my clansmen all
robbed them of life and a liegeman’s joys.
None have I left to lift the sword
or to cleanse the carven cup of price
beaker bright. My brave are gone.
And the helmet hard, all haughty with gold
shall part from its plating. Polishers sleep
who could brighten and burnish the battle-mask
and those weeds of war that were wont to brave
over bicker of shields the bite of steel
rust with their bearer. The ringed mail
fares not far with famous chieftain
at side of hero! No harp’s delight
no glee-wood’s gladness! No good hawk now
flies through the hall! Nor horses fleet
stamp in the burgstead! Battle and death
the flower of my race have reft away.
Mournful of mood, thus he moaned his woe
alone, for them all, and unblithe wept
by day and by night, till death’s fell wave
o’erwhelmed his heart. His hoard-of-bliss
that old ill-doer open found
who, blazing at twilight the barrows haunteth
naked foe-dragon flying by night
folded in fire: the folk of earth
dread him sore. ’Tis his doom to seek
hoard in the graves, and heathen gold
to watch, many-wintered: nor wins he thereby
Powerful this plague-of-the-people thus
held the house of the hoard in earth
three hundred winters; till One aroused
wrath in his breast, to the ruler bearing
that costly cup, and the king implored
for bond of peace. So the barrow was plundered
borne off was booty. His boon was granted
that wretched man; and his ruler saw
first time what was fashioned in far-off days.
When the dragon awoke, new woe was kindled.
O’er the stone he snuffed. The stark-heart found
footprint of foe who so far had gone
in his hidden craft by the creature’s head.
So may the undoomed easily flee
evils and exile, if only he gain
the grace of The Wielder! — That warden of gold
o’er the ground went seeking, greedy to find
the man who wrought him such wrong in sleep.
Savage and burning, the barrow he circled
all without; nor was any there
none in the waste.... Yet war he desired
was eager for battle. The barrow he entered
sought the cup, and discovered soon
that some one of mortals had searched his treasure
his lordly gold. The guardian waited
ill-enduring till evening came
boiling with wrath was the barrow’s keeper
and fain with flame the foe to pay
for the dear cup’s loss. — Now day was fled
as the worm had wished. By its wall no more
was it glad to bide, but burning flew
folded in flame: a fearful beginning
for sons of the soil; and soon it came
in the doom of their lord, to a dreadful end.