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Then he goeth to the sleeping-place and chanteth a sorrow-song, the one for the other. And all too spacious seemed to him the fields and the dwelling-house. So the Prince of the Geats bore welling heart-sorrow after Herebald’s death, nor a whit could he requite the feud on the murderer, nor visit his hate on that warrior with loathly deeds, though by no means was he dear to him. He then forsook the joys of life because of that sorrow-wound which befell him, and chose the light of God, and left to his sons land and towns when he departed this life as a rich man doth. Then was there strife and struggle between the Swedes and the Geats, and over the wide seas there was warfare between them, a hardy battle-striving when Hrethel met with his death. And the children of Ongentheow were brave and battle-fierce, and would not keep the peace on the high seas, but round about Hreosnaborg they often worked terrible and dire distress. And my kinsmen wrought vengeance for that feud and crime as all men know, though the other bought his life with a hard bargain. And war was threatening Hæthcyn the lord of the Geats. Then I heard tell that on the morrow one brother the other avenged on the slayer with the edge of the sword, whereas Ongentheow⁶⁷ seeketh out Eofor. The war-helmet was shattered, and the Ancient of the Swedes fell prone, all sword-pale. And well enough the hand kept in mind the feud and withheld not the deadly blow. And I yielded him back in the warfare the treasures he gave me with the flashing sword, as was granted to me. And he gave me land and a dwelling and a pleasant country. And he had no need to seek among the Gifthas or the Spear-Danes or in Sweden a worse war-wolf, or to buy one that was worthy.

Then he goes to the sleeping place and sings a song of sorrow, one man mourning another. The fields and the house seemed far too spacious to him. So the Prince of the Geats suffered deep sorrow after Herebald’s death. He could not avenge the killing at all, nor act on his hatred by harming the warrior who killed Herebald. Yet he had no love for that warrior. Because of the grief that wounded him, he gave up life’s joys and chose the light of God. When he left this life, he left his sons land and towns, as a rich man does. Then strife and struggle broke out between the Swedes and the Geats. Across the wide seas, they fought fierce battles after Hrethel died. Ongentheow’s children were brave and fierce in battle, and they would not keep peace on the high seas. Around Hreosnaborg, they often caused terrible suffering. My kinsmen took revenge for that feud and crime, as everyone knows, though one paid dearly with his life. War was threatening Hæthcyn, lord of the Geats. Then I heard that the next morning, one brother avenged the other, striking the killer with his sword. Ongentheow⁶⁷ sought out Eofor. The war-helmet shattered, and the aged king of the Swedes fell face down, pale from the sword’s blow. The hand remembered the feud well enough and did not hold back the deadly blow. And in battle, with my flashing sword, I repaid him for the treasures he gave me, as I was allowed. He gave me land, a home, and a pleasant country. He had no need to seek a lesser war-wolf among the Gifthas, the Spear-Danes, or in Sweden. Nor did he need to buy the service of a worthy one.

‘And I would always be before him in the troop, alone in the front of the battle, and so for ever will I be striving, whilst this sword endureth, that earlier and later has often stood me in good stead, since the days when for doughtiness I was a hand-slayer to Day Raven the champion of the Hugs. Nor was he fated to bring ornaments or breast-trappings to the Frisian King, but he the guardian of the standard, he the Atheling, fell on the battle-field, all too quickly. Nor was the sword-edge his bane, but the battle-grip broke the whelmings of his heart and the bones of his body. Now shall my sword-edge, my hand and hard weapon, be fighting for the hoard.’

‘And I would always stand ahead of him in the troop, alone at the front of the battle. And I will always keep fighting there as long as this sword lasts. It has often served me well, in earlier days and later ones. It has done so since I used my strength to kill Day Raven, champion of the Hugs, with my bare hands. Nor was he destined to bring ornaments or breast-trappings to the Frisian King. Instead, that standard-bearer, that Atheling, fell on the battlefield, all too quickly. Nor did a sword’s edge kill him. Instead, my grip in battle crushed the walls of his heart and broke the bones of his body. Now my sword’s edge, my hand and my hard weapon will fight for the hoard.’

Beowulf moreover now for the last time spake these boastful words: ‘In many a war I risked my life in the days of my youth, yet still will I seek a feud, I the old guardian of the people will work a glorious deed if the wicked scather cometh out from his earth-palace to seek me.’

Then Beowulf spoke these proud words for the last time: ‘In my youth, I risked my life in many wars. Yet I will still seek a fight, old guardian of the people that I am. I will do a glorious deed if the wicked destroyer comes out of his underground hall to face me.’

Then he saluted for the last time each of the warriors, the brave wearers of helmets, the dear companions. ‘I would not carry a sword or weapon against the dragon if I knew how else I might maintain my boast against the monster, as I formerly did against Grendel. But in this conflict I expect the hot battle-fire, both breath and poison. Therefore I have both shield and byrny. I will not flee from the warder of the barrow a foot’s-space, but it shall be with me at the wall of the barrow as Weird shall direct, who created all men. I am strong in soul so that I will refrain from boasting against the war-flier. Await ye on the barrow guarded by byrnies, O ye warriors in armour, and see which of us two will better survive his wounds after the battle-rush. This is no journey for you nor fitting for any man save only for me, that he should share a conflict with the monster and do deeds worthy of an earl. I will gain possession of the gold by my courage, or battle and deadly evil shall take away your lord.’

Then he greeted each warrior for the last time, his brave, helmeted fighters and dear companions. ‘I would carry no sword or other weapon against the dragon if I knew another way to fulfill my boast. I would face the monster as I once faced Grendel. But in this fight I expect burning battle-fire, both fiery breath and poison. So I have brought both a shield and a coat of mail. I will not retreat a single foot from the dragon guarding the burial mound. At the mound’s wall, my fate will be as Weird, who created all men, decides. My spirit is strong, so I will hold back from boasting against the flying enemy. Wait on the burial mound, warriors, protected by your coats of mail. Watch to see which of us survives his wounds better after the fierce battle. This is no task for you. No man but me should face the monster in combat and perform deeds worthy of a nobleman. I will win the gold through courage, or battle and deadly evil will take your lord from you.’

Then the strong warrior, hard under helm, arose beside his shield and carried his shirt of mail under the rocky cliffs and trusted in the strength of himself alone. Nor was that a coward’s journey. Then Beowulf, possessed of manly virtues, who had escaped in many a conflict and crashing of battle when men encountered on foot, saw standing by the wall of the barrow an arch of rock, and a stream broke out thence from the barrow, and the whelming of that river was hot with battle-fires. Nor could he survive any while near to the hoard unburnt because of the flame of the dragon. Then in a fury the Prince of the Weder-Geats let a torrent of words escape from his breast and the stout-hearted one stormed. And his war-clear voice resounded under the hoar cliffs. And hatred was stirred, for the guardian of the hoard recognized well the voice of Beowulf. And that was no time to be seeking friendship. And the breath of the monster, the hot battle-sweat, came forth from the rock at the first and the earth resounded. The warrior, the Lord of the Geats, raised his shield under the barrow against the terrible sprite. Now the heart of the dragon was stirred up to seek the conflict. The good war-king had formerly drawn his sword, the ancient heirloom, not slow of edge. And each of them who intended evil was a terror the one to the other. And the stern-minded one, he the Prince of friendly rulers, stood by his steep shield, and he and the dragon fell quickly together. Beowulf waited warily all in his war-gear. Then the flaming monster bent as he charged, hastening to his doom. The shield well protected life and body of the famous warrior for a lesser while than he had willed it if he was to be wielding victory in that contest on the first day; but Weird had not so fated it. And the Lord of the Geats uplifted his hand, and struck at the horribly bright one heavy with heirlooms, so that the edge stained with blood gave way on the bone and bit in less strongly than its master had need of when pressed by the business. Then after the battle-swing the guardian of the barrow was rough-minded and cast forth slaughter-fire. Battle-flames flashed far and wide. And the son of the Geats could not boast of victory in the conflict. The sword had failed him, naked in the battle, as was unfitting for so well tempered a steel. And it was not easy for the famous son of Ecgtheow to give up possession of the bottom of the sea, and that he should against his will dwell in some place far otherwhere, as must each man let go these fleeting days sooner or later. And not long after this Beowulf and the monster met together again. The guardian of the hoard took good heart, and smoke was fuming in his breast. And fierce were his sufferings as the flames embraced him, he who before had ruled over the folk. Nor at all in a troop did his hand-comrades stand round him, that warrior of Athelings, showing courage in the battle, but they fled into a wood their lives to be saving. And the mind of one of them was surging with sorrows, for to him whose thoughts are pure, friendship cannot ever change.

Then the strong warrior rose beside his shield, protected by his helmet. He carried his coat of mail beneath the rocky cliffs, trusting in his own strength alone. This was no coward’s journey. Beowulf was a man of courage who had survived many clashes in battles fought on foot. He saw a stone arch beside the wall of the burial mound. A stream burst from the mound, its surging waters heated by the fires of battle. Because of the dragon’s flames, he could not remain near the treasure for any time without being burned. Then, in fury, the Prince of the Weder-Geats poured out a torrent of words. The brave warrior raged, and his clear battle cry echoed beneath the gray cliffs. His cry stirred hatred, for the treasure’s guardian knew Beowulf’s voice well. This was no time to seek friendship. First, the monster’s breath, hot as the sweat of battle, burst from the rock, and the earth shook. The warrior, the Lord of the Geats, raised his shield beneath the mound against the terrible creature. Now the dragon’s heart burned for battle. The good warrior-king had already drawn his sword, an ancient heirloom with a keen edge. Each meant to harm the other, and each inspired terror in his opponent. The determined prince, foremost among friendly rulers, stood behind his upright shield. He and the dragon quickly clashed. Beowulf waited watchfully in his full battle gear. Then the flaming monster coiled as it charged, rushing toward its doom. The shield protected the famous warrior’s life and body, but for less time than he had wanted. He needed longer protection if he was to win the fight that first day. But Weird, the power of fate, had not decreed such a victory. The Lord of the Geats raised his hand and struck the terrifying, gleaming creature, laden with ancient treasures. But the bloodstained blade gave way against bone. It cut less deeply than its master needed in that desperate moment. After the sword stroke, the mound’s guardian grew savage and spewed deadly fire. Battle flames flashed far and wide. The son of the Geats could not boast of victory in the fight. His drawn sword had failed him in battle, as such well-tempered steel should never have done. It was not easy for Ecgtheow’s famous son to give up his hold on the world beneath the heavens. Nor was it easy to dwell unwillingly somewhere far away. Yet every man must sooner or later let go of these fleeting days. Soon afterward, Beowulf and the monster clashed again. The treasure’s guardian took fresh courage, and smoke seethed in its chest. The man who had once ruled his people suffered fiercely as the flames surrounded him. His companions did not stand around that warrior of Athelings in a brave band to fight beside him. Instead, they fled into a wood to save their lives. But one companion’s heart surged with sorrow, for friendship can never change in someone whose thoughts are pure.