, and wit-holding: a many things spake he,
That aged in grief-care, and bade me to greet you,
And prayed ye would do e'en after your friend's deeds
Aloft in the bale-stead a howe builded high,
Most mickle and mighty, as he amongst men was
The worthfullest warrior wide over the world,
While he the burg-weal erewhile might brook.
Then so let us hasten this second of whiles 3100
To see and to seek the throng of things strange,
The wonder 'neath wall; I shall wise you the way,
So that ye from a-near may look on enough
Of rings and broad gold; and be the bier swiftly
All yare thereunto, whenas out we shall fare.
Then let us so ferry the lord that was ours,
The lief man of men, to where long shall he
In the All-Wielder's keeping full patiently wait.
Bade then to bid the bairn of that Weohstan,
The deer of the battle, to a many of warriors, 3110
The house-owning wights, that the wood of the bale
They should ferry from far, e'en the folk-owning men,
Toward the good one. And now shall the gleed fret away,
The wan flame a-waxing, the strong one of warriors,
Him who oft-times abided the shower of iron
When the storm of the shafts driven on by the strings
Shook over the shield-wall, and the shaft held its service,
And eager with feather-gear follow'd the barb.
Now then the wise one, that son was of Weohstan,
Forth from the throng then call'd of the king's thanes 3120
A seven together, the best to be gotten,
And himself went the eighth in under the foe-roof;
One man of the battlers in hand there he bare
A gleam of the fire, of the first went he inward.
It was nowise allotted who that hoard should despoil,
Sithence without warden some deal that there was
The men now beheld in the hall there a-wonning,
Lying there fleeting; little mourn'd any,
That they in all haste outward should ferry
The dear treasures. But forthwith the drake did they shove, 3130
The Worm, o'er the cliff-wall, and let the wave take him,
The flood fathom about the fretted works' herd.
There then was wounden gold on the wain laden
Untold of each kind, and the Atheling borne,
The hoary of warriors, out on to Whale-ness.

XLIII. OF THE BURIAL OF BEOWULF.

For him then they geared, the folk of the Geats,
A pile on the earth all unweaklike that was,
With war-helms behung, and with boards of the bat