He shoved with his shield till the shaft was broken,
And burst the spear till back it sprang.
Enraged was the daring one; he rushed with his dart
On the wicked warrior who had wounded him sore.
140 Sage was the soldier; he sent his javelin
Through the grim youth's neck; he guided his hand
And furiously felled his foeman dead.
Straightway another he strongly attacked,
And burst his burnie; in his breast he wounded him.
145 Through his hard coat-of-mail; in his heart there stood
The poisoned point. Pleased was the earl,
Loudly he laughed, to the Lord he gave thanks
For the deeds of the day the Redeemer had granted.
A hostile youth hurled from his hand a dart;
150 The spear in flight then sped too far,
And the honorable earl of Aethelred fell.
By his side there stood a stripling youth,
A boy in battle who boldly drew
The bloody brand from the breast of his chief.
155 The young Wulfmere, Wulfstan's son,
Gave back again the gory war-lance;
The point pierced home, so that prostrate lay
The Viking whose valor had vanquished the earl.
To the earl then went an armed warrior;
160 He sought to snatch and seize his rings,
His booty and bracelets, his bright shining sword.
Byrhtnoth snatched forth the brown-edged weapon
From his sheath, and sharply shook the attacker;
Certain of the seamen too soon joined against him,
165 As he checked the arm of the charging enemy;
Now sank to the ground his golden brand;
He might not hold the hilt of his mace,
Nor wield his weapons. These words still he spoke,
To embolden the youths; the battle-scarred hero
170 Called on his comrades to conquer their foes;
He no longer had strength to stand on his feet,
. . . . . . . . he looked to heaven:
"Ruler of realms, I render thee thanks
For all of the honors that on earth I have had;
175 Now, gracious God, have I greatest of need
That thou save my soul through thy sovereign mercy,
That my spirit speed to its splendid home
And pass into thy power, O Prince of angels,
And depart in peace; this prayer I make,
180 That the hated hell-fiends