The Tale of Beowulf/Chapter 39
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XXXIX. WIGLAF CASTETH SHAME ON THOSE FLEERS.
BUT gone was it then with the unaged man2820
Full hard that there he beheld on the earth
The liefest of friends at the ending of life,
Of bearing most piteous. And likewise lay his bane
The Earth-drake, the loathly fear, reft of his life,
By bale laid undone: the ring-hoards no longer
The Worm, the crook-bowed, ever might wield;
For soothly the edges of the irons him bare off,
The hard battle-sharded leavings of hammers,
So that the wide-flier stilled with wounding
Fell onto earth anigh to his hoard-hall,2830
Nor along the lift ever more playing he turned
At middle-nights, proud of the owning of treasure,
Show'd the face of him forth, but to earth there he fell
Because of the host-leader's work of the hand.
This forsooth on the land hath thriven to few,
Of men might and main bearing, by hearsay of mine,
Though in each of all deeds full daring he were,
That against venom-scather's fell breathing he set on,
Or the hall of his rings with hand be a-stirring,
If so be that he waking the warder had found2840
Abiding in burg. By Beowulf was
His deal of the king-treasure paid for by death;
There either had they fared on to the end
Of this loaned life. Long it was not until
Those laggards of battle the holt were a-leaving,
Unwarlike troth-liars, the ten there together,
Who durst not e'en now with darts to be playing
E'en in their man-lord's most mickle need.
But shamefully now their shields were they bearing,
Their weed of the battle, there where lay the aged;2850
They gazed on Wiglaf where weary'd he sat,
The foot-champion, hard by his very lord's shoulder,
And wak'd him with water: but no whit it sped him;
Never might he on earth howsoe'er well he will'd it
In that leader of spears hold the life any more,
Nor the will of the Wielder change ever a whit;
But still should God's doom of deeds rule the rede
For each man of men, as yet ever it doth.
Then from out of the youngling an answer full grim2859
Easy got was for him who had lost heart erewhile,
And word gave out Wiglaf, Weohstan's son,
The sorrowful-soul'd man: on those unlief he saw:
Lo that may he say who sooth would be saying,
That the man-lord who dealt you the gift of those dear things,
The gear of the war-host wherein there ye stand,
Whereas he on the ale-bench full oft was a-giving
Unto the hall-sitters war-helm and byrny,
The king to his thanes, e'en such as he choicest
Anywhere, far or near, ever might find:2869
That he utterly wrongsome those weeds of the war
Had cast away, then when the war overtook him.
Surely never the folk-king of his fellows in battle
Had need to be boastful; howsoever God gave him,
The Victory-wielder, that he himself wreak'd him
Alone with the edge, when to him need of might was.
Unto him of life-warding but little might I
Give there in the war-tide; and yet I began
Above measure of my might my kinsman to help;
Ever worse was the Worm then when I with sword
Smote the life-foe, and ever the fire less strongly
Welled out from his wit. Of warders o'er little
Throng'd about the king when him the battle befell.2882
Now shall taking of treasures and giving of swords
And all joy of your country-home fail from your kindred,
All hope wane away; of the land-right moreover
May each of the men of that kinsman's burg ever
Roam lacking; sithence that the athelings eft-soons
From afar shall have heard of your faring in flight,
Your gloryless deed. Yea, death shall be better
For each of the earls than a life ever ill-fam'd.2890
Full hard that there he beheld on the earth
The liefest of friends at the ending of life,
Of bearing most piteous. And likewise lay his bane
The Earth-drake, the loathly fear, reft of his life,
By bale laid undone: the ring-hoards no longer
The Worm, the crook-bowed, ever might wield;
For soothly the edges of the irons him bare off,
The hard battle-sharded leavings of hammers,
So that the wide-flier stilled with wounding
Fell onto earth anigh to his hoard-hall,2830
Nor along the lift ever more playing he turned
At middle-nights, proud of the owning of treasure,
Show'd the face of him forth, but to earth there he fell
Because of the host-leader's work of the hand.
This forsooth on the land hath thriven to few,
Of men might and main bearing, by hearsay of mine,
Though in each of all deeds full daring he were,
That against venom-scather's fell breathing he set on,
Or the hall of his rings with hand be a-stirring,
If so be that he waking the warder had found2840
Abiding in burg. By Beowulf was
His deal of the king-treasure paid for by death;
There either had they fared on to the end
Of this loaned life. Long it was not until
Those laggards of battle the holt were a-leaving,
Unwarlike troth-liars, the ten there together,
Who durst not e'en now with darts to be playing
E'en in their man-lord's most mickle need.
But shamefully now their shields were they bearing,
Their weed of the battle, there where lay the aged;2850
They gazed on Wiglaf where weary'd he sat,
The foot-champion, hard by his very lord's shoulder,
And wak'd him with water: but no whit it sped him;
Never might he on earth howsoe'er well he will'd it
In that leader of spears hold the life any more,
Nor the will of the Wielder change ever a whit;
But still should God's doom of deeds rule the rede
For each man of men, as yet ever it doth.
Then from out of the youngling an answer full grim2859
Easy got was for him who had lost heart erewhile,
And word gave out Wiglaf, Weohstan's son,
The sorrowful-soul'd man: on those unlief he saw:
Lo that may he say who sooth would be saying,
That the man-lord who dealt you the gift of those dear things,
The gear of the war-host wherein there ye stand,
Whereas he on the ale-bench full oft was a-giving
Unto the hall-sitters war-helm and byrny,
The king to his thanes, e'en such as he choicest
Anywhere, far or near, ever might find:2869
That he utterly wrongsome those weeds of the war
Had cast away, then when the war overtook him.
Surely never the folk-king of his fellows in battle
Had need to be boastful; howsoever God gave him,
The Victory-wielder, that he himself wreak'd him
Alone with the edge, when to him need of might was.
Unto him of life-warding but little might I
Give there in the war-tide; and yet I began
Above measure of my might my kinsman to help;
Ever worse was the Worm then when I with sword
Smote the life-foe, and ever the fire less strongly
Welled out from his wit. Of warders o'er little
Throng'd about the king when him the battle befell.2882
Now shall taking of treasures and giving of swords
And all joy of your country-home fail from your kindred,
All hope wane away; of the land-right moreover
May each of the men of that kinsman's burg ever
Roam lacking; sithence that the athelings eft-soons
From afar shall have heard of your faring in flight,
Your gloryless deed. Yea, death shall be better
For each of the earls than a life ever ill-fam'd.2890