1875that each should look on the other again,
and hear him in hall. Was this hero so dear to him,
his breast’s wild billows he banned in vain;
safe in his soul a secret longing,
locked[1] in his mind, for that lovéd man
1880burned in his blood. Then Beowulf strode,
glad of his gold-gifts, the grass-plot o’er,
warrior blithe. The wave-roamer bode
riding at anchor, its owner awaiting.
As they hastened onward, Hrothgar’s gift
1885they lauded at length.—’Twas a lord unpeered,
every way blameless, till age had broken
—it spareth no mortal—his splendid might.
XXVII
Came now to ocean the ever-courageous
hardy henchmen, their harness bearing,
1890woven war-sarks. The warden marked,
trusty as ever, the earl’s return.
From the height of the hill no hostile words
reached the guests as he rode to greet them;
but “Welcome!” he called to that Weder clan
1895as the sheen-mailed spoilers to ship marched on.
Then on the strand, with steeds and treasure
and armor their roomy and ring-dight ship
- ↑ The Anglo-Saxon gnomic poems insist on this secrecy of thought. When a man speaks or sings, “he unlocks his word-hoard.” The advice of secrecy is emphasized for exiles and kinless men, as witness The Wanderer, v. 11:
Sooth I know,
in every earl ’tis an excellent trait
that he bar and bind his breast amain,
keep fast his thought-treasure,—think as he will.
