gashes burst, and blood gushed out
from bites[1] of the body. Balefire devoured,
greediest spirit, those spared not by war
out of either folk: their flower was gone.
XVII
1125Then hastened those heroes their home to see,
friendless, to find the Frisian land,
houses and high burg. Hengest still
through the death-dyed winter dwelt with Finn,
holding pact, yet of home he minded,
1130though powerless his ring-decked prow to drive
over the waters, now waves rolled fierce
lashed by the winds, or winter locked them
in icy fetters. Then fared[2] another
year to men’s dwellings, as yet they do,
1135the sunbright skies, that their season ever
duly await. Far off winter was driven;
fair lay earth’s breast; and fain was the rover,
the guest, to depart, though more gladly he pondered
on wreaking his vengeance than roaming the deep,
1140and how to hasten the hot encounter
where sons of the Frisians were sure to be.
So he escaped not the common doom,[3]
when Hun with “Lafing,” the light-of-battle,
best of blades, his bosom pierced:
- ↑ Wounds.
- ↑ A touch of myth lingers in this personification of the seasons. Compare the pretty lyric “Lenten is comen with love to toune,” where “toune,” like “men’s dwellings” in the text, means no definite place, but the whole district in question “where folk live.” Of course, spring then brought the new year.
- ↑ See conclusion of note to v. 1070.
