XXXVII. THE FATAL STRUGGLE.—BEOWULF’S LAST MOMENTS.
XXXVII.
THE FATAL STRUGGLE.—BEOWULF’S LAST MOMENTS.
Wiglaf defends Beowulf.Then I heard that at need of the king of the people
The upstanding earlman exhibited prowess,
Vigor and courage, as suited his nature;
1He his head did not guard, but the high-minded liegeman’s
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Hand was consumed, when he succored his kinsman,
So he struck the strife-bringing strange-comer lower,
Earl-thane in armor, that in went the weapon
Gleaming and plated, that ’gan then the fire2
Beowulf draws
his knife,
Later to lessen. The liegelord himself then
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Retained his consciousness, brandished his war-knife,
Battle-sharp, bitter, that he bare on his armor:
and cuts the
dragon.
The Weder-lord cut the worm in the middle.
They had felled the enemy (life drove out then3
Puissant prowess), the pair had destroyed him,
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Land-chiefs related: so a liegeman should prove him,
A thaneman when needed. To the prince ’twas the last of
His era of conquest by his own great achievements,
Beowulf’s wound
swells and burns.
The latest of world-deeds. The wound then began
Which the earth-dwelling dragon erstwhile had wrought him
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To burn and to swell. He soon then discovered
That bitterest bale-woe in his bosom was raging,
Poison within. The atheling advanced then,
He sits down exhausted.
That along by the wall, he prudent of spirit
Might sit on a settle; he saw the giant-work,
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How arches of stone strengthened with pillars
The earth-hall eternal inward supported.
Then the long-worthy liegeman laved with his hand the
Wiglaf bathes his
lord’s head.
Far-famous chieftain, gory from sword-edge,
Refreshing the face of his friend-lord and ruler,
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Sated with battle, unbinding his helmet.
Beowulf answered, of his injury spake he,
His wound that was fatal (he was fully aware
He had lived his allotted life-days enjoying
The pleasures of earth; then past was entirely
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His measure of days, death very near):
Beowulf regrets
that he has no son.
“My son I would give now my battle-equipments,
Had any of heirs been after me granted,
Along of my body. This people I governed
Fifty of winters: no king ’mong my neighbors
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Dared to encounter me with comrades-in-battle,
Try me with terror. The time to me ordered
I bided at home, mine own kept fitly,
Sought me no snares, swore me not many
I can rejoice in a
well-spent life.
Oaths in injustice. Joy over all this
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I’m able to have, though ill with my death-wounds;
Hence the Ruler of Earthmen need not charge me
With the killing of kinsmen, when cometh my life out
Forth from my body. Fare thou with haste now
Bring me the
hoard, Wiglaf, that
my dying eyes may
be refreshed by a
sight of it.
To behold the hoard ’neath the hoar-grayish stone,
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Well-lovèd Wiglaf, now the worm is a-lying,
Sore-wounded sleepeth, disseized of his treasure.
Go thou in haste that treasures of old I,
Gold-wealth may gaze on, together see lying
The ether-bright jewels, be easier able,
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Having the heap of hoard-gems, to yield my
Life and the land-folk whom long I have governed.”