With chaffer that worse was that war-crash of slaughter,

Sithence the folk-king turned him thither;

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And nowise might the brisk one that son was of Wonred

Unto the old carle give back the hand-slaying,

For that he on Wulf's head the helm erst had sheared,

So that all with the blood stained needs must he bow,

And fell on the field; but not yet was he fey,

But he warp'd himself up, though the wound had touch'd nigh.

But thereon the hard Hygelac's thane there,

Whenas down lay his brother, let the broad blade,

The old sword of eotens, that helm giant-fashion'd

Break over the board-wall, and down the king bowed,

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The herd of the folk unto fair life was smitten.

There were many about there who bound up his kinsman,

Upraised him swiftly when room there was made them,

That the slaughter-stead there at the stour they might wield,

That while when was reaving one warrior the other:

From Ongentheow took he the iron-wrought byrny,

The hard-hilted sword, with his helm all together:

The hoary one's harness to Hygelac bare he;

The fret war-gear then took he, and fairly behight him

Before the folk due gifts, and even so did it;

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Gild he gave for that war-race, the lord of the Geats,

The own son of Hrethel, when home was he come,

To Eofor and Wulf gave he over-much treasure,

To them either he gave an hundred of thousands,

Land and lock'd rings. Of the gift none needed to wyte him

Of mid earth, since the glory they gained by battle.

Then to Eofor he gave his one only daughter,

An home-worship soothly, for pledge of his good will.

That is the feud and the foeship full soothly,

The dead-hate of men, e'en as I have a weening,

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Wherefor the Swede people against us shall seek,

Sithence they have learned that lieth our lord

All lifeless; e'en he that erewhile hath held

Against all the haters the hoard and the realm;