At the ending-stave then it after befalleth

That the shell of his body sinks fleeting away,

And falleth all fey; and another one fetcheth,

E'en one that undolefully dealeth the treasure,

The earl's gains of aforetime, and fear never heedeth.

From the bale-envy ward thee, lief Beowulf, therefore,

Thou best of all men, and choose thee the better,

1760

The redes everlasting; to o'erthinkirig turn not,

O mighty of champions! for now thy might breatheth

For a short while of time; but eft-soon it shall be

That sickness or edges from thy strength thee shall sunder,

Or the hold of the fire, or the welling of floods,

Or the grip of the sword-blade, or flight of the spear,

Or eld the all-evil: or the beaming of eyen

Shall fail and shall dim: then shall it be forthright

That thee, lordly man, the death over-masters.

E'en so I the Ring-Danes for an hundred of seasons

1770

Did wield under the welkin and lock'd them by war

From many a kindred the Middle-Garth over

With ash-spears and edges, in such wise that not ever

Under the sky's run of my foemen I reckoned.

What! to me in my land came a shifting of that,

Came grief after game, sithence Grendel befell,

My foeman of old, mine ingoer soothly.

I from that onfall bore ever unceasing

Mickle mood-care; herefor be thanks to the Maker,

To the Lord everlasting, that in life I abided,

1780

Yea, that I on that head all sword-gory there,

Now the old strife is over, with eyen should stare.

Go fare thou to settle, the feast-joyance dree thou,

O war-worshipp'd! unto us twain yet there will be

Mickle treasure in common when come is the morning.

Glad of mood then the Geat was, and speedy he gat him

To go see the settle, as the sage one commanded.

Then was after as erst, that they of the might-fame,

The floor-sitters, fairly the feasting bedight them

All newly. The helm of the night loured over

1790

Dark over the host-men. Uprose all the doughty,

For he, the hoar-blended, would wend to his bed,